365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 151

FRIDAY, MAY 31st, 2013  

At long last you have made it!  Your final day has come.  The grand finale.

And then there is tomorrow.

And then there is the day after that.  Don't waste them.  Before you know it, you're looking back at all of this and wondering where the time has gone...wondering if the fizz of life has retained its carbonation.

Fifteen years ago next month on my wedding day, you were so young that you likely don't remember the event at all...and now you are graduating.  Seriously...where has the time gone?

Fifteen years ago next month on my wedding day, your father handed me an opportunity.  Of all the gifts that my bride and I received, his is the one that I truly remember.  Although it came in the form of cash it was his words that resonated.

He said, Take this money and buy something impulsive with it.  If you'd never buy a bottle of expensive champagne, then order one at dinner while on your honeymoon.  

Of course, that was ridiculous, neither me or my new bride liked champagne and would never order such a thing...but the opportunity existed to do something irrational with the money in hand.  All of our other gifts were things we'd asked for.  Like plates and silverware and household items that we'd need and use for a long time to come as we build our lives together.  The money that most people gave was not meant for impulsive behavior, it was intended to help pay for all of the things that we'd need to build our bridge to our new lives...more realistically, the money was used to help support the expensive bridge we'd already started constructing to prevent it from collapsing under the weight of our newly acquired toasters and knife sets and contemporary paper towel holders.  All quite necessary and all definitely appreciated.

So what did we do with that one impulsive opportunity?  Well...we bought a bottle of champagne at dinner while on our honeymoon in Paradise (literally speaking, we went to Paradise, the small town in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan).

We requested our server to leave the bottle sealed so that we could save it for later on...which happens to make this the most non-compulsive compulsive thing we've ever done.

Skip forward many years later...the wife and I happened to be camping near Traverse City, Michigan on our tenth anniversary.  The bottle had still not been opened and time seemed to have gone by at blinding speed (note the deliberate use of the word "blinding").

Over time, we were not certain if this bottle of champagne had retained its bubbly...or if it might taste awful.  Or if it was worth saving this long.  A part of me always wondered why we let ten years slip by without opening this impulsive bottle of champagne.  No moment ever seemed quite big enough, or the moments that happened to be big enough were not champagne moments.  The birth of two amazing children come to mind, but they frown upon popping the bubbly in a hospital room.

As dawn settled on the northern sky and the first stars began to appear, as the fire light began to illuminate our little slice of the heavenly outdoors, I pulled the ten-year-old bottle of champagne out of our cooler.  The surprise on Wife's face was well worth the wait as she had no idea that I had stowed it, hidden well beneath the hot dogs and bratwurst.

Opening with a loud "POP!" white foam cascaded down the sides of the bottle.  The carbonation had indeed held its form over the decade.  And let me tell you.  At long last, the flavor of the contents within that bottle was sublime.  What took us so damn long!?

Of course you can look at this from a couple of angles.  Perhaps the time had sweetened the drink.  Perhaps what that bottle of champagne stood for is what made it so delicious.  Perhaps the flavor of the bubbly wine stood as a metaphor for those first ten years of our marriage.  Either way, I cannot escape the irony of the impulsive nature of the purchase and the long wait to open it. 

This donation your father offered, you see, represents so much more than the monetary value that it represented at face value.  I remember the moment he handed me the cash and his words that accompanied it.  I recall the whimsical moment we decided to order that bottle and I will never forget the day we drank it and how it tasted.

I couldn't tell you a damn thing about the place setting we chose to buy.  Or the towels.  Or who may have purchased them for us.  Hell, I would fail miserably trying to describe many details of our wedding day, it went by so fast (the very essence of blinding speed).

So now...

You have completed one of the biggest adventures of your life and you will move toward even larger ones.  You are on a bridge that is incomplete and it must not be neglected.  Although the gift you receive from us will not be the cement and steel necessary for the structure, I hope that you will spend it on something impulsive.  Something that you would not otherwise buy.  Something that defies need.  Impractical.  Irrational even.

You will need books and supplies and gas money and food.  All very important, no doubt.  But the hope is that with this small gift you will purchase something that will be the mortar that helps to build a foundation...instant gratification can be just that, but ten years from now you may realize how valuable and memorable something seemingly insignificant can become, given the right circumstances.  Cherish the flavor of whatever choices you make today, tomorrow and ten years from now. 

Of course, I am in no way advocating the purchase of alcohol...the bottle of champagne was very real, but in this case please consider it a metaphor.

Today's Jazz Hands are for you, Mags.  They are a congratulatory deployment for all you have accomplished and for all that you will accomplish in the future.  Thank you for giving me a reason to tell the story of your father's lasting gift to the wife and I (now fifteen years passed), and affording us an opportunity to pay the opportunity forward in appropriate fashion.

These jazzing hands hope that the very idea of this sort of gift still has some carbonation left after all this time.

Day one-hundred and fifty-one complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 150

THURSDAY, MAY 30th, 2013  

At times I get the sinking feeling that I'm being watched. 

Not necessarily monitored.  That is completely different.  Being monitored is something that takes place in a hospital when you're sick and/or recovering (possibly from an infection brought on by radiation or zombie attack).

Being monitored is something that occurs in your place of business to ensure an employee is on task and not surfing porn sites on the web instead of running extremely important reports about efficiencies and workflow solutions. 

Being watched, on the other hand, is what happens when you are put on an island with a bunch of strangers with varying degrees of extreme personality disorders to see who can overcome adversity and intense ridiculousness.  That type of watched usually requires contestants that are willing participants, told how to behave by executive producers, and sign a contract that gives a production company the rights to their soul.

This type of watched adheres more closely to what Truman Burbank experienced throughout the course of his life until he sailed away in an attempt to escape the fabrication of a world he believed to be real.

This project I'm working on, the report I'm writing, it is pretend.  The situations I'm asked to engage in, scripted.  I don't think I'm the only one in the game.  All of my coworkers have been under the assumption that this gig is real as well.  There's a tiny camera in the clock adjacent to my office.  There's a microphone in the orange that sits on my desk. 

All of the conference calls, big wig walk throughs, employee picnics, power outages, and standard operating procedures, all staged for amusement.

That quick turnaround project that seems impossible to accomplish requiring additional hours of jumping through flaming hoops...pretend.

That pissed off client that demands an explanation for the delivery of an incorrect or incomplete product...completely made up.

I'm on to you (I whisper into the orange).  

This is all just a big game show and someone will emerge as the victor in the end.  One lucky contestant will rise above the chaos, above the nonsense and ridiculousness and claim their prize. The trouble is, the contestants in this particular game have no real way of knowing what the parameters are or what is at stake.  There are wagers being made on us and the rules are completely unknown. 

Is the contestant that survives the winner?  Tries the hardest?  Is this an elimination game or do you win by popular vote?  Is the idea to escape this maze while navigating around zombies and time portals and ticked off clients?

Today I am jazzing my hands right into the camera, and for the first time the audience knows that I know what they know.  These Jazz Hands are defiant.  These Jazz Hands accept the challenge.  These Jazz Hands are going to win.

Day one-hundred and fifty complete (with product placement, of course).

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 149

WEDNESDAY, MAY 29th, 2013  

I've seen Pops several times over the past couple of weeks.  At first, he appeared as transparent as ever, but then slowly regained opacity, ultimately becoming fully visible.  This is proof that he is no longer a ghost, which can logically mean but one thing.

Pops, it seems, has become a zombie.

To become a zombie, officially, one must be cursed somehow in their life, OR, become infected with a zombie virus and/or be exposed to radiation.  I really do not like to think that Pops was cursed, but considering the circumstances of his existence, this avenue may not be out of the question.

I have never heard of a person dying, becoming a ghost and THEN turning into a zombie...but in a world of complete unknowns, one must not discount the probabilities.  After all, there are many sorts of beliefs that are fairly outlandish.  So many, in fact, that they are too numerous to list.  Okay, here's a short list of the obvious ones:

1. Resurrections
2. Reincarnations
3. Ghosts
4. Angels
5. Logic
6. Bill Murray
7. Time
8. Gosh
9. Alter egos
10. Freedom

If you believe in ANY of the above items, but discount ZOMBIES, because the concept lacks credibility, you have been mechanized and conditioned, based on a lifetime of reckless brain washing.  You are a clockwork orange.

So why not a bum turned ghost turned zombie?  You want proof?  He looked pale for a black man, and seemed really, really hungry.  And in this particular entry, "hunger" is not a metaphor for being a go-getter in life (it's fairly obvious this is not that form of hunger).  He seriously looked like he wanted a brain sandwich.  And chips.  Lots of them. 

You want more proof?  Sorry.  I did not physically see him try to eat anyone.  You'll just have to have the faith.  The faith in all things seemingly improbable.  The faith in life after death, resurrections, ghosts, lights at the ends of tunnels, heavens, hells, Bill Murray, and above all else...zombies.

I stopped to say hello to the old brain nibbler until he started to gaze at me like I was a Butter Ball turkey.  I smiled politely, then proceeded to discretely roll my car window up (actually, I pushed that little button as there is nothing to "roll up" in today's modern vehicle).  I like to think that he would spare me since I am, after all, the person that gave him his nickname when I traveled back in time last week.  That being said, there is zero evidence that zombies have a strong memory bank.  The infection very well could have wiped out his recollection.  To be safe I ran the red light and narrowly escaped potential infection or death.  Or worse yet...both.

There exists a potential light at the end of the tunnel for Pops.  Yes, I'm speaking of that light and that tunnel...but it could also be the standard metaphor as well.  It works both ways.

In the Biblical context, salt purifies the world of corruption.  Moreover, Haitian folklore suggests that feeding salt to a zombie will restore the person to freedom.   It is somewhat unclear whether the infected zombie gets to come back to life, or if they merely return to their grave to find that light at the end of that tunnel on their way to their eternal wherever.

For better or worse, Florida is in relative close proximity to Haiti.  Florida also happens to be the place to be when it comes to salt as there is an abundance of the stuff.  No, it's not the edible kind, unfortunately, so in a sense it's also the place to be when you're thirsty...in a rotten, doesn't do you a bit of good, sort of way.  Not sure what this does to the salt of the earth, purify the zombie analogy, but thought it necessary to point out the irony.

Since I do not believe that throwing salt water onto Pops will do much other than piss him off, I think I will gather up some of the saltiest foods available and offer them to my flesh-eating friend.  I will resurrect the care package that seemed like a waste of space once he had died and fill it full of salty food stuffs.  This could potentially cure him of the zombie virus that has infected him, procure his hard-earned afterlife and ultimately save my life...so a risk worth taking by any standards. 

I just hope that he prefers salty snacks over brains as the transaction will require close proximity.

Today I deploy my jazzing hands as a means to ward off a potential zombie apocalypse.  My Jazz Hands celebrate the orange, organic nature of life.  They celebrate not the clockwork mechanization of brain consumption.  And since "zombies" are an extreme, philosophical representation of conformity, depicting the human, internal struggle for individuality, these Jazz Hands celebrate our differences and the willpower to abstain from following the brain craving herd.  These Jazz Hands ask you to be not the sheep, but the shepherd.  To be not the clock, but the orange.

Today's Jazz Hands are nibbling on your brains.  Day one-hundred and forty-nine complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 148

TUESDAY, MAY 28th, 2013  

This morning's Jazz Hands seemed overly routine, systematic.  I merely went through the motions, so to speak.  I'm not satisfied with that.  Jazz Hands deserves better than that. 

Running through the list of variations at my disposal, none of the potential deployments really jump out at me.  None of them seem fitting for a Tuesday morning.  None appropriate for the first day back from an extended weekend break away from the rat race. 

I jazzed my hands during Family Dog's morning deployment...but that didn't sit well.  I now realize that instead of Family Dog conditioned to deploy his business as a result of my Jazz Hands deployments, the conditioning has worked itself out in reverse.  Anytime I see that fluffy little guy squat and do his thing, I get the sudden urge to jazz my hands.  Did Pavlov begin ringing bells every time he witnessed a dog eating after a while? 

I gave my old favorite standby a shot, but surprise attack Jazz Hands seemed entirely forced, and this deployment no longer takes me by surprise.  Even when naked.  Which I tried.  Still not advisable.  It should be wiped off the list completely, actually.  It's quite repulsive. 

I tried jazz handing a total stranger at a red light somewhere between Bead Store and Causeway.  Although the deployment was extraordinarily feverish, the gentleman on the receiving end was way too focused on whatever his phone had to say.  Either that or he was fully aware of something strange occurring in the car to his right, but chose to avoid engagement due to the awkward nature of the interaction between us had he acknowledged my jazzings.  Like coworkers from other departments that make certain their shoes are tied or double check the time on their watch whenever we cross paths in the hallways, this man avoided contact as if I was a door to door advocate for the Church of Please Donate Your Time Money and Soul.

I can't say I blame him.  I'd do the same thing most likely.  I hide when I see nicely dressed strangers carrying pamphlets approach my door.  And sometimes I absolutely have to know what time it is when I'm walking down the hall as assurance that I will not be late for the water cooler meeting.  Also, it is very dangerous to walk around with your shoes untied, so there's that.

All of the hand jazzing options at my disposal and none seem to fit this Tuesday morning.  Best not to force the issue.  It's okay to acknowledge that some days are less jazzy than others. 

In the infamous words of Getty Lee, If you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice.

Today's last line of Jazz Hands made no sense whatsoever.  Which somehow makes it make more sense than if it somehow made sense.  Day one-hundred and forty-eight complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 147

MONDAY, MAY 27th, 2013  

Today's hiding spot defies gravity, floating weightless in a world that is reasonably just, opposed to the average day that is just barely reasonable.  Tomorrow the game heats back up and my elusiveness will find the physical laws of the universe much less cooperative.  For now I will embrace these valuable moments, make them last as long as possible, and float on.

A very enthusiastic Jazz Hands are deployed today, yet humbly acknowledge that this beautiful day of freedom has a hefty cost and I am forever in debt for the price paid to make it possible.

Today's Jazz Hands will never forget.  Day one-hundred and forty-seven complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 146

SUNDAY, MAY 26th, 2013  

Located on the Gulf of Guinea on the continent of Africa, the Republic of Ghana is geographically closer to the center of the world than any other country.  The word Ghana means "Warrior King" and was the title accorded to the kings of the medieval West African Ghana Empire.

Although most hurricanes that have a chance to reach the Florida gulf coast, somewhere near Tampa, originate just to the west of Ghana, I do not hold this matter against them since I do not believe there is anything they can do to prevent such events from occurring (I do hope they're working on a solution, though).

Boasting an historically dominant national football team (American soccer), the Black Stars of Ghana reached the 2010 FIFA World Cup quarter finals, held in South Africa.  

Ghana represents the sixth continent to pay 365 Days of Jazz Hands a visit, and Africa will likely be the final continental representative as I'm fairly confident that there is nobody in Antarctica interested in hand jazzing.  Hands in large mittens makes a hand jazzing lifestyle difficult to pursue...large fluffy mittens also makes it quite difficult to search the internet and find blogs regarding Jazz Hands.  That being said, we still have a long way to go, so there is still a chance that there is one chilled soul living in an igloo with an internet connection that may pay us a visit...until then, I will assume that Africa is the sixth, and final, continent to join in on the hand jazzing.

Welcome aboard, Ghana!  Welcome aboard, Africa!

Today's Jazz Hands had high sustained winds.  Day one-hundred and forty-six complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 145

SATURDAY, MAY 25th, 2013  

I have become quite good at this hide and seek thing.  Look at what I found at the local market.

The hunt is on!

Today's Jazz Hands are a warm place with no memory.

Day one-hundred and forty-five complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 144

FRIDAY, MAY 24th, 2013  

To kick off today's Jazz Hands I give you the following acronym:  W.W.A.A.C.F.O.O.T.B.F.I.T.M.E.D.?

Once again our weekly journey has arrived at the ending (much better than arriving at the beginning).  I am dressed in Friday irony as I drive east toward my place of business.  As I cross over the causeway (there is an apparent difference between a bridge and a causeway wouldn't you know), the rising sun splashes little flecks of sparkling light across the bay.  This is the perfect type of day to escape onto the sands of a quiet beach and deploy my Jazz Hands where the waves lap softly onto the shore and the gulls dive bomb for my sandwich and chips.

Just kidding.  I don't take sandwiches and chips to the beach.  Only tourists do that.  I do what I can to avoid dive bombing gulls, so I have eliminated sandwiches and chips from the beach lunch menu.  Gulls do not seem to like ice cold beer therefor I have added ice cold beer to the beach lunch menu and as a result, birds with sharp beaks and talons near my head area are no longer a concern.

Anyways...

As my car emerges back onto solid ground (as solid ground Florida can afford that is), I realize that today is also a perfect day to sit in an office that does not have windows and escape to the sands of a quiet beach in my mind.  And since this is occurring in my mind, I have completely eliminated birds from the scene.  Perhaps the occasional Osprey or Pelican, they are relatively harmless.  Also, I quite enjoy watching them hunt.  They do not hunt for sandwiches and chips.  Osprey are so cool that I'm sure they would like ice cold beer given the opportunity, but have yet to bother me for mine, so they're still invited.  And pelicans do not have sharp beaks or talons, so I'm okay with them.  I'd even give them a sandwich if I had one, as it would be fun to watch them attempt to eat it.  Especially if it has peanut butter on it.

Anyways...

The good news is that the mind does not know the difference between real and imagined.  So as I type this post from the beach, watching the Osprey drink beer and the Pelicans eat peanut butter sandwiches, my brain has no idea that I'm actually nowhere near a beach (relatively speaking, of course, you're never really that far from a beach while in Florida).

Escape is vital to survival.  Every species has it's very own, built in self-defense mechanism.  A rabbit is very quick and also reproduces at a torrid pace to escape both predators and eventual extinction.  Snakes are very quick and some have venom producing fangs.  Leopards have their spots.  Plus they're very quick.  Turtles have their shells, mostly because they are not very quick.  Although if you've ever attempted to catch a turtle, you've found out how not slow they are.  Or how slow they are not.  They may not be fast, but they are faster than you...maybe not faster than you in a footrace, but you get the idea.

Anyways...

Us humans are not very fast.  We do not have spots (the majority of us anyhow).  We do not have shells or venom or large pointy teeth.  We have our mind.  We effectively escape with disciplined imagination and when your final day of the work week is the equivalent of crawling through five hundred yards of shit smelling foulness you can't even imagine, you know that you will find freedom and come out clean on the other side.

Back to our acronym.

So, I ask again...What Would Andy, A Character From One Of The Best Films In The Modern Era, Do?

Today's Jazz Hands beat the system.  Day one-hundred and forty-four complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 143

THURSDAY, MAY 23rd, 2013  

It has been a while, but I traveled through time again today...I spoke to younger Pops, although that isn't exactly true.

As I sit there waiting for the light to change from red to green at the intersection of West Kennedy Boulevard and Dale Mabry, I roll down my window and offer young Pops a few dollars.  This is not out of the kindness of my heart entirely, as I felt required to give him some cash in order to extract information.

"Where's Pops?" I ask.

"Who?!"  He replies half irritated, 40% curious and 10% something I can not put my finger on.

"Pops, the old guy with a red hat, like yours."  My reply sounds more like a question than a statement.

He looks at me as if I'm half crazy, 40% stupid and 10% something he can't put his finger on.  He shrugs his defeated shoulders, shakes his head, apparently committed to his initial 40% hunch that I'm crazy then begins to walk away.  Before he gets too far and just as the light turns green he says, with a wide grin, "I like that name though.  Pops!"

I travel through the portal, back to today, and it dawns on me that I have just given Pops his nickname.  I'm not a physicist, and my time travel paradox knowledge is fairly limited...but it seems fairly logical and entirely possible.

Oh and as a bonus, here's photo evidence that I don't pull beads out of my ass. 

Today's Jazz Hands were paradoxical.  Day one-hundred and forty-three complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 142

WEDNESDAY, MAY 22nd, 2013  

The Orchards of Commerce

If our natural tendency is to relentlessly consume everything around us, then there is an inherent need to provide all of those consumable goods.  Honest people work way too hard for way too little every single day so that we may clutter our existence with all of those really important objects and services that fulfill our very important lives.  Like food, water, energy, shelter and medicine.  Like reality television, freshly manicured nails, beautiful new breasts and little plastic beads in every color of the rainbow strung together by thread.  

In your community college, Introduction to Business class, instructors do not teach the "low hanging fruit" theory and how that phrase is a metaphor for expendable assets...also known as employees.  Sure, they teach you the basics of economics, the concepts of supply versus demand, and so on.  It should be a matter of common sense when a place of business is spending more than it is making, the fruit that is ripe for picking is pulled from the branch so that the other fruit get the nutrients they deserve.  If this pruning is neglected, the entire tree stands to fall...so to speak.

A certain lime tree comes to mind...we all know that story's tragic ending.

Giving your all, all of the time, is fairly unrealistic.  I see people at my place of business that could be categorized as one-hundred percenters...but this type of employee's torrid pace just can not be sustainable over the long haul.  Some give 50% effort 100% of the time and then there are those that give 100% effort 50% of the time.  I'm no mathmagician, but those numbers seem to have an equivalent sum...yet the two types of employees are not alike in any way.  If I had to choose, I'd prefer 75% effort 75% of the time and this still adds up to the same number.  

All of that being said, there is something to be said for momentum.

If we allow ourselves to imagine our actions in terms of physics, which seems fairly reasonable, the 100% effort 100% of the time will likely have to abide by the law that states what goes up, must come down.  So we will not explore that unhealthy model.

The other physical law worth considering states that an object in motion, tends to stay in motion.  The inverse is also quite valid.

Given these concepts, something that is moving 100% of the time seems to be the most ideal as momentum never really stalls out...but show me an employee that is not distracted enough to take a short break from time to time and I'll show you average output...adequate results, certainly, but nothing to put on the mantle.  Perhaps 75% effort 75% of the time doesn't tell the entire story.  What might be occurring in the remaining 25% of the time?  A nap?  Reading an article not directly related to a work project?  Sending a text message to a BFF?  

How that remaining 25% of time is spent probably dictates how low on the branch an employee hangs. Perhaps this 75 percenter likes to jazz their hands 25% of the time.  We're all well aware that only good can come from that.  Perhaps during that 25% of time they offer 100% effort...as mentioned, they give 75%, 75% of the time, that does not necessarily mean that 25% of the time is spent sloughing off.  Maybe 10% of that time is spent at 100% effort while 15% is spent hand jazzing.  The endless variables are mind boggling.

Business 101 may discuss the pros and cons of varying degrees of quantity versus quality...what they will not tell you is that every person needs to work hard, they need to focus, they need to make themselves as relevant as humanly possible so that when harvest time comes they are not ripe for the picking...however, all of this needs to be balanced with distraction...distractions can lead to very important discoveries.  A defocussed brain yields creative results...so long as the mind can be disciplined well enough to know when to buckle down, roll up those sleeves, and pull up those boot straps.  Find a convincing argument for your relevance.  Stake your claim on importance.

When I stated in a prior entry that "we...are...so...very...important" the ellipses denoted sarcasm, inferring that relevance and importance were a mirage.  Rethinking this thought process, who cares if we're hallucinating?  After all, the mind does not can not and will not know the difference between real and imagined.  It is vital to be productive, to contribute and to build forward momentum.  We can't all be farmers and doctors but that doesn't mean we have nothing to offer society.  We could decide to do nothing at all, but then we turn into Pops and walk the streets, invisible, like a ghost.  Perhaps we actually are...so...very...important.  Those ellipses denote emphasis rather than sarcasm.  I assume you noticed the difference.

Ripening is inevitable.  All fruit will have its plucking day come eventually.  If you're going to get picked, you may as well be one of the fruit that gets juiced for a fresh batch of lemonade.  The orchard will one day cease to produce.  We will consume everything in sight like parasites.  This is our regrettable tendency.  In the meantime, pretend the world depends on your contribution, most of the time.

During those other times, find a beach ball.  Play hide and seek.  Donate blood.  Make lemonade.  Jazz your hands.  These are but a few options available.  There is no excuse not to contribute.  But if Jazz Hands have taught us anything, it's that we must embrace the art of distraction to keep perspective and balance within our grasp.

Jazz those hands.  Embrace your illusion of relevance and hone your distraction skills. Otherwise you may find yourself at the bottom of the bushel come harvest.

Today's Jazz Hands had inertia.  Day one-hundred and forty-two complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 141

TUESDAY, MAY 21st, 2013  

Quite a ways back I mentioned that if life gives you Marmals, make marmalade.  That's likely the dumbest thing I've written to date, or at least very close to the tippy-top of that list.  I dedicated an entire entry to Marmals.  What in Jazz Hands was I thinking?

I've made it a point of emphasis not to go back and self-edit posts, aside from correcting the frequent grammatical and/or structural errors made along the way.  In fact, most of these posts are first draft, raw form.  This style of writing/publishing is certain to produce some head scratchers.  What I will not do is apologize for it.  That's what I decided to write on that particular day and if the content induces a wince or an eye roll, so be it.  I get that sort of response quite often in my regular, day to day life, so why not here as well?

I shall try my damnedest to keep the stinker rate down...unfortunately, I may not know that I've delivered a stinker until it's far too late.  In this case it took months to acknowledge the slip in judgment.  I can only guess that on Marmal day, efforts were focused on avoiding the trite or cliché.  Or trite and cliché.  Whichever seems more appropriate.

I should have just written if life gives you lemons...etc.  I expended many words working around that cliché and its relative triteness.  I could have used lemons but found a new way to embrace them perhaps.  

Come to think of it, the saying doesn't even make sense.  Life doling out lemons is supposed to represent a raw deal, a less than ideal set of circumstances.  The connection is their sour nature, but to be completely fair to the lemon there is relatively little down side to them.  Their scent is associated with freshness and cleanliness.  Their flavors are used for desserts, candies and beverages.  The mighty lemon is what makes fish...less fishy.  What would life be like if it were not for a slice of lemon in an overpriced, ice-cold gin and tonic while sitting poolside?!  Not worth living at all, that's what it would be like.

We should have holidays and parties in honor of the great, versatile lemon.  One day set aside to celebrate the goodness of the lemon.  One big party to shower citrus coated Jazz Hands upon the world.  

A word of caution to the wise:  One may throw a party in honor of the lemon...but whatever you do, do not, under any circumstances, throw a lemon party.  Marmal parties are okay though...proceed with those as planned.

Today's Jazz Hands were lemony-fresh.  Day one-hundred and forty-one complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 140

MONDAY, MAY 20th, 2013  

Today I shall give interpretive dance a shot.  I stand facing south, my left hand is the sunrise my right the sunset. Identical in almost every way yet in total opposition.  Up goes the left.  Down goes the right.  One represents awakening of the mind and hope and all things possible.  The other symbolizing disappointment and regret or accomplishment and satisfaction or disappointment and accomplishment or regret and satisfaction.  Possibly even regret and accomplishment, but never disappointment and satisfaction.  Disappointment and satisfaction will make your head explode.

Literally.

In the most humble way possible, I'd like to say that my first ever attempt at interpretive dance while hand jazzing was amazing.  To be fair, it was my first attempt at interpretive dance, with or without hand jazzing.  I'd still like to say that it was amazing.

I'd like to say that it was amazing, but if I am being honest I can not in good conscience say that it was amazing.  I will not go as far as to say that it was a disgrace, it merely needs a lot of work.  It needs a lot of work that it will never receive.  I will never deploy hand jazz interpretive dance again.   

Ever.

Today's Jazz Hands were decidedly not amazing.  Day one-hundred and forty complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 139

SUNDAY, MAY 19th, 2013  

Found it!  

It's always in the last place you look.  Happy to report that it was not far up my ass, partly up my ass or dangling near my ass like a dingleberry.

No stone was left unturned...yet it happened to be right there in front of me the entire time.  Go figure.

I will wrap this whirlwind jam packed nonstop fleeting weekend with an exhale of a Jazz Hands deployment.   Arms up.  Flail hands.  Breathe out.  

Day one-hundred and thirty-nine complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 138

SATURDAY, MAY 18th, 2013  

Where is my mind?

Not the center of the nervous system "brain."  The Mind.  Capital "M."  The royal Mind...

In Hippocrate's words, "Men ought to know that from nothing else but the brain come joys, delights, laughter, and sports, and sorrows, griefs, despondency, and lamentations."

Scientists will attempt to convince you that the brain and the mind are inseparable entities.  This is a blatant fallacy.  Scientists are almost always at least 40% wrong half of the time.

This I know for certain:  my brain is most definitely inside my head.  My mind, on the other hand...nowhere to be found.  Some might tell you that it's way up my ass...but that's mostly complete nonsense.  If my mind happens to be up my ass, it is not "way" up there.  Rather, just sort of hanging out in the region...not unlike a dingleberry.  But I assure you, I have looked and it is not there hanging on for dear life in the region most commonly associated with the final process of digestion.  Nope.

Truth is, today, my mind is on the winning side of an impromptu game of hide and seek.  It seems to have found a fairly good hiding spot.  

Let's be perfectly clear about this.  I have not misplaced my mind.  It just happens to be an elusive little shit.

With my feet in the air and my head on the ground...

Where is my mind?

Today's Jazz Hands sought without success.  Day one-hundred and thirty-eight complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 137

FRIDAY, MAY 17th, 2013  

Today I deployed Jazz Hands from the best hiding place EVER.  

Day one-hundred and thirty-seven complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 136

THURSDAY, MAY 16th, 2013  

I'd prefer not to go the cliché route here, so I will refrain from referencing "one finger pointing outward, the others point inward", or "what you see in other people are reflections of yourself" nonsense.  It is fairly common to see people casting judgment on unsuspecting victims, inadvertently exposing their own insecurities and weaknesses in turn.  We shall refer to these types of characters as "judgmentally ill."  Although none of us are immune to this sickness, I'm sure.

The next time you witness a first-hand account of unnecessary judgmental deploymentation, be certain to tell the deployer not to be so hard on themselves.

Revealed in the people that surround us are reminders of all the little things we do not appreciate about ourselves and if we could divide ourselves up into two equal halves, the result would be the division of the person you don't mind so much and its arch nemesis, the dreaded alter-ego.  The fiercest, most despicable antagonist of them all.

There are many examples of the alter-ego antagonist in modern film and literature.  Darren Aronofsky's original film "Black Swan" and the novel, "Fight Club" written by Chuck Palahniuk, later turned into the David Fincher film by the same name, are a couple of great examples that readily come to mind.

These stories remind us that, at times, we can be our own worst enemy.  This is no revelation...but relevant, nonetheless. 

I suppose this is the train of thought that led to the birth of Metaphor Mitch.  He is the self-doubt, indecisive, overbearing, short tempered, self-serving, unreasonable jerk that I see in myself from time to time (hopefully not all of those at once, instead spread out over long stretches of time, isolated and surrounded by great lengths of the lovable, protagonist version of me).  Add to the list of unsavory Mitch characteristics:  inflated self-confidence.

Today's hand jazzing entry hopefully serves to clarify the statement that Mitch was now outside of my head and has become a physical human being.  It shall also serve as an attempt to convince you that I am not half crazy (or completely crazy, whichever you assume is the case).  I am merely projecting my antagonist, personification of an alter-ego onto the physical world so that I may truly take out my frustrations on something tangible, instead of the abusive, inner-dialogue that has plagued me for far too long. 

You don't merely project your imperfections on just anyone.  No.  You must find someone nearby that would qualify as an antagonist on their own accord.  Someone you do not trust, respect, or particularly like makes for a perfectly good projection candidate.  If this person happens to be someone you are in direct competition with on a regular basis, it makes you try that much harder.  If you find yourself entangled in a heated battle of Nine Lives with this antagonist, with your very own, personal Mitch, you will thoroughly enjoy deploying a particularly devastating beach ball spike unto their face. 

It's probably a good idea to isolate just one Mitch...too many Mitches and you will be living in a world full of people you can't stand to be around.  Locate your Mitch, your Black Swan, your Tyler Durden.  Spike them in the face with a beach ball if you must...or perhaps what suits you is playing hide and seek with your Mitch.  Whatever suits your fancy.  There are all sorts of games you can play and many ways of playing those games to help you confront those nasty shortcomings, big and small, personified or not. 

Don't let your judgmental illness get the better of you.  May the results of your internal struggles fair far better than that of the protagonists in today's aforementioned films. 

So...with your feet in the air and your head on the ground...try this trick and spin it...yeah!

An extra enthusiastic deployment of Jazz Hands to anyone that can identify the relevance of the above reference in today's entry.

Today's Jazz Hands had the upper hand.  Day one-hundred and thirty-six complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 135

WEDNESDAY, MAY 15th, 2013  

"However beautiful the strategy, you should occasionally look at the results."

-Winston Churchill

There are a lot of ways to win a game of Nine Lives.  Brute force is known to be an effective strategy, overpowering your opponents with spiked beach ball after spiked beach ball, ultimately wearing down the competition until they just can't take any more of your pummeling.  This strategy comes with a price, though.  Raw power may appear unrefined and represent an inherent, uncontrollable threat; moreover, boldness is extremely memorable and fairly iconic, carrying over a reputation from one game to the next.  The power strategy works today, but tomorrow never forgets.

The game of Nine Lives is the perfect place to play hide and seek.  The player that disappears, the invisible competitor, has a distinct, long term edge.  This passive strategy provides an "under the radar" approach, and not a single opponent will remember your victorious emergence.  You may simply come out of hiding at the perfect moment, keeping your disguise a mystery for future games, and destroy the opposition with subtlety.

Today's Jazz Hands bided their time.  Day one-hundred and thirty-five complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 134

TUESDAY, MAY 14th, 2013  

A parasite is something that benefits from living in or on its host by deriving nutrients at said host's expense.  Habitually relying on and/or exploiting its host while giving nothing in return, is also a common characteristic of a parasite.

Thomas Cole saw this trait in humanity, which led to his five part series of paintings titled "The Course of Empire"  where Cole artistically depicted the phase of human civilization with the emergence of an empire leading to gluttony leading to decay (I realize that I have listed only three phases, but I had a tendency to fall asleep in my Art History classes).

Quite parasitic, this depiction of humanity, no?

My daily workplace commute could not be a more fitting representation of this natural human tendency to feed off of its host (earth), as covered adequately in a previous post.  On this commute of mine, where gluttony begins to swallow the environment whole, where the first evidence of decay emerges, there sits a store that sells beads (yeah right).  To the outside world, this is just a place of business that supplies the abundant societal need for cheap, handmade plastic jewelry held together by thread.  Most passersby recognize a store in a row of many paying no mind whatsoever.  Bead Store Owner just wants to blend in, be one of the many lookalike storefronts, dealing with the random preteen hoping to make something nice for Mother and/or Best Friend on the cheap...an annoyance for a clerk hoping to file nails or sending text messages to Mother or Best Friend while passing time and collecting a nominal sum of cash for sitting there filing nails or sending text messages to Mom or BFF.  It's a good show.  This store is likely to sell a few beads here and there, but mostly they deal irreverence with great success.  Sometimes blending in is the idea.  Notched in a cozy sandwich of strip mall convenience.  Second rate Thai food to the left.  Run down dry cleaner to the right.  Beads for all occasions...store hours 11am to 3pm.  LOL.

We all play hide and seek from time to time.  There are days we want to stand out in the crowd, take center stage.  The desire for individuality strong.  We can conquer the world on these occasions and surround ourselves with eager minds, yelling to them to take notice!  Render the dragon slayed.

Then there are those opposing days where solitude sounds quite appealing.  To disappear completely.  Vanish.  To live in a world where there is no want for anything, where no earnest pull to contribute to society whatsoever would be an ideal outcome (argue if you may, but if you've ever wanted to go sit on a tropical beach with nobody else around for a day, you know exactly what I speak of).  None of us are that important after all.  We all pretend to be, we all want to be and we all go out of our way to convince anyone willing to pay attention of our irreplaceable relevancy.

Or perhaps we're merely trying to convince ourselves that we...are...oh...so...very...important.  But we know better.


Some children are terrific hide and seekers.  Some better at the seeking, some at the hiding.  Think back to those endless summer nights in the backyard, you didn't want to be the seeker.  You didn't want to be "it."  You wanted to disappear, didn't you?  And you didn't want to be found...you desired your competitors to be found, and then only reveal yourself when good and ready, on your terms, keeping that perfect hiding place to yourself for future competitions.  To not be found, that was the idea.

We all grow up, of course.  But the spirit of that child, the one that liked to disappear and not be found still lives within each and every one of us (not unlike a parasite, it eats away at you).  This artful skill to disappear can be an effective tool for adults in all sorts of situations.  Suppose you have a store that sells beads, but in reality you're selling something else...and you need that store to disguise the actual nature of business taking place behind closed doors.  Suppose you need to blend in and disappear into the monotony of the landscape.  The seekers have no chance...unless they happen to desire beads...which is highly unlikely.

The need to stand out, the need to blend in...you don't have to be one or the other...it's okay to be both.  Yesterday for example, my hand jazzing was worthy of an audience.  I could have worked the crowd, dazzled them with a brilliant display, both dramatic and bold.  My Jazz Hands were electric...I was a jazz handing rock star...yesterday.

Today I merely want to close the curtains and jazz my hands quietly...to nobody.  I would like to very much hide behind these words that I type and then fade away into the evening.  Today I don't want to be found.  Today I want to find that perfect hiding space.  To completely blend in.  I want to be a bead store, wedged between Thai food and dry cleaners.

I'd just rather not be a parasite today. 

Today's Jazz Hands stuck out like a sore thumb.  Day one-hundred and thirty-four complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 133

MONDAY, MAY 13th, 2013  

If my commute proves to be dicey, his commute is dicier.  If I boast about an interesting weekend, his was boastier.  If I talk loudly, his voice is made of thunder.  If I jazz my hands with enthusiasm, his hand jazzing...oh wait...He's too good for Jazz Hands.

Who can withstand more duress?  Who is faster?  Stronger?  More clever?  Must everything be a tedious competition?  Of course it does.  I guess we must learn to embrace the idea of it.

Today's Jazz Hands were rock solid.  Good balance.  Nice aesthetics.  I slowed things waaaay down for a dramatic, super slow-mo effect...with surprisingly good results.

Day one-hundred and thirty-three complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 132

SUNDAY, MAY 12th, 2013  

Today's Jazz Hands are for all of the moms out there.  It is true that without them there would be no concerns of an ever increasing global population problem, but it is reasonable to suggest that without them we would not be here at all.  At least 90% chance of nonexistence sans mothers.

The first man would have had to be exceptionally smart and resourceful to figure out an alternative measure for the human race to procreate...although without the possibility of sex, perhaps this first man would have been able to focus his thoughts and energy on a viable solution.

The bottom line is that even if this first man were smart enough, resourceful enough, etc...to find a way for the human race to thrive without women, what fun would life be without the female distraction?  Who exactly would have wanted to live in that world? 

I would like to thank all of the moms that have brought us into the world and molded us into the people we are today.  I would like to thank my mom for making me...or at least doing her part.  I would like to thank Wife for doing her part to bring Kid A and Kid B into the world, and someday we will appreciate the wonderful people they have become (there is some pride in who they have become to this point, but they have a looooong way to go before we totally buy in).  I would like to thank Wife for putting up with endless nonsense and carrying on with the responsibilities of parenthood with resiliency.  Some days she likely feels as though she has three children instead of two...which is not far from the truth.  

Mothers, today's enthusiastic Jazz Hands are for you (and made possible by you).  Day one-hundred and thirty-two complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 131

SATURDAY, MAY 11th, 2013  

My first full day without a voice of reason to speak of went fairly well, all things considered.  The freedom of that burden far outweighs the need for a guiding conscience.  

What could possibly be the downside to this?  The risks involved are nothing compared to the rewards.  As evidence, my hand jazzing went particularly well today.  No nagging voice suggesting that it's a waste of time and that I look ridiculous.  

I thought this day's Jazz Hands were fantastic, if I may say so.  I'm not suggesting that I am ready to take the deployments on the road or anything like that, but I've come a long way since January 1st.  Without that nagging shroud of doubt hovering about, limitation is a thing of the past.

Day one-hundred and thirty-one complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 130

FRIDAY, MAY 10th, 2013  

He is the blood, the wound and the raging storm.
I am the needle, the scar and the cellar door.

I don't know how to put this any other way, so I'll just come out and say it outright...

I am divorcing my voice of reason.  We have been going through some tough times lately and neither of us are up to the arduous task of relationship maintenance.  I have come to the conclusion that Mitch is no longer welcome inside my head.  The good news is that there exists a greater than 42% chance of living a healthy, productive life without 50% of one-third of my psyche.  Dr. Sigmund Freud identified the "Conscience" and the "Ideal Self" as the two components of the Superego, and I will be damned if I let the latter continue to batter the former.  I still have my precious Id and I will not let go of my Ego.  I will carry on with the ideal self without the constant, erroneous banter of my conscience.  If my math is good, I am left with approximately 80% of my entire psyche intact.  If I had ever received 80% on a math quiz throughout the duration of my formal educational phase, I would have been beside myself with joy...except Mitch would have intervened with his usual emotional abuse, killing the moment entirely.

Out, damned voice!  Out I say!

Until now, my eyes have been open but their senses shut tight.

The bad news is that this particular deal that we have reached releases Mitch into the world as a physical human being.  Even worse news, he does not get to come back as Mitch Hedberg.  If that were the case I would have unleashed him long ago.

We have the same blood type.  We share DNA.  We probably even where the same type of shoes.  But we are no longer one entity.  We will still disagree.  He may continue to ridicule.  But we no longer play for the same team.  We are competitors and I do not feel the slightest bit of guilt over it.

That pesky thing is solely his, now.  I have washed my hands of it.  Of him.

Jazz Hands of the highest order are...well...in order.

 It's time to serve...

Today's Jazz Hands divided and conquered.  Day one-hundred and thirty complete.