365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 212

WEDNESDAY, JULY 31st, 2013

If Sundays are cliché, Mondays ambiguous and Tuesdays metaphorical, then I suppose Wednesdays are reserved for irony.

A water tower provides much needed fresh water to a thirsty populous, right up until it collapses under its own weight and lands on several members of the life force it has been sustaining.  This very event recently occurred in a large midwestern city suburb.

The odds of getting struck by lightning, bitten in half by a shark, attacked by a mule or crushed by a vending machine are all far greater to most, but those statistics have changed to 100% for several unlucky people who happened to be standing in the wrong place in exactly the right time.

Of course we all know the potential dangers of water and how powerfully unhealthy too much of it at any one time can be.  Flash floods wash people away and destroy entire towns from time to time, too much rain will destroy acres of food crops, and toppling water towers will not think twice about crushing anything under them.

But just like the blood running through the rivers and channels in our bodies, without it we die.  Better yet, we wouldn't be here in the first place.  Our reliance on this world's circulatory system has a potentially harmful price if not properly respected.  It would serve us well to remember that when standing in the shadows of a water tower.

Today I jazz my hands to get my circulatory system pumping adequately.  Join me if you wish, just don't topple under your own weight.

Day two-hundred and twelve complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 211

TUESDAY, JULY 30th, 2013

It is not the loss of blood that kills you first, it's the lack of circulation.  Medics will pump you full of saline solution to prevent organs from shutting down when blood is not readily available.  Saline is salt water, abundantly available and will sustain circulation, and life, for a short period of time.  Time does not choose sides and certainly does not favor you in the battle for life and death.  But salt water likes you immensely.

Rivers are arteries and the waters flowing within them sustain a saline planet teeming with life.

When a river's water deviates or is liberated from intention, new pools and lakes are forged, creating new forms of existence.

Once upon a recent journey from Northerly Northland to Southerly Southland, Family, Plus One, and I had a brief encounter with the world's roaring arteries.  We peered into the swirling bowl of churning waters as it fell off a dramatic, rock ledge, with our hands clamped down on iron barriers, mist rising to meet us high above the canyon.  White water rushed down competing for space with boulders and embankments, with proof that over time, water is the victor.  Perhaps time chooses sides after all.

The river's journey is everlasting, at times at peace and other times with great haste.  The rushing white water, the mist rising above, the deposited pools, ponds, lakes, seas and oceans, there is no end.  Even the evaporation comes back as rain, creating rivers with rushing white water, waterfalls with mist rising high above, deposited pools, ponds, lakes, seas and saline oceans, teeming with life.

I can feel the whitewater rushing through my arms and fingers as I deploy my jazzing hands today.  I have dramatic waterfalls flowing off of steep ledges within my heart and mist rising high above.  If one day these saline rivers are liberated from their intentions, new pools will be forged, creating new forms of life.

This journey is everlasting.

Day two-hundred and eleven complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 210

MONDAY, JULY 29th, 2013

Mondays are much less cliché overall.  Mondays are also much more adept at math and grammar.  Sunday was a bloody massacre of bad equations, grammatical errors and absurd clichés.

Speaking of bloody massacres, I casually noticed Mitch listening to Chopin's Funeral March once again this morning, also noteworthy is the long-sleeved shirt he is wearing.  Oh, Mitch...I hope you haven't gone and jumped the gun on me.  It's far too early in the season for long-sleeved shirts and funeral marches.

All in due time, my friendemisis.

Since we're on the topic, I notice that my blood has not properly adapted to the warm, southern air just yet.  Still thickened from the moderate climate of Northerly Northland, the heat down here is rather suffocating.  The silver lining is that if I get cut badly before my blood completely transitions, it may take slightly longer to bleed out and time is a significant factor when the loss of three liters of blood or so will kill you.  Time is just not on your side in these matters.  This is good information to have, but I sincerely hope it is not a factor in the near future.

Today's Jazz Hands have good circulation.

Day two-hundred and ten complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 209

SUNDAY, JULY 28th, 2013

This entry is going to sound cliché.  It is Sunday after all, and Sunday's, by nature, are cliché, so why not embrace it?  If you resist, you may find yourself entangled in a losing battle.  

Let's dive right in, shall we?  

The grass is not always greener, you should know.  The pursuit of happiness is a mad scramble to look for those lush pastures just out of reach, but what on earth happens when you get there?  Will you be satisfied?

If we merely change the wording of the original idea, we may be on to something.  

Rearrange the pursuit of happiness into the happiness of pursuit.  To say that getting there is half the fun is fallacy, although one of my favorite clichés as a parent.  Getting there should be 90% of the fun, and that may be a conservative figure, still.  As a family, and as an individual, an abundance of travel can be a significant source of entertainment...but it's that carrot dangling in front of you that makes you crave it that much more.  What happens when you get the carrot?  You eat it.  Then you start looking for another...because the pursuit of the carrot is rewarding, and the potential reward, the anticipation of said reward, is a renewable energy source.

It is okay to feel satisfied, otherwise the potential for reward will ring hollow and meaningless...but if you sit on your ass enjoying what you have for too long, the greener pastures will become too far out of reach.

Reflect on yesterday for what it provided, embrace today for what it's worth, crave tomorrow's potential  for all that it may offer.  There is a chance that the grass is not greener once you arrive, but there's a chance that it just might be.  Finding out isn't the point, pursuing it is.

Tomorrow, it's back to the routine for me.  Back to the horribly acted play of make-believe relevance.  Back to my game of hide and seek with Mitch.  I feel a sense of urgency now, more so than before, to get to that carrot dangling in front of me.  I have no idea what tomorrow's carrot will taste like, if for some reason I catch it, but I'm missing the point if I don't do my part to find out.

This is the perspective from someone that has just had a vacation.  This sense of urgency is likely the result of someone that has just over one-hundred and fifty Jazz Hands entries to complete the hand jazzing story...the end of which should be satisfying, but hopefully a stepping stone to a beyond filled with potential.  A portal of sorts, because every time a door closes, a new one opens...to be cliché.

Today's Jazz Hands wonder what's beyond...

Day two-hundred and nine complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 208

SATURDAY, JULY 27th, 2013

Northerly Northland Travelogue Day Seven.

It is dawn as we arrive at the homestead.  Family, Plus One and I have finally made it.  Not much has changed at all since departing, but from north to south, I immediately notice the thick, humid air.  

Some things never change...or they do change, just not with much haste.

In the past two weeks I have traveled forty-two hundred miles, 50% by air, 50% by car and I am 100% exhausted.  

Plus One reunited with her family as we Reunite with Family Dog and Family Cat.  We may now ride out the remainder of our brief time off together as a family in the place we call home.

I should note that a couple of new forms of Jazz Hands have been discovered on this trip.  The first is when you are at an airport bathroom and find that the toilet paper is exceptionally thin and you get a little bit of the brown, tacky stuff on your finger...the hand motion that ensues is a disgusting form of hand jazzing.  This occurred, of course, on day one of my travels.  The second type is when you return home from a vacation to find a large frog in your toilet bowl and you throw your arms and hands in the air as it jumps out at you.  For full effect, this form of Jazz Hands should be accompanied by screaming like a little girl.

Amazing how my vacation's hand jazzing experiences were book ended in eerily similar locations.

Today's Jazz Hands are happy to be home, despite the big frog in the toilet.

Day two-hundred and eight complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 207

FRIDAY, JULY 26th, 2013

Northerly Northland Travelogue Day Six.

Swift, final farewells are made as Family, Plus One and I climb into the car for a thirteen-hundred mile journey south, leaving Northerly Northland behind.

Transition was the theme of this summer's vacation, as all vacations seem to be based on their overwhelming briefness and we too shall transition our lives back to routine.  Our thickening blood, getting used to slightly cooler temperatures will need a thinning up as the air will warm considerably the further south we travel.  

Along the way we take a short hike to view impressive waterfalls, water transitioning from one place to another, carving rocks with time and pressure.  

I jazz my hands to the violent journey millions of gallons of water travel, hoping our journey south will be far less turbulent.  An overnight drive awaits.  Best get to it.

Day two-hundred and seven complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 206

THURSDAY, JULY 25th, 2013

Northerly Northland Travelogue Day Five.

Yet another day of transition, packing up our things and moving to a new venue.  This stop on Northerly Northland Summer Tour 2013 is the staging ground for the long journey south.  Gluttony firmly in our rearview mirror, our vacation is waning.

Although the abundance of food and drink is in our past, we still have a good portion of our visication with family to embrace before shoving off.  The weather still provides ample opportunity for a stroll around the block to reflect on life behind and life to come, small talk, big talk and appreciating the moment at hand.  

An aroma of change fills the air.  

Today's Jazz Hands can't seem to stop the momentum of time.

Day two-hundred and six complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 205

WEDNESDAY, JULY 24th, 2013

Northerly Northland Travelogue Day Four.

The weather breaks and another perfect northern summer day is on tap as well as a house full of friends, family, food, drink and backyard games of skill, all in abundance, save for the skill.

I appreciate, now more than ever, how much the northern mind embraces fleeting perfection.  Take but one summer day for granted and you've missed a brief opportunity.  Much like Family, Plus One and I must take advantage of every second of our time on Northerly Northland Tour 2013, the warm, summer months must be absorbed to last far beyond the transition to the forthcoming colder air.  

Our day begins with many hellos, but transitions to just as many goodbyes.  

Today's Jazz Hands absorbed the warmth of the sun, the warmth of familiarity, and the warmth of my family and friends.

Day two-hundred and five complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 204

TUESDAY, JULY 23rd, 2013

Northerly Northland Travelogue Day Three.

The wind and rain made good on its promise.  One last opportunity at a glimpse through the morning looking glass shattered by soggy weather and dull, grey skies.

This is a day of transition.  The Family, Plus One and I pack up our belongings and head to a new phase of visication filled with an abundance of food, drink and good company, but at a different venue.

We are on tour and enjoying every second of it.

The weather breaks just enough for a spirited game of horse shoes at dusk.  Northern towns have their transitional seasons, their great people, and their competitive backyard games of skill, of which I have none.  

Today's Jazz Hands match the abundance of food and drink with genuine laughter.

Day two-hundred and four complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 203

MONDAY, JULY 22nd, 2013

Northerly Northland Travelogue Day Two.

As stable as this weather seems to be, you'd be a fool to believe it will ever change.  

Kid Two and I steal away for an early morning on the lake, the water is still and life is humming just under the looking glass.  Cool air, a rising sun warm on the skin and silence save for my jazzing hands stirring the rising mist.

The warming sun modestly stirs the air as tiny ripples begin to appear.  Kid Two catches some fish, we take pictures we wrestle with worms and hooks and wiggly Large Mouth Bass.  As the breeze transitions into a moderate wind, small ripples transition to moderate waves.  The life under the surface is no longer visible and our looking glass becomes distorted.  The fish say they've had enough and so we give them a much needed reprieve.  

Another day at the beach, an abundance of food, drink and good company concludes with increasing wind, clouds and a chance of overnight rain.  

A change is gonna come, but please, without haste.

Day two-hundred and three complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 202

SUNDAY, JULY 21st, 2013

Northerly Northland Travelogue Day One.

A change is gonna come, but please, without haste.  Transition is in abundance and it does not discriminate.  Northern summers are fleeting, so make them count while they last.

Today's Jazz Hands circled a northern lake on a pontoon boat, sat on a beach, ate well, drank better and rounded out the perfect summer evening next to a campfire surrounded by family and friends.  

Day two-hundred and two complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 201

SATURDAY, JULY 20th, 2013

This morning I board a flight and head thirteen-hundred miles north to join Wife and Family, Plus One. It's an early departure and my life will be a whirlwind, a full week of family, friends and gluttony.  

I will no doubt have some observations to report as well as Jazz Hands deployments to document.  I shall travel with pen and in turn fill you in with all of the juicy, exhausting details upon my return.

Today I jazz my hands to smooth flights, fun times, much needed breaks, whirlwind tours, and a week of catching up.  In one week's time I will round up Wife and Family, Plus One, and haul them back thirteen-hundred miles south by road, rain or shine.  It's time we face our soggy obstacles head on.  

Until then.

Day two-hundred and one has just begun.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 200

FRIDAY, JULY 19th, 2013

Meet sixteen-year-old Becky.  In 2004 she stepped off of a school bus and was struck by a truck.  She died two days later.  Unfortunately, it took her death to spring new, much needed bus safety regulations to life.

We cope with so many unpredictable risks every day that the predictable ones are frustrating.  Faith in a system and in people to keep us and our children safe is not nearly enough.  Becky's cross laden with flowers and her name written on the top beam is a commute landmark and a solemn reminder that these streets are painfully honest and volatile.

Day two-hundred is dedicated to Rebecca McKinney.

Meet twenty-six-year old Keith.  One reckless night this past February, Keith and his girlfriend, among other friends, were clocked at over 127 MPH on their motorcycles, heading over a bridge I drive every day.  There are conflicting reports of exactly why the crash occurred, but Keith was ejected from his bike and died shortly thereafter, his girlfriend sustained critical injuries.  Despite the ultimate cause of the incident, whether the situation was exasperated by highway patrol in pursuit or not, this was a case of pushing risk to the outer limits.  Some people just dare to live on the edge.  Faith in a combination of fate and luck is just not nearly enough.  Keith's motorcycle helmet affixed atop his cross, the memorial is a commute landmark and a solemn reminder that these streets are unforgiving, relentless and should not be toyed with.

Day two-hundred is also dedicated to Keith Williamson and his girlfriend, Jenna.

Meet Sunset McMullen, age unknown.  Another commute landmark, she eternally pushes a small dog in a stroller on the same stretch of sidewalk, day by day.  Bleached, platinum blond perm, or possibly a wig, blue, terrycloth, spaghetti-strap top, short shorts and flip flops, some things never change.  Including her costume.  She is not of this time and she is timeless all at once.  Might we have another time traveler in our midst?  Does anyone else notice this veteran of life, walking back and forth with her little fur baby in a stroller, every single day?  Is she even real?  Sunset is a living landmark and a reminder that these streets nurture routine and make it all too easy to forget just how unforgiving, volatile and relentless they can be.

Day two-hundred is also dedicated to Sunset McMullen.

Sunset McMullen, a namesake given due to the intersection where I see her regularly, is a commute fixture as much as Becky and Keith.  Each adding their personal touch to my routine.  Reminders of innocence, of daring risks, of mortality and of timelessness.  Of patterns and routines and sequences.  Becky, Keith and Sunset each raise more questions than they can possibly answer.  

Day two-hundred is also dedicated to all of those answers that we may never find and also dedicated to those necessary questions, despite the expectation or lack thereof. 

I jazz my hands this morning for the innocent, for the risk takers, for the bleached blond wig wearers and little dogs in strollers.  I jazz my hands this morning to questions that will never be answered.

Day two-hundred complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 199

THURSDAY, JULY 18th, 2013

I apologize in advance for the strong language contained herein.  If anthemic profanity is not your thing, read tomorrow's entry.  You've been forewarned.

Today I will conquer the world and nothing can stand in my way.  Put a box on my head, spike beach balls at my face, I will march on, phased not.

These Jazz Hands go out to anyone who has ever had their face rubbed in shit.
These Jazz Hands go out to anyone who has fought for every inch of ground they stand on.
These Jazz Hands go out to all of the men and women like our good friend, Pops, who stand tall despite life's circumstance delivering one devastating beat down after another.
These Jazz Hands go out to anyone who has crawled through miles of the most foul smelling shit, and came out squeaky clean on the other side.

These Jazz Hands go out to sixteen-year-old Becky and twenty-six-year-old Keith, whom I see every day during my routine commute into work.  And for whom a bell, sadly tolls.

Life hands out blows.  Some of them are considerable setbacks.  Some are permanent.  Some fatal.

I stand here today, the shit almost completely wiped off of my face.  I may not know what it is like to climb a mountain, but I now know what it feels like to be told that I may attempt to ascend to the peak, if I so choose.

The great news is that I don't have to climb alone.

I wish more than anything that Wife were here to raise a toast (and to jazz our hands) to finally realizing the light at the end of a long, shitty tunnel.  However, she is thirteen-hundred miles north.  This toast, these jazzing hands that we would deploy together, would be in honor of all of those that have been knocked down, for those that have fought hard, for those that have wiped shit off their face just for the opportunity to climb their mountain.  This toast, these jazzing hands, would be in honor of those that do not have this opportunity due to an untimely end.

Together, we shall all jazz our hands as a matter of pride.  Together, we shall conquer the world and nothing can stand in our way.  Together we shall climb that fucking mountain and not look back.

We owe it to each other.  We owe it to Pops.  We owe it to sixteen-year-old Becky and twenty-six-year-old Keith.  We owe it to ourselves.

Two days hence I shall join Wife and Family, Plus One, on vacation in progress thirteen-hundred miles to the north and will raise an overdue toast and promptly jazz my hands upon arrival.  Until then, I will raise a toast with Family Dog.  I will jazz my hands and he will feverishly wag that crazy tail, then he will lick his balls.

Today's Jazz Hands are bullet proof.

Day one-hundred and ninety-nine complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 198

WEDNESDAY, JULY 17th, 2013

Family Dog and I had a good chat tonight, minus the face licking due to his obsessive compulsive cleansing of Family Cat's butt.

Family Dog does not, will not and can not jazz his paws.  He wags his tail, instead.  I suppose that tail wagging is, in a sense, the exact same thing as hand jazzing, just less awkward.  The great thing about Family Dog is regardless of the degree of my awkward deployments, he judges not and accepts me and my jazzing hands as-is.  Of course he can't verbalize this, but he says it with his eyes.

And then licks his balls.

Today's Jazz Hands were unconditional.

Day one-hundred and ninety-eight complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 197

TUESDAY, JULY 16th, 2013

A 40% chance of thunderstorms for the general area translates to a 100% chance of thunderstorms for various, specific locations.  Unfortunately, a 0% chance does not exist.  The point is that statistics lie to the individual.  If you get struck by lightning, the odds were stacked against the occurrence in the first place, but the fact still remains that there is a 100% chance that someone out there will sustain an unlikely, 54,000 degree (fahrenheit) jolt of supercharged electricity.  Go ahead.  Ask that person what they think about statistics.  You can attempt to console them with the knowledge that it's extremely rare to be struck by lightning twice, however I doubt this will be an effective ploy since the individual has already defied incredible odds once.

Earth is struck by more than one-hundred bolts of lightning every second.  Any one person has a one in three-thousand chance of being struck in their lifetime, while the odds of being struck in the United States in one calendar year is one in seven-hundred-thousand.

I could not find statistical data to support my theory that your chances increase exponentially with certain behavioral patterns stemming from a lack of common sense.

Your chances of being attacked by a shark in your lifetime is considerably less with the odds set at one in four-million.  Although, I can honestly say if you never go in the ocean, you have a 0% chance of being attacked by a shark in the ocean (the last line has been revised to allow the infinitely miniscule possibility of being attacked by a Sharknado while not in the ocean), but that does not protect you from mule kicks and falling vending machines.  Far more people die of malicious mules and vending machines plagued by gravity than shark attacks, yet I've never heard of anyone having a fear of either of those.

At every turn, whether golfing in a thunderstorm, swimming in shark infested waters, standing behind a pissed off mule or under a hovering vending machine, there are inherent risks.  None of the aforementioned threats pose a significant hazard, overall, but they add up little by little.  Eventually, if you gather up all the inherent dangers we face in our day to day lives from the absurd to the common, the general public has close to 40% chance of running into some form of compromising situation.  That translates to a 100% chance of running into some form of compromising situations for specific members of the population.  Unfortunately, a 0% chance does not exist.

Today's Jazz Hands proceed with caution.  Day one-hundred and ninety-seven complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 196

MONDAY, JULY 15th, 2013

A very quiet house, indeed.  

The only noise is a buzzing fridge and my voice while conducting a one-sided conversation with Family Dog.  Don't get me wrong, I love a good bout of sturdy argumentation, but it's nice when someone just listens to what you have to say and then licks your face.

The only noise besides a buzzing fridge and my voice while conducting a one-sided conversation with Family Dog is the wind outside, the chatter of the neighbor's chickens, the cars on the highway, the jets in the sky, the coffee machine burping, the clicking of the keyboard under my fingertips, a yard tool off in the distance, and the hum of the air conditioning unit.

And of course there are the voices inside my head, the ones that make these words possible.

Strange how noticeable all of the little sounds become without the usual, prominent noises that fill the air on a daily basis.

A hearty Jazz Hands deployment makes no noise, if you are wondering.  Hand jazzing is a very quiet and peaceful venture, save for the subtle pop of underused arm joints and rustling of my shirt's fabric and my shouting the words "Jazz Hands!" and Family Cat's justifiable judgment.

And of course there are the voices inside my head.

A very quiet house, indeed.

Today's Jazz Hands were deafening.  Day one-hundred and ninety-six complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 195

SUNDAY, JULY 14th, 2013

Considering the encouraging news of the receding waters, I have decided to head back home to see if it is habitable once again.  Leaving the family, plus one, behind to be safe, I am now home and have dry news to report.  Although the sky is still billowing with mountainous, impregnated clouds, a boat is not required for day to day, routine travel.  

I will stick around for the week to ensure the weather remains hospitable and if all is well by week's end, I shall head back to fetch the family, plus one.

Today's Jazz Hands traveled thirteen-hundred miles, one way.

Day one-hundred and ninety-five complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 194

SATURDAY, JULY 13th, 2013

The drive was long and tiring, but I was rewarded at the end of the journey with great friends, great food and a great photo forwarded to me from the soggy streets of greater Tampa Bay.

The image above is physical proof that Pops is both resilient and otherworldly.  Or that he is a very strong swimmer.  Or that his disappearance was not tied to tragedy.

The photo was taken by our resident Mexicuban from a location not far from where Pops usually sets up shop.  Without a doubt, that's our guy.  Notice the zombie posture and trademark red hat.  Nice find, ethnic neighbor.

Another notable detail regarding the picture:  It appears the relentless rain has shown enough mercy to allow the streets of greater Tampa to dry up, at least momentarily.  

Today's Jazz Hands were deployed in good company.  Day one-hundred and ninety four-complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 193

FRIDAY, JULY 12th, 2013

The sky is again thick with infinite shades of curdled blue and grey.  The rain has been frequent and fierce as of late and I fear our beloved Pops has been swept away by a torrential flash flood, along with our yellow, disposable camera.  How else might his most recent lengthy absence be logically explained?

The time has come for me and the family (plus one) to head for higher ground and get the hell out of town.

The monotonous drone of routine, of life's ubiquitous pattern and sequence will halt, if only for a very short while.  The family and I, plus one, will take to the road and head north toward familiarity, toward our previous existence of monotonous drone and ubiquity.  A nineteen hour, arduous trek of fast food consumption, Motown music and sleep deprivation awaits.  Bring on the coffee.  Bring on the late night truck stop bathroom breaks.  Bring on the monotonous drone of yellow lines, street lights and humming tires on asphalt.  Bring on Plus One, Daughter's BFF, accompanying us on our northland travel adventures, because two arguing children in the car for nineteen straight hours are only two-thirds enough fun.

It may be far too late for Pops, but there is still hope for me and the family, plus one.

Ironically, 365 Days of Jazz Hands need the monotonous drone of routine, ubiquitous pattern and sequence to survive.  Therefor, my next post shall occur upon my return to 42 inches above sea level, once the rains subside, a couple of short days from now.

Today's Jazz Hands are high and dry.

Day one-hundred and ninety-three complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 192

THURSDAY, JULY 11th, 2013

To be perfectly honest, time travel is not as cut and dry as you may think or want to believe.  For starters, it is quite disorienting.  Time and space are relative, as you know, and have an abundance of volatility, as you may not know.

As it happens, the past and future are difficult to differentiate. All of time feels very similar from a physical standpoint, and what you perceive as the future could very well be history.

The one thing most time travelers will not disclose is that the future offers many, many options, and nothing that happens tomorrow or beyond, is set completely in stone.

Hypothetically speaking, I could travel to the same day in the future on three separate occasions and have three completely differing experiences.  One could argue, and it would be a good argument, that my perspective at the point of arrival may dramatically influence the experience.  But that does not reflect my point.  The future is mere potential, and any visit is but one small glimpse of possibility.

That's the trouble with the future.

The trouble with the past is that it never looks quite how you remember it, which can be corrosive.  Viewing time gone by with a learned perspective changes everything.  And since you are who you are based on the cumulation of moments and experiences, just think what may result by seeing any one of those moments with a refocused lens.

Of course, this is all assuming that you can differentiate between what has been, what is and what will (might) be.  Time travel can be a bitch.

I believe I have seen the future, and there is both good and bad to report.  Nothing worth having is attained without a bit of spilt blood, which covers the bad news.  The good news is that nothing worth having is attained without a bit of spilt blood.

Today's Jazz Hands don't know if they're going up or down.

Day one-hundred and ninety-two complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 191

WEDNESDAY, JULY 10th, 2013

Today I had intended on providing details of impressive thunderstorms and pretend coworkers.  Of award worthy performances and great floods.  Of alter egos and daring escapes, of blood, of guts, and harrowing tales of mice and men.

However, these Jazz Hands will exhibit restraint.

Today's hand jazzing was deployed while wearing long sleeves and that is the only detail of any real significance right now.  

Day one-hundred and ninety-one complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 190

TUESDAY, JULY 9th, 2013

He approaches, ripe with trepidation, hesitates, and proceeds to accept my challenge.  With a giant, deep breath and a renewed sense of relief, I jazz my anxious hands, contractually binding our verbal agreement.  Mitch rolls his disapproving eyes, as you might expect.  Eye rolling is his thing.  He is judgmentally ill, after all.  We have a pact, nonetheless.

Now the work begins on this unified ambition.  There are details to sort.  Logistics to logisticate.  Lists must be listed!  We will require lists to list alphabetically, lists to list numerically and lists to list randomly.  Then there is the research.  We must not overlook the several minutes of arduous research needed to pull this game of games off.  It's best that I get to it, straight away.  Let the games begin...or at the very least, let the beginning stages of the initial planning phases for said games begin.

Today's Jazz Hands were an act of solidarity.

Day one-hundred and ninety complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 189

MONDAY, JULY 8th, 2013

And so the week begins with a productive outing for the family dog, exercising his daily constitutional right to escapade, resulting in my conditioned, strong urge to jazz my hands.  Admittedly, the auto response to deploy Jazz Hands occurs in many routine situations throughout the course of a normal day.  Lucky for me, I don't have many days that qualify as normal...though routine seems to be inevitable.

I do not regard this as a negative, aside from the fact that enough abnormality strung together, back to back, forms a new pattern of normal...if you really want to get technical about routines and sequences, that is.

We've been down this road before (reinforcing said inevitable routine argument).  Today I will not resist the pattern of life.  I shall drink my coffee, I shall exercise my constitutional right, I shall drive eastward, across the bay to the midsize city, I shall time travel, I shall travel through the creative thought sucking portal, I shall deal with numerous bouts of nonsense, I shall commute westward, back across the bay, bound for a small village to melt into the evening, and I shall come to terms with it.  As dawn and dusk are certain to bracket our day with familiarity and sequence, I shall embrace this inevitability.

It helps knowing this daily humdrum pattern will be placed on hiatus in the near future...at least for a short while.  The details of which, of course, will be made public soon enough.  Until then, dawn, commute, nonsense, commute, dusk, repeat.  Not necessarily in that particular order.

Today's Jazz Hands conditionally responded.

Day one-hundred and eighty-nine complete.