365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 243

SATURDAY, AUGUST 31st, 2013

Today is Prioritization Saturday.  The goal is to scrutinize the specific order and importance of things, rank items from top to bottom, best to worst, least to most, favorable to detestable.

For starters, Saturdays rank #1 overall in the order of days of the week (Tuesdays taking last place, of course).  Saturday is the first day of the week that sleeping in a tad becomes acceptable, although not very probable.  Improbable due to Family Dog jumping on my chest and licking me in the face.  This would normally irritate me on the average day, knowing I were required to drag myself into the shower to get ready for a long day in my place of pretend importance.  But Saturdays are not ordinary days.

Instead the lick in the face alarm clock signifies that it's time to drag myself out of bed for a long day of whatever the hell I want to do in some combination of a few things I have to do.  Like scrutinizing and prioritizing and making lists and checking them twice.

What I choose to do with those lists are another story.  The House of Ego needs a lot of this and that and the scrutinized list of priorities to accommodate said House of Ego's needs is overwhelmingly long.  Hence the prioritization of things to do within and around it.  

Not only does the House of Ego need a lot of undivided attention which requires a prioritized list of attention needing things, it requires more than one list.  There is the list that consists of the inside things to do and then there's the list that consists of the outside things to do.  First we must rank which order we tackle each of those lists.  

It's raining, so the list of things to do inside ranks #1 of which list gets top priority.  

Of course there are other lists to consider consisting of Saturday social tasks like places to eat, taking Family Dog for a long walk through the new neighborhood, unusually long showers, enjoying an extra cup of coffee, wine shopping, and, of course, the making of lists and the prioritizing and scrutinizing of not only the items on the list but of the lists themselves.  Entertainment at its finest.  

Of course this does not paint the entire picture, and the possibilities are endless besides the fact that there is not enough time in the day to accomplish all of the necessities AND the wantities.  Again, a sign that the importance of prioritizing is ever relevant.

I will not neglect myself of Saturday's entertainment value, I can not avoid the time a Saturday affords me to accomplish necessary tasks around the home and it would be a crime against humanity if the responsibility to jazz my hands is overlooked.

Today's Jazz Hands are top priority.

Day two-hundred and forty-three complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 242

FRIDAY, AUGUST 30th, 2013

'Tis the final Friday of August, what better time to offer up our monthly Statistical Data Update!?

9,000 site visits to date and counting...I'd like to welcome in Israel, Yakutsk, Irkutsk and Kamchatka, along with the rest of the globe as we have now achieved what was once believed to be impossible, a farce even...

WORLD DOMINATION!!!

The trick was starting with Australia and building off of that stronghold, slowly spreading to the northeast, securing Asia's border with North America.  From there, both established fronts swept through Asia toward the western borders where growing strength in numbers were available to secure two territories (Ukraine and Middle East), ultimately setting up a strategic end game.  End game began with staggering amounts of armies building up on the aforementioned two-territory front while North America was taken by storm.  The remainder of opponents were completely overwhelmed with brute force strength from there all the way to Madagascar, South Africa's eastern, island neighbor, where the game wrapped up in victorious fashion.  

Winner: Jazz Hands.

Today's Jazz Hands make a convincing argument that life is a game.

Day two-hundred and forty-two complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 241

THURSDAY, AUGUST 29th, 2013

You will be happy to know that I accomplished much today.  Of course, all that was accomplished was done in the name of made up projects in a poorly acted play where all the characters run around doing absurd things to make themselves feel important.  

Rule #1 in fake business:  The more you seem frantically out of breath within the work environment, the more praise will be written into the boss character's portion of the script on your behalf.

But still...

If success is measured in playing a role well and completing inane tasks at breakneck speed, resulting in said frantic out of breathiness, then today I stand atop the heap with a gold star on my chest, panting heavily.  That being said, the entire day was exactly like being in a dream where you are acutely aware that it is a dream.  Logic is defied and absurdity reigns supreme, but you come to terms with the nonsense because you are fully aware of the fiction unfolding before your very eyes.

Even after two-hundred and forty-one days of deployments, I find it somehow amusing that hand jazzing is the most normal, routine aspect of my day.  When everything except Jazz Hands is absurd, it's either a sad state of affairs, or a sign that I've finally found a certain comfort level with throwing my arms in the air and wiggling my hands about like a fool.

I've always been something of a fool, it's just that this hand jazzing resolution thing has helped me own it.  Jazz Hands has become my newfound baseline for normal.  The byproduct of this resolution bestowed upon me via popular vote, is me pushing the outer limits of my comfort zone, and now that this comfort level is unbreachable via standard hand jazzing, tonight's Jazz Hands will be done...with my feet.  Since my day was defined by absurdity and nonsense, I may as well embrace it and end this marathon of backward logic with a hearty foot jazzing.

Today's Jazz Feet are utterly ridiculous.  

Day two-hundred and forty-one complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 240

WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 28th, 2013

Dead ends.

Forensics have come up shy of anything resembling a lead in our Case Sturdy #3.  Any DNA samples collected were consistent with a standard workplace.  Our missing persons of interest had DNA scattered all over the place, as well as a hand full of others that you might find as many different people pass through on a daily basis.  No DNA samples raised an eyebrow.  Nothing unusual found.  

Dead end.

All fellow coworkers have been interrogated and scrutinized regarding their relationships with the persons of interest and/or their perception of the type of characters they are (were).

Dead end.

The abundance of blood found at the scene is consistent with the two missing persons and authorities are relatively convinced that one and potentially both parties are deceased, based on the amount of blood dispersed around the room.  

Dead end.

Neither party has used a credit card, a passport or visited a bank to withdraw money.  The possibility of identification fraud has not been ruled out, however.  Of course, nothing has been ruled out at this point due to dead ends at every turn.

That's your Case Study #3 status update.

Today's Jazz Hands are now up to speed.

Day two-hundred and forty complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 239

TUESDAY, AUGUST 27th, 2013

Terrible Tuesdays defy the essence of Jazz Hands.  For this reason and this reason alone, hand jazzing is an absolute necessity.  If hand jazzing is the last thing you want to do, it's the first thing you need to do.

Not only do you need to deploy Jazz Hands, you need to deploy them in such a manner that Family Cat jumps out of her skin and Family Dog barks at you.  You need to cause a stir.  You need to cause a Royal Jazz Hands Ruckus.

If you do this, Terrible Tuesday will not eat you alive.

Day two-hundred and thirty-nine complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 238

MONDAY, AUGUST 26th, 2013

The unmistakable sound of salt deploying jarred me from a sound sleep once again last night.   I was not about to miss an opportunity to catch someone in the act.

To my utter surprise, there he was holding a sandwich in one hand and a salt shaker in the other.

Robert Lochaven, with a mouth full of bread and cold cuts, mustard on the corner of his mouth, looked at me nonchalantly and said, "good morning."

Checking the clock, it's 3:42 am.  Technically, it's morning.

He sprinkles salt onto the business end of the sandwich and takes another bite.

I ask him pointedly how he found his way in.

The long answer that he provided is boring and you will be spared the setback.

The short answer, my summary of what Robert Lochaven explained to me in the wee hours of the morning, is that the consumption of large quantities of salt is a requirement for his particular mode of transportation, and since my home has so much of the grainy fuel, I may as well get comfortable with the idea of him stopping by from time to time.  He explained that since I have accepted so much salt into my life, I must also accept all that accompanies it.  And since I married a salt fiend a little over fifteen years ago, I must embrace the choices I've made in life and the unintended consequences that are married to them.  For better or for worse.

I must admit, the reason for moving was a tad misguided.  But I'm glad we made the transition anyways.  Everything will work out okay, even if it's not exactly how we imagine it.  Family Dog, as it turns out, has wisdom beyond his years, probably somewhere close to three (his age) times seven.

We spoke for around an hour, Robert Lochaven and I, plenty of time for him to adequately fuel up.  Before he left I had one burning question.  I could not let him leave without asking him when he's from.

"Soon" was his response.

He used the bathroom and then the house fell silent.  I fastened up the loaf of bread and went back to bed.  Looking at the clock, it read 3:42 am.

Despite what you may believe, today's Jazz Hands made no mention of "time travel."

Day two-hundred and thirty-eight complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 237

SUNDAY, AUGUST 25th, 2013

When I'm right, I'm right.  

I jazzed my hands a ridiculous amount of times at the birthday dance party last night and have a new found appreciation for Katy Perry and her pop music stylings...the festivities continued on through today with friends and food and enjoying life to the fullest.  

I love a day that is in perfect alignment with the Royal Jazz Hands.  

Today's Jazz Hands deployment are extraterrestrial.  They are transcendental.  They are on another level.  Today's Jazz Hands are your lucky star.

Day two-hundred and thirty-seven complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 236

SATURDAY, AUGUST 24th, 2013

My slumber was not disturbed by mysterious rummaging, refrigerator doors closing or salt deployments.  Meaning the culprit was much quieter this time around.  This is what I found upon dragging myself out of bed this fine, Saturday morning...

All salt variations found within this residence collected in one convenient location.  The bread was also left open, which is disconcerting.  I can't stand stale bread resulting from neglect.

This mystery will soon be solved.  But first a yard to manicure, a twelve-year-old birthday party to prepare for and some general odds and ends to tie up associated with moving from one home to another.

For the record, I have not deployed Jazz Hands to this point in the day.  This evening will provide ample opportunity to fervently jazz my hands as the birthday festivities include a dance party for a large quantity of pre-teens, for which I am supplying many hours worth of suitable, high energy music.  

Tonight I am DJ Jazz Hands.  

Today's Jazz Hands are forthcoming.

Day two-hundred and thirty-six complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 235

FRIDAY, AUGUST 23rd, 2013

And a salt shaker for every room...

Amongst the cluttershitspillover, a gem or two is inevitably found.  One thing we have an abundance of in the House of Ego are salt shakers of various shapes and sizes from both distant and local lands.  One is a keepsake from a Key West gift shop, vibrant crimson with Birds of Paradise painted around the circumference.  One is a miniature Coronita beer bottle turned salt shaker stolen from a Mexican cuisine restaurant somewhere far north where Mexican Cuisine is mistaken for something with loads of cheese mounded on the top (some say it's better that way).  One is an antique shaker fashioned as a tiny Coca Cola bottle, with thick, clear glass and a stainless steel top.  

Apparently, salt is a matter of life and death and each room must contain at least one shaker filled with the crystalized substance in the event of an emergency.  If a salt shaker is out of arms reach, you are not in my house.

As it turns out, a little over fifteen years ago, I married a salt fiend.  A gift shop can not be visited without falling in love with the exquisite craftsmanship of a hand painted salt dispenser.  A restaurant can never feel that their inventory is safe, if it dispenses salt.  And no meal is complete if the requisite amount of salt is not applied.  When the requisite amount of salt is applied...add more.

To be fair, I enjoy a pinch or two of salt now and again and certain flavors are meant to be enhanced by doing so.  Popcorn, for instance.  French fries.  Cucumbers.  Tomatoes.  Anything that has a label indicating that it's contents have "reduced sodium."  And of course, watermelon.

That being said, I'm more of a pepper person, myself.  I only have one dispenser for that, however.  

Waking last night to the fridge closing and subtle rummaging, I heard the unmistakable sound of a salt deployment.  It is far more an abrasive noise than a pepper deployment, although it is a nuanced difference.  Years of close encounters with countless salt dispensings are needed to adequately prepare you for recognizing the specific sound from several rooms away.  Following the episode, the midnight snacker used the bathroom, evidenced by the swooshing of a toilet's flush and then the faucet's rush.  And then silence.  

I didn't think much of it at the time and made a mental note to question the children at breakfast and then I went back to sleep.

Morning came and went in a blink, the kids were whisked off to school and guess who neglected to interrogate them about their midnight escapades (varying greatly from Family Dog's "escapades" of course)?

The peculiar conclusion is that when everyone went to bed last night, all of the various salt dispensers were in their strategically designated zones.  This morning, however, they were all in one location, on the kitchen counter, where it is obvious someone had made a sandwich, apparently with generous amounts of salt.

I'm not sure I want to know which one of my kids is responsible...I think I'll just let this one go.  Nothing wrong with a midnight snack now and again.

Today's Jazz Hands are unpacking emotional attachments.

Day two-hundred and thirty-five complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 234

THURSDAY, AUGUST 22nd, 2013

Family Dog and I had a great chat this morning.  At times it is difficult to determine what's going through that fuzzy little head of his, especially with the final transition into the House of Ego wrapping up today.  A big move to the unknown can be a fairly stressful event for logical thinking humans, let alone our pets.

Truth be told he seemed really cool with the situation.  More so than me, in all honesty.  Family Dog reassured me that everything is going to turn out okay for all of us.  Nothing will turn out as we imagine, but not necessarily in a bad way.  

I'm not sure how he knows, but hearing him say that has a calming effect on my nerves.

He made a point to express Family Cat's concerns for the new residence.  Family Cat and I don't really chat.  Family Cat tells everything she needs to say to Family Dog and he, in turn, brings me her information like a good little liaison.  Family Cat is good at getting her way.

Overall I believe it will be a smooth transition for both dog and cat, and I reassured Family Dog of this and he seemed to thoroughly absorb the information.  My best guess is he will return to Family Cat and explain that we will leave her behind, that there is no room for her in the new place, that she will be discarded like the unwanted cluttershit we've thrown into the trash of late.  Family Cat may be a master of manipulation, but that doesn't mean Family Dog does not know how to push her buttons to get back for all that mind control nonsense.

The moral of the story is that Family Dog is okay with this big, life altering move.  In his words, the move is an adjustment, but he'll make the most of things and embrace change like a champ.  Of course, he said all this with his big brown puppy dog eyes and some hearty tail wagging.  

As for the Family Kids, well, that's another story.  The plot runs fairly parallel with the mind control nonsense and the pushing of buttons, unfortunately the altercations result in a bit more than that of a spirited bark or a feisty meow.  Family Kids do not talk with their eyes or hearty tail wagging and that's putting it mildly...things tend to get a bit more dicey than that.  Will they be okay with the move?  Time will tell.  I contend that they are much better off in the absence of pesky time portals, making the transition worth the effort.  Robert Lochaven is one thing, he is friendly enough, but who the hell knows what else might appear at your bedside at night.  The past haunts and the future is frightening as it is, so why not reside in a place that you can live in the here and now?

Goodbye, House of Id...we have moved on...mostly.

Today's Jazz Hands are home, sweet home.

Day two-hundred and thirty-four complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 233

WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 21st, 2013

And the clutter overfloweth...

Within the house of id, all of those little objects of our affection were tucked away for safe keeping, but having to extract them for the move, I now look at them as relics...echoes of the past...mere shadow puppets on the wall.

Now stacked up in tall, precarious piles within the house of ego, they appear to be ripe for a toppling.  Careening to one side a wee bit too much, the slightest breeze is all it will take to send the entire tower of useless crap spilling to the floor.

Too much emotional attachment to these belongings lack healthy balance, it seems.

It's time to let go of the shit at the bottom of the drawer.  You know the concealed stuff I speak of...three tape measures that do not work, bent and twisted plastic school issue rulers, pens that do not write, pencils with petrified erasers, pictures of people nobody wants to frame but fears retribution for throwing away, three keys to what they unlock nobody knows, clipped recipes never cooked, take-out menus from ethnic restaurants never patronized, expired coupons for even more unneeded nonsense.  In other words, the pile of shit at the bottom of the drawer contains our unrealized best intentions.  The stuff of emotional baggage.  Psychological clutter.  

Out of sight, out of mind.

Most of the aforementioned list is easy to discard.  But those keys...what secrets might they be keeping?  

Of course, the list continues on to the point of inducing nausea...and it's not just the bottom of the drawer.  This stuff resides in all sorts of neglected places.  Some tucked away for safe keeping, some in plain sight, exposed white noise for the world to see.

With the transition to the house of ego approaching 90% completion, it's time to scrutinize.  It's time for addition by subtraction.  It's time to purge!

Question: "What does this funny looking electronic adapter go to?" 

Answer:  "It goes to the garbage." 

Question:  "What is the purpose of this old blue thingy?" 

Answer:  "The purpose is to throw it in the garbage."

Question:  "Where should we put all of these watch batteries, ear plugs, oversized headphones, audio connectors and pennies that I just found in the cupboard that we haven't seen in over four years?"

Answer:  "You have to recycle batteries, and throwing away currency is a no-no, but a few of one or both in the trash isn't going to hurt anyone, right?"

The trick, however, is to purge those items that are difficult to discard.  Petrified erasers?  No worries.  Pens with dried ink?  No problem.  

A handmade blanket that may or may not have too many holes in it that will not withstand many more trips through the washer and dryer but is perfect in every way except that it represents an unhealthy and unnecessary emotional attachment to the past but kinda sorta helps me sleep a little more soundly at night especially with time travelers and boogie monsters popping in from time to time?  Uh-oh...the purge process has hit a snag...and this blanket can not afford many more snags.  Let's put this aside for a future day of reckoning.  Today's just not the day.

A sweatshirt that has endured concerts, sporting events, camping trips, fishing expeditions and long walks on the beach on blustery afternoons?  So what if it needs to be sewn up at the hood and pocket regions. So what if the color has significantly faded to the point it looks more pink than red.  We've seen too much together, red (pink) sweatshirt and I.

Blanket and Sweatshirt notwithstanding, the purge process will be fairly thorough.  We start our new lives tomorrow, leaving the time portals and relics (most of them anyway) behind.  I say good riddance.  Except for you, blanket and sweatshirt...you're coming with me...and you're riding first class.

Today's Jazz Hands were deployed ad nauseum.

Day two-hundred and thirty-three complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 232

TUESDAY, AUGUST 20th, 2013

Currently with two houses, it's exactly like living a double life...and work being what it is, my home away from home and all, I increase my lives to three.  That's only six less than the average cat.

How exciting.

I suppose if we want to get all metaphorical and stuff, that makes the old home the id...the new home the ego...and my home away from home (work), the super ego.

This is not uncharted territory as we've navigated this landscape before, the id being the basic need and unorganized desire that we are all born with, the ego being realistic solutions to the id's basic needs and the super ego is the internalization of cultural rules and punishes the self for unsavory conduct (a.k.a. doubt).

The ego really is the mediator here...what might happen when we let go of the id?  What if we shun the super ego?  

In a sense, what we have here is split personality time travel.  Being the only one of the three we're born with, the id gets to represent history.  Being the one that makes us regret our current choices based on how we may feel tomorrow, the super ego is future.  That leaves the ego, the great mediator, as the present as it must rely on its wits and realistic insight to make necessary choices in the here and now...like deciding to move to a new house to avoid time portals, for instance.  

Today's Jazz Hands were Freudian.

Day two-hundred and thirty-two complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 231

MONDAY, AUGUST 19th, 2013

I'd like to take this opportunity to thank those emailed comments to JazzHands365@yahoo.com.  Keep them coming.  Even the sarcastic ones.

I appreciate the humor and effort that it took to create an email address under the name Robert Lochaven.  The correspondence was meticulously crafted and the date stamp was cleverly altered to this coming November.  

Admittedly, that was a good one.  Well played.

Today's Jazz Hands go to you, clever reader.  

Day two-hundred and thirty-one complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 230

SUNDAY, AUGUST 18th, 2013

There is no irony today.  There is no time travel today.  There is no religion, evolution, rolled up sleeves, blood on my hands, metaphors, boxes, compartmentalization, escape, games of hide and seek, Robert Lochavens, alter egos, voices in my head, beach balls to the face or obstacles to face today.  

There is no heaven and there is no hell today.

There is only me.  

Just Yoko and me.

And thunder.  

And of course a routine deployment of Jazz Hands.  

Day two-hundred and thirty complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 229

SATURDAY, AUGUST 17th, 2013

...And then God said, "Let there be time travel."  Then there was time travel.  And it was a mixed bag.

Due to clutter hoarding being embedded in our DNA combined with millions of years of human refinement, my family's latest collection has become boxes.  We now possess boxes of all shapes and sizes.  Large boxes. Small boxes.  Long skinny boxes.  Short squatty boxes.  Boxes with dead bugs in them.  Boxes with mouse poop in them.  If there is a particular item inside of house #1 that does not fit inside one of the boxes available, it's not worth moving to house #2.  

This would be so much easier if I could just use the damn time portal and be done with this moving process.  Perhaps Robert Lochaven could show himself and help load some of these damn boxes up into the car.

When God created time travel, what I believe He created was a choice.  Instead of delivering one, correct path, a multitude of paths were extended, and with this presentation an opportunity to decide.  Perhaps Robert Lochaven has chosen a time and place that does not require him to help someone move all of their crap.  Perhaps Robert Lochaven is upset that the agenda is to find a new home without time portals.  

Perhaps Robert Lochaven hates goodbyes.

We can run from our problems, or face them.  I have decided to face the time portal problem by running away from the time portal problem.  I can see how this may not sit well with a time traveler such as Robert Lochaven.

This solution just seems more appropriate than solving the time portal problem by time traveling, where I jump into the portal to a future where the arduous task of physically moving all of Family's clutter has already taken place, into a house that has no time portal...but if the new house does not have a time portal, then getting there becomes quite tricky, to say the least.

Unfortunately, some of the paths we choose are circular.  Perhaps this is meant to be.  If you travel around the globe in a straight line, do you not end up in the exact same place?  If you travel through space in an attempt to find the end of the universe, the same principle applies (proven fact). God created this wheelhouse universe with its patterns and sequences in place long before we arrived.  We're merely following our circular destiny.  

Today's Jazz Hands were deployed with a sense of irony.  

Day two-hundred and twenty-nine complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 228

FRIDAY, AUGUST 16th, 2013

...and God said "Let there be clutter" and then there was clutter.

Of course that wasn't the first thing He said or did.  First he had to create Himself, obviously.

Once that nifty little trick was complete, He had to summon the strength to initiate the cosmos project, and then with His infinite supernatural powers He found a small corner of the newly created infinite space, and allocated it to mankind (thank you!).

Yes, of course before mankind there was light and it was good, then he separated the light and dark, then the naming of stuff soon followed, which had to be fairly amusing, calling the light thing 'day' and that dark thing 'night' and then came the creation of sound and fury, etcetera.

And then, at long last, came mankind.  And with mankind came clutter.

Oh how we love cluttering up our dwellings with meaningless possession.  

The first of mankind, Adam, said "This is now bone of my bones, and flesh of my flesh:  she shall be called Woman, because she was taken out of Man."  And there you have mankind's first obsession with possession.  God made us in his image, after all, and since He had a propensity for collecting things (what are we if not God's prized collection of nicknacks?), it seems fitting that the first of our kind was hellbent to collect.

And No.  I am not likening womankind to clutter.  I'm merely continuing the biblical reference.    

Somewhere along the way, mankind regressed and the Adams and Eves of this world turned into grotesque critters with lots of fur and used bones as tools.  My guess is that this took place sometime post talking snakes/apple eating era, and the regression was God's little way of saying, "Life's a bitch, have fun with the evolving over millions of years thing."

Collections of bones became all the rage for our savage greatgreatgreat grandwhatevers.  Wooly Mammoth bones, Saber Tooth Tiger skins, sharp stones and sticks, all of these items lined the mantles of early man.  Unlucky for our fuzzy ancestors, they did not have the advantage of various shaped and sized boxes to put their clutter in upon moving day.  As mankind became more self-aware and began assigning emotional attachments to various things, collections grew to unprecedented scales.  Mankind was forced with the decision to either make due with an outgrown cave, or figure out a clever way to travel with loads of shit.  This led to the invention of the box, which led to compartmentalization which led to categorization. 

Necessity is the mother of invention.

Mankind has made some overall refinements since those early days, better boxes and shinier trinkets, to name a couple...but not much has changed in terms of the need for clutter to make our lives seem more meaningful.

Today's Jazz Hands will eat pizza in the middle of a newly acquired living room floor, awaiting the arrival of boxes full of clutter.

Day two-hundred and twenty-eight complete.