At it

Monday 1/1/24

You have to try in this life--you have to make a concerted effort every day, an honest, get-after-it effort, no bullshit, no lying to yourself, no sitting on your ass, no cutting corners--or else you're just clogging up the pipes like some nasty ball of hair.

If you see something you don't know, learn it.

Try. Always be getting better. Level with yourself. Be hard on yourself. Say, "Yeah, you can do so much better than this, this is pathetic, what are you doing here?"

Then do better.

Never mind feelings--answer to reality. You can feel good later after you do that.

As I did a few days ago, I grabbed several hours of sleep sleep, got up exactly t midnight, boiled some water to make a couple bottles of peppermint and cranberry tea for my heart to put in the refrigerator, made a pot of coffee, and began work at exactly twelve o'clock.

On each of the last four days did 100 push-ups and did five circuits in the Bunker Hill Monument. Walked three miles Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, and then six yesterday.

It took me thirty-four minutes to do the five circuits on Thursday. That's not embarrassing, but it's not great. It should be taking me twenty-eight to thirty minutes. I'm still working back up.

Doing five circuits is a good sign, though. Took longer Friday, but that's because I was conducting business at the same time. Workmanlike pace the other two days.

There was a couple in their twenties in the Monument. I passed them four times. I would find that embarrassing.

If you're an able-bodied guy and you're under sixty and I pass you four or more times, you should have a cardiologist.

A ranger told me yesterday morning that starting Wednesday (the Monument is closed Monday and Tuesday) they'll be going to their winter schedule and cutting back hours to 1 to 4. That's a bad time for me. For the Monument, I like to get their at ten, which is when it opens the rest when it's not winter.

The people you see exercising are almost always fit. Huh. Who would have thought? People who don't exercise aren't fit. It's almost like there's a connection.

Saw a hot woman in leggings yesterday with a bag that had huge letters on it reading, "Hit it hard," which made me imagine a meathead saying, "Don't mind if I do," and then doing the barrel laughter, because the laughter of meatheads always sounds like barrels rolling.

Coming back from the Monument yesterday there was a girl on a bike coming down the sidewalk, in the middle of it, with her older brother on a bike behind her, their father behind them. You could tell the father was a pugnacious, rough sort. I had to walk on the curb to stay out of the girl's way, and her brother came from behind and cut in front of her so that she fell off her bike. Of course I stopped to ask if she was okay. The dad said to the boy, "You literally ran here over," which caused me to think 1. Thank goodness you said that "literally" and 2. He's sloppy because you're sloppy, sir.

Wrote an excellent op-ed for New Year's--a piece that could only be written by someone meant to lead people--but it won't run. I can use it next year or some other year, though. It'll be as relevant and necessary. Beyond inspiring, and so damn true.

Came up with an idea pertaining to the Kinks regarding a maligned live album that I think is a legit gem, and a cinematic work of quintessential New England horror-Americana. Then I came up with a dozen more ideas for other things, which I need to write down today.

Wrote a story. Total mess. Wow. Just a mess, my friend. That was Saturday. Began doing what needed to be done yesterday. Now I can see it beginning to become what it's going to be, another matchless work. There's a ways to go, though. And also an opportunity to do something remarkable, that no one else could do. All things are different, and therefore potentially done differently. I know where things will end up in the end. Until then, I just do whatever it takes or is required of me. At this point, I'm curious, like I'm getting to watch. There's no panic, no stress, no doubt. It's more like, "Oh, that's interesting, this one is getting done this way..."

Saw a clip from the Spengler Cup of a coach grabbing a player on the bench and yanking him. Cue debate between the Wokes and the Neanderthals.

It's very simple: Don't put your hands on a player. Say just about whatever you want to say to him, and it can be pretty vicious. I cared about getting better. Thick skin is necessary. Says the person who'll be moved to tears at the ballet. But these are separate things. You learn what is simply a product of a given environment, one where blood can run hot. Whatever. It's not a big deal.

Most people in publishing hate sports. They'd be better writers, editors, and people if they had experience playing sports. Lose. Get popped in the mouth. Compete. Overcome. Have some early life experience with the otherwise radical, foreign concept of...merit. Fail against someone better than you are. Improve at what you can improve at. Beat someone fair and square. Beat them bad. Realize that doesn't mean you won't ass get your ass handed to you next time if you don't stay sharp. Accept limitations. Develop a new part of your game. Spend extra time on that thing you're not so good at. Work harder. Train harder. Get up earlier. Appreciate what it means to compete. On a--gasp--level playing field.

It's better to have a mouthpiece in your mouth than it is to be sucking on that silver spoon or admiring your reflection in it.

Literally, but especially metaphorically.