Jack's Guide (the Renaissance Person's Guide to Survival in a Shaky Economy)

Angry Squirrel Attack Results in Death and Disfigurement

No, I’m not resorting here to the National Enquirer school of journalism. This actually happened to me, yesterday. (I was disfigured, though not horribly. The squirrel expired, tragically.)

The critter in question has been hanging around my place for a month or so. Our first encounter was friendly enough, in retrospect. I was doing some work outside the entrance to my rental unit, in back of my building, when the little beast came hopping and chittering up to my feet, more than cute enough to solicit my attention. So I set out some nuts and pretzels for him. (Being fresh out of
beer, I figured he could find his own liquid refreshment.) This continued for several weeks on an irregular schedule until this morning, when I spotted him squatting on my toolbox, on top of a patio table in the same vicinity where we’d previously met. I was a little surprised to see him there, as it’d been a week or so since I’d seen him, and figured my cats had probably run him off or done him in. He seemed especially friendly and interested in me, so I extended my hand to him. He promptly scampered over and took a generous chomp out of my hand, in that fleshy web between the thumb and forefinger. I screamed like a little girl and knocked him to the ground, backing away from what I now took to be a rabid animal. While I was attending to my bloody hand, with my back turned to him, the squirrel apparently hopped back up on the tool box, and as I turned to see where he’d gone, I was greeted by the sight of his furry body, all teeth and claws extended, recently launched and in mid-air on a direct route toward my face. He landed on my head in the approximate position to conveniently have sex with my nose, digging in his sharp little claws, the rear ones between my eyes and ears, one on either side, and the front ones rearranging my hairdo. I have to imagine he was somewhat double-jointed, as he managed somehow in that position to mangle my nose in the brief period before I swatted him once again to the ground and ran for my life.

I got myself safely inside and in front of a mirror, where I witnessed a frightening countenance. I had bloody scratches extending to within a quarter inch of my left eye, and bloody rivulets streaming down from my nose and near my right ear, in addition to the bite and scratch wounds to my right hand. I hastened to patch up my injuries, recalling that without the animal's carcass to test for infection, I’d have to suffer a regimen of painful injections in my belly, to keep me from contracting the disease. I quickly grabbed a handy microphone stand, having misplaced the Louisville Slugger I usually keep by my door (in case of precisely such an attack), and ran back out to the scene of the crime. In the meantime, the furry felon had positioned himself overhead in my willow tree, and was now madly chirping and hopping around on a convenient limb, giving every indication that he was hungry for more human flesh. I kept just out of leaping distance, wiser now to his carnivorous longings, so that he had to drop down to the fence below in order to achieve a satisfactory leaping point. Just as he landed on the fence, I took the opportunity to execute a mighty swing and (I’ll not get overly descriptive here) transform him into a “late” squirrel (a previously alive rodent, if you will- to borrow briefly from Monty Python), taking care to leave his brains intact. I recalled that those would be necessary for a successful rabies test. Quick thinking, eh?

Well, I feel a little badly now, having since been informed by the CDC and the Georgia Department of Public Health that it is virtually impossible to contract hydrophobia (aka rabies) from a squirrel in the state of Georgia. Still, the little b*****d (aggressor) was asking for it, and had come too close to taking out an eye for me to let it go. I hope the squirrel gods will forgive me.

Playing Possum

I make it a practice these days to walk regularly. Not merely to get from the couch to the refrigerator, but rather outdoors, and for the purpose of keeping physically fit. I used to run, but years ago I one day committed the grievous error of not lifting with my knees, but with my back instead, and have lived with chronic back pain ever since. It's not so painful as to incapacitate me, but it never lets me forget that it's there. I've found that if I walk briskly for three or four miles, the aggravating affliction disappears- but that's not the point I'm trying to make, so please excuse the digression.

 A few years back (yes, I've been at it for a while, now) I was out for my daily constitutional, when by chance I saw something that made my so-called mind flash to something relatively sick. (I know- hard to believe......please don't press me for details.) The offending thing happens to be a permanent feature which happens to be on my customary path, so I happened to resolve to never again think of it. So of course I see it and nothing but, and think about the disgusting image it provokes every single time I walk that way. I have tried closing my eyes when I approach it, but that proved to be a bad idea the day I wandered into the path of an irate bicyclist. Re-directing my focus sometimes works, but it has now got to the point that the unhealthy vision pops into my head if I so much as glimpse an image similar to the one I try to avoid. 

 I realize that we're all just human, and that we may all be subject to the occasional insane idea, but I take no solace in realizing that. It's a curious shortcoming- that ability to control our own minds. If I tell you not to think of the word "possum", you will inevitably not be able to think of anything but "possum". A whole n'other popular manifestation of this lack of forbearance is the inability to get out of your head a particular song or tune- usually an extremely annoying jingle from a stupid teevee commercial, or some song dating from the disco era, or by Barry Manilow, Pat Boone, or others of that ilk. I spent my whole afternoon walk recently trying to purge my mind of the tune "Staying Alive". Picture that one taking over one's consciousness while out striding purposefully. 

 I suppose the point of all this is to cut myself some slack. My cognitive functions, I realize, are sometimes beyond my control. As long as I don't act on the weirder ones, and do instead focus on the productive and/or creative ones, I'll be okay. And let's face it, sometimes the most debased ones lead to rewarding results. Why do you think it is that we eat oysters today? And speaking of possums.........(thanks to my cousin Clint for this one)........ (caption below for those like me)

"When you said there was a possum 'playing dead' in our front yard, I assumed....."

Radical Rectal Crainiotomy

So- I'm commiserating earlier this morning with Brad, a buddy of mine, about the sometimes sorry state of our mutual mentalities, and I find myself doling out advice, feeling a bit like a blind man leading a sightless individual through an obstacle course.  Nevertheless, I'm speaking to him about attitude, and how important it is to cop a decent one.  He tells me that he notices a change in mine, and suggests that perhaps it is due to the fact that after a couple of months off, my musical buddies and I had a rehearsal last night.  I'm not going into the reasons for the musical hiatus- suffice to say that I had felt it necessary to take a step back and perhaps undergo a self-administered radical rectal crainiotomy.  You know...... that's the procedure whereby one has their head surgically removed from their ass.   Said operation is usually indicated whenever one is engaged in melodramatic self-pity or in taking oneself too seriously.   There are various and sundry ways to go about getting over these afflictions, but in my humble opinion, the RRC is almost always fail-safe, and usually works most effectively when I apply the anesthesia of administering service to someone else.  Back on point, I have to recognize that there are some creative/productive outlets available to me that stimulate a "feel-good" reaction, and that whenever I deny myself those, my psyche suffers.  Comfy shoes help, too.  How about these?:

How to Deal with Customer No-Service

Prior to proceeding to the meat of today's matter, I wanted to mention a weblog I found featured on Typepad, Keitharsis, by a writer whose insights on New Year's resolutions struck me.  (Please see also my own missive regarding Future Gratitude Lists from a few days ago.)

I think we all may have at some time experienced the dubious pleasures associated with communicating our malcontent to so-called "customer service" representatives. It matters not whether one is on the opposing end of a telephone conversation or face-to-face over what used to be signed as the Complaints countertop.  The results are all too frequently the same.  We stomp off (metaphorically or literally, as the case may be), winded and red in the face from pleading our case, but none the more satisfied, in fact, likely less so, than when we started.   I have been one of the worst to fall prey to that particular form of deadly stress;  I am quite sure that such encounters have cumulatively removed a couple of years of longevity from my lifespan.  Good thing I gave up smoking- maybe I'll break even.

If you will notice, you'll never see a Complaints counter in businesses these days. They stopped calling it that long ago, forsaking the implied message that, heaven forbid, a patron might have a problem with a product or policy. That department is ubiquitously labeled these days as, you guessed it- Customer Service.  On of my all-time favorite consumer advocates, Clark Howard, likes to call it "customer no-service".   He also recommends "voting with one's feet (or alternatively, with one's pocketbook)", by taking one's business elsewhere.   I heartily concur.  But in the meantime, until one reaches such a point of abandonment, I would offer my own personal insights into the experience of dealing with the people whose customarily unrealized goal it is to make and keep us happy.

I recently decided to kick my sole service carrier to the curb.  (Again, please refer to my recent posting.)  Outrageous charges for my telecom and entertainment services and lack of response to my issues finally led me to revolt, and I am in the midst of trying to effect the changes- a task much more easily written about than executed.  It seems that these days the Customer Service Department is the first place one goes to sign up, rather than a destination of last resort.  I won't go into the details, but I have been a couple of weeks attempting to acquire my new services, during which time Brad, my tech buddy and IT guru, and I have spent more than a few hours online or on the phone trying to get things worked out.

Contrary to something I said in paragraph one, above, I find it personally quite difficult, when face-to-face with a customer service rep, to get extremely worked up and argumentative or demonstrative to the point of obnoxiousness; for one thing, there are usually others watching who may get the idea you're a nut.  And that's not to mention nearby impressionable kids or hulking security guards.  It's altogether a different story when I'm on the phone with a faceless and apparently linguistically-challenged individual.  If I'm not on my best behavior, I can be an unholy and joyless terror.  And you can probably imagine how far that gets me.  I think you can see where I am going with this.

The minute I put myself in the shoes of that person (who is probably sitting in Pakistan in a boiler-room in the middle of the night, patiently enduring my ravings), something changes.  And as soon as I start treating that person like, well, like a person, I start to get satisfaction.  I may not arrive at my desired result, but I like myself a lot better.  And usually, as has been my experience, I find my counterpart being much more helpful and appreciative of my adjusted attitude.  I had such an encounter today, and decided to share my feelings about that experience.  I think it falls under the general heading of "catching more flies with honey than with vinegar" (although the fruit flies in my kitchen prove that a lie every day).  If I don't get the desired results, despite acting like a nice guy, I can always take Clark's advice (see above) and choose to do business elsewher, without being a flaming jerk about it.

Anyway, I suppose this all comes under the category of spiritual progress, which I am finding can be not only fun, but helpful, as well.  Who says an old dog can't turn over a new leaf?

Here's today's Happy Face......

Railing at the evil giant

For the uninitiated, the title of this weblog kinda explains the general theme.  Many of us out here in worker-bee land possess a broad spectrum of talents and abilities.  Most of us, however, are fitted with a set of blinders quite early on in our so-called "careers", being forced to focus on an extremely narrow path during our journey toward being part of a productive citizenry.  We forget that the things we may do for pleasure, leisure, or just for the helluvit, may actually be worthy of compensation, barter, or other forms of remuneration.  By way of this venue, it is my intent to spark ideas and suggest alternative ways of making an honest living and/or getting by when things get tight, and in case you've not noticed, they are.  In all honesty, I have to admit that I do not do this solely for the love of writing; the reality is that I'm eagerly anticipating the day when someone will offer to pay me for my compositions.  So far, I'm still waiting.

Part of this process (making our way through troubled economic times) includes researching ways to make our resources go farther when we find ourselves needing to stretch our hard-earned dollars.  And that's what I want to talk about today.

I don't often wax negative about people or institutions on this venue.  I usually avoid stepping on toes, and I like to stay positive.  And I am quite positive when I refer to my opinions regarding this particular corporate giant, whose name I will not mention, but their initials are A, T,  and T, henceforward to be referred to as CG (for Corporate Giant, if you didn't figure that out already)- again, in order not to name names.

I have been forking out to CG upwards of $200 a month for my telecom "bundle"- a word I usually associate with babies and kittens, rather than to CG's bloodless schemes to squeeze me penniless.  Over the past year, I have twice called to complain about my bill, which covers my land line, cell phone, and internet.  (It's also somehow DirecTly connected to my satellite TV service provider, another CG who shall remain nameless).  Every time I have complained, they politely reveal to me a plan that was available all along, and in doing so, the implication is clearly, "you silly consumer, why didn't you just ask earlier?"  They then knock thirty or forty bucks off my monthly bill.  For a month or two.  Then suddenly my monthly nut is back where it was before, and I have to play another round.  Well, I'm done with 'em.

With the help of my IT/AV guru Brad, I am becoming a more savvy consumer of technology.  I'm kicking CG to the curb, selling my iPhone, and going with a plan for cell phone, internet, and TV that'll cost me about half what I'm currently paying CG. To replace my land line (I know, I know- who the heck uses a land line anymore? Call me old school.  Or just old....), Brad swears that MagicJack is the way to go.  I always had the impression that MagicJack was right up there along with the Popeil Bass-O-Matic in terms of credibility, but for all-you-can eat service at twenty bucks a year, I was willing to fork out the eighty bucks for the device, which you apparently just plug into a wall socket and go.  I even get to keep my same phone number, to which I am sentimentally attached to a frightening degree.  Now, having said all that, I haven't got it all in place just yet, and will keep you all posted on how it all goes.  For now, though, I feel a little like David taking on the giant Goliath, hoping to put a metaphoric stone right between his allegorical eyes.

Thanks to my friend Spirit Curves Gregor for the posting about this guy, Henrique Oliveira, and his amazing work in a unique medium- delaminated plywood.  It reminds me of a saying about a pig's ear........

Future Thanks and Forgiveness

I have never put much stock in the use of resolutions (associated with the years' turning or otherwise) as a regular practice.  But we've all done it.  January One rolls around, and in fits of conscience, guilt, or clueless optimism, we compile lengthy catalogs of well-intentioned goals that no mere human could possibly hope to achieve in the span of a single year's passing. Resolutions are, to me, much akin to your run-of-the-mill decisions, and by way of explanation I would refer the kind and gentle reader (not to neglect those unkind and/or vicious ones) to the old saw about three birds on a wire.  To wit: Three birds are sitting on a wire.  When two of them decide (resolve) to fly away, how many are left?  The correct answer is that all three remain, since the decision (resolution) was not consummated by the action which would have resulted in a solitary lonesome feathered critter on a cable.  What's the point?  Well, to borrow from otherwhere, (you can take your pick): "Faith without works is futile..." or "Put your money where your mouth is...." or "The road to hell is paved with good intentions....", etc., etc.

In a related story, I went to a New Years Eve party last night, where I came to find myself chatting with a friend, a relatively new acquaintance.  When I asked what were her plans for her New Years Day, she replied (after a pause, it seemed, to consider whether her reply might possibly leave her susceptible to an invitation from me) that she intended to make a "future gratitude list", giving thanks to what-or-whomever for the benefits and blessings she was to receive, as well as for her expected accomplishments, during the coming year. I think I much prefer that practice over the "letter to Santa" approach, so I asked if she'd mind if I made one, too.  She laughed and replied, "Thanks, but I think I can handle it myself". (Actually, she didn't say that. She just smiled prettily and went to refill her bubbly. Story of my life.)

The friend I'm referring to has recently proven herself a treasure of frothy philosophical gems.  She lately posted a quote on FaceBook by Ghandi, proclaiming that it takes great strength to forgive.  My reply was that exceptional strength is also required to ask forgiveness.  (The weak don't give a rip.)  I didn't expect at the time to find myself doing so any time soon, but here I am, begging your solicitude for neglecting so long my duties as an epistler, a chronicler, if you will, of this venue.  I steadfastly refuse, however, to present this amends as a formal resolution, but I do promise to try and do better.   I'm not saying I'm turning over a new leaf- rather, I'm using the old ones to fertilize the growth of the new.  You might say, in other words, that my future gratitude list (see above) will include thanks for the opportunity to continue speading my BS around.  Not to mention appreciation that someone may yet be reading it.

Following: Sunrise as a metaphor for New Hope.

Like it? Check out Designzz for the most amazing sunrise pix ever!

Thanks for the Nut (Andy Rooney's walk thru the Old Fourth Ward?)

Today was about the three-hundred and ninety-second anniversary of the holiday we now popularly call Thanksgiving.  Wherever you happen to be, and whatever your circumstance, I sincerely hope you have at least half the reasons for gratitude as I.  

I spent most of today engaged in what has come to be a customary holiday activity for me.  Whenever I am able to do so, I like to participate in a communal feeding event sponsored  by a spiritual group I happen to be a member of.   We do a big throw-down and feed a couple hundred folks, and it's something I always look forward to.    It reminds me of nothing so much as the presbyterian covered-dish suppers I grew up with- my favorite aspect, by far, of church activity.

By about mid-afternoon I'd got myself back to my man-cave/crib, feeling grateful but quite satisfied that I'd served at least a portion of my daily karmic duty, and ready for some purely selfish time.  That is to say, I decided to go for a quick walk.  I've done three miles or so almost daily for several months now, and it's agreeing with me- (we'll see how long it lasts.....), but this was just intended to be a quickie, a few blocks- maybe a mile.  It's a pretty cool place to walk- the historic Old Fourth Ward neighborhood near downtown Atlanta, and the adjecent area around Inman Park and Little Five Points.  Good thing about that- like I said, I do it a lot these days.

Today the experience bordered on the surreal for me.  Having recently survived an assorted variety of life-wrenching difficulties, and given a recent life-affirming visit with my sibs, the level of my spirit was back where I like it.  This emotional atmosphere sort of melded, shortly into my stroll, with a radiant setting sun's long light, morphing into one of those extended deja-vooey things.   Imagine, also, the audible sound of the absense of city traffic- a pulse city-dwellers become deaf to, until it's gone.  In the heart of the 'hood, I heard the tinkling laughter of joyful kids and dogs barking- somehow unlike urban hounds, but rather, on closing my eyes for a minute, I found myself strolling at once along a street in rural carolina.  Then suddenly I'm humbled by the history of the place, just around the corner from Reverend King's beginning and ending places, and the distant giggles turned a little ghostly.  

But, saavy as I am to the perils of wandering the streets and byways of intown Atlanta with ones eyes shut like an old stoner imagining stuff, my reverie didn't last long, and by that time I was about home, anyway.

So now I sit writing and watching the Cowboys and Dolphins, feeling truly grateful and sooooo American.  In a good way, of course.  Happy Thanksgiving and thanks for the nut.

All in Good Time

For the author of a weblog supposedly about productivity and/or creativity, I have rarely been either of late, as regards this venue.  I trust all have muddled through without that critical influx of wit, wisdom and purportedly sage advice.  So now I feel compelled to report on my progress, or lack thereof.  

Well, despite my most earnest efforts to the contrary, I am doing quite well, thanks very much.  I am happy to report that, for the most part, my plans to continue being productive and creative enough to make a living (and be reasonably happy in the process) are fulfilling themselves nicely.  ....to the point, in fact, that I have been neglecting this particular opportunity for creative expression.  Sorry. I will return when I've more time and am suitably inspired. 

Sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly......

In the meantime, if you haven't yet discovered DEZEEN, here's one of their latest postings, of a retail display made of cardboard tubes, for a department store in London.

A no-brainer for National Punch Day

Today's date is, in fact, National Punch Day.  I looked it up.  But I couldn't find the least information on what we're supposed to celebrate today.  Are we commemorating the invention of a refreshing if not debilitating (to some, anyway) party beverage?  Or is today that occasion when we are to dole out revenge with our fists?  Or was a useful leather-working tool patented on this day?  Dunno, don't really care.

I saw (what I consider to be) a real no-brainer on MSN today.  Someone has discovered that physical exercise is beneficial to those individuals who suffer from clinical depression.  Duh!  Remember all that talk years ago about endorphines (you know- those things that get into your bloodstream whenever you get strenuously physical) being a natural opiate?  ........and that one can easily become as addicted to the gym as to anything else?  (BTW- the aforementioned "one"....?  He's a lot younger than I am.)

The reason I mention it, of course, is because this blog is supposed to be about productivity and creativity, and folks who battle that perticular (sic- don't try and correct my spelling) demon are more productive when not depressed.  On the other hand, lots of depressed folks have turned out to prove adequately creative (e.g. van Gogh, Hunter S. Thompson, etc.), so there's another happy side to it- assuming one can muddle through the darkness in time to turn it into something productive.

Here are some interesting silk purses- I don't know how practical they are, but they look cool......

 

Life for Dummies

I am a huge fan of the series of yellow-colored, paperback "how-to" books that include "....... for Dummies" annexed to the title.   You'd think that a series of books that announces itself as being for stupid people would have a tough time selling itself in bookstores, where everyone can plainly see by your purchase what a dunce you are.  I never buy mine in bookstores.   Thanks to the anonymity of internet purchasing, I can buy that kind of stuff and have it delivered to my door with no one else the wiser. Sounds kind of dirty, if you ask me, but I wouldn't really know- I never buy dirty stuff on-line.     (pause)    I just buy lots of "Dummies" books, even reading perhaps as much as a quarter of them.   But they're there, if I need to look anything up.

Most of my Dummies books are about computer stuff, writing, or music (that breaks down into a lot of sub-catergories....take my word), but I've never seen a "Life for Dummies" edition. (There is a blue adaptation that goes by a different name, but I digress.....).  So I thought to write an abbreviated version of my own.  As follows:

 

Don't take yourself so damn seriously.

Don't sweat the small stuff (and it's all small stuff).

Don't worry about what others are thinking about you.  They don't do it that often.

Turn it over, but don't forget to let go of it, else it's just upside down.

Tell yourself the truth.

(Available at amazon.com soon)

 

And in the "Just Looking for the Silver Lining, Here......" department-

(Thanks to Cute Overload):

Look, I’m cool with the whole cone thing. Medically necessary, keeps me disciplined, yadda yadda — I get it. I’m just saying, as long as I have to wear this, why not pour a little kibble in here? That too much to ask?