Sunday, February 21, 2016

My Reason for Everything

Scott gave meaning to everything I did. Hard day at work? Didn't matter, because my life had purpose. No matter what happened, my life had meaning, purpose, direction.

Scott was a handful, but it was all worth it.
In his younger years, he was extremely popular, socially. But when he started middle-school, the jungle years began the change to tribal social sorting. He didn't do so well with that, especially with so many kids bussed in from rough backgrounds. He grew socially more cautious. He and a few select friends hung out together and tried to keep their heads down and not draw attention to themselves.


Scott was always easy to buy gifts for. Nearly everything he like had to do with cars, most especially Hot Wheels.

Yet he was a musician at heart. From an early age, Scott always got a professional-grade musical instrument. My thinking was, if it's pro-grade, and he doesn't like it, it has resale value. If it's crap, it gets sent to the Goodwill store without a refund. Scott loved his keyboard. The electric guitar, not so much. The synth pedals, he rocked them! The mixing board, so complicated my brain imploded, he figured it all out with very little reading of the instructions. Either tracks, each with four tracks. Then his Roland Juno-G synthesizer, portable speakers, computer with $300 master mixing software, he was a genius.
Yet cars are what he dreamed of doing for a living.

He was pretty normal going into high school. He didn't seem to mix well with girls, which is odd, since he was quite popular in elementary school, but after puberty, he became quite shy. A rather neurotic girl announced to everyone that Scott was her boyfriend. Scott was confused but thought it was an awesome surprise. The next day, she seemed to forget he existed, and I guess the whole school noticed. Or at least Scott seemed to feel pretty confused and hurt by the whole thing. That seems to have been the full extent of his foray into the whole boy/girl thing.

He was always the music teacher's aid for other students. A real natural.

Scott never needed prodding to do his homework, ever. He always got virtually straight-A's all through school. Except his senior year. The first semester, he actually had to be reminded that his senior year grades counted, for getting into college or vo-tech schools. His 2nd semester, he almost flunked. That was a huge surprise to his parents. He barely managed to pass without needing to go to summer-school.

He took a year off from school, then at 19, he started automotive school. A year later, he graduated.
He worked at Firestone, then at a private auto shop. He loved the work, but he hated the blue-collar culture. Too many red-necks, too many jerks. Mechanics tended to have no style, and if you showed any tendencies towards anything trendy or "out-there", they were unforgiving with their ridicule. And it was group ridicule where you could be chastised by every single co-worker you see each day. Culturally, you'd be a complete outcast. Starting out in automotive mechanics, he needed lots of mentoring and help. No one would help. Yet they kept giving him harder work, without help or supervision. He enjoyed the challenge, but it was a setup for eventual failure, because he wasn't allowed to make mistakes.

And then he screwed-up a job that ruined part ($100??). He quit one day before they would have fired him.
And with that, he decided he wasn't cut out to be a mechanic. One shop full of assholes. While assholes proliferate in blue-collar shops (I was a machinist for 20 years) if you keep looking, you'll find shops where they aren't assholes. Scott gave up, though.

Monday, January 11, 2016

Hello Scott

The first time I saw Scott was in the operating room at Porter Hospital in Denver. He decided to flip 180deg without telling his mom or anyone. So he was born emergency c-section. His mom passed a massive blood clot. The epidural left her blissfully unaware and I played poker-face to put her at ease. Our luck, two nurses failed to show for work. Little Scotty drowned in amniotic fluid, so I suctioned his airways out while the doctor hooked up tubes in the tiny infant ICU cart.












That was 9-3-93.

He was a pistol. No wonder, he had ADD. I didn't trust that diagnosis because it seemed to be a fad for every sorry-ass parent to blame their horrible parenting on a fictitious disease. But as we found out, not shit, Scott very much did suffer from ADD.

Growing up, Scott was one of the most sociable and popular kids throughout elementary school. He got so many scholastic achievement awards, we got to know the mayor, John Hickenlooper, because he kept presenting at the ceremonies. Then
by coicidence, Scott's mom taught the mayor's son. Mayor Hickenlooper became governor Hickenlooper.







 
Scott loved his Hot Wheels cars






Monday, January 12, 2015

Wednesday, November 26, 2014

2014

The year.
This year saw the end of so much.
I'm trying to begin something new. I have so much going on. Nearly everything seems to either be working or not, but even when something "seems" like it's working, it doesn't deter me from proceeding with all other options. Because life has taught me that shit almost never works out. So even as I pursue the best options, I proceed in all other otpions as if the best option isn't working out. This is realism.
Thank god I'm like that! Things I keep thinking are going to be the jackpot keep failing. And the only thing keeping me going is the other 6 things I have going. If I was an optimist, I would not pursue other things when it seemed one thing was working out. If I was a pessimist, I wouldn't try anything - I'd accept defeat. But I'm a hard-working realist.

It's so hard to find people who have good ideals. Religious people are fucked-up (sorry to my religious friends, but yeah). We should work towards the best life and world we can bring about. We can't save the world by ourselves. We can't "fix" other people. And we don't "know" as much as we think we do (I think so, anyway). At best, we can offer to others what we hope is good advice. Being fallible humans, we are sometimes right and sometimes wrong. We each have to reserve our own council for the final vote on the sage from our friends and enemies (who enemies offer some quite sage insights, sometimes).
It is more important to love than to be right.
It is very important to love.
It is very important to love than it is to run 10,000 miles.
Stick to your guns (I own 14 guns, but I'm not talking about those guns [don't be a freak]). Stand for something and mean it, and trust it. That's your foundation. If you're lost above this, then, well, you can only build a house on a foundation. So get to work.

I've realized that the vast majority of humanity rule their psyche and lives by fear and a short-sighted ideal of what life can offer. People fear success, they fear what life has to offer, they fear the vastness of the universe. They fear being wrong, but mostly they fear being shown to be wrong publicly. Which is not the same as being wrong. Because public wronging can mean going against what's politically correct.

I still run, but not doing many races.
Spain and Portugal were among my most amazing experiences this year.
I'm not allowed to say who I spent my vacations with. Sucks! But that was then and this is now. Trying to create something new. Meeting the most amazing people. One theme keeps rearing it's ugly head - I am not like people. There is no other like me - I broke the mold, it seems. Or my mold was defective.

I enjoy a life - a perception of what life "ought" to be - that no other seems to have. I don't get it, being me. How can other people not see what I see?! The potential?! Hello! WTF?!

Forget about your idea of gender, class, sexual persuasion, religion. Okay, politics is very important. But people really need to drop their perceived limits. Really. Cut it the fuck out! Start living life, for a change!

I've been living on the fringes.
A coworker blew his brains out in his bathroom - his sister found him.
The person I've cared about more than any other has scorned me. but we seem to still be friends - maybe.
A friend recently died of brain cancer. I knew him and his daughters for 23yrs.
I'm scaring myself with a weird lack of fear. It sure is exciting. I'm 54 and no one at home. Why the hell not?

After 3-pitch Green Dihedral

From the AirBnb apartment in Porto, Portugal - practically in the ocean.

Grand Gulch

Above Virginius Pass, Nov, 2014