Thank you Singapore!

This is a shout out to my friends in Singapore. I don't know why, and I welcome it, but this blog has been getting scads of hits from that nation. Several thousand a month in fact, of recent days. I had been averaging around 1500 hits a month, but in the last three months that's been over 15,000, of which around 90% have been from there. Thank you Singapore!

My three best statistical months ever have been the last three. And I started The Sublime to the Ridiculous in 2008. My fourth best month was in 2013. I've nearly flatlined otherwise, so to speak.

I would love to know why, if any of you from that fine Asian nation would like to address that for me. I mean, if it's something I said, I'd love to keep saying it!

But anyway, and again, Thank You Singapore!

Taking a Walk

The older I get, the more I believe we ought to be more charitable towards others. I doubt that we can fully understand the trials and tribulations of people, yet that doesn't mean we shouldn't be as considerate of what forces may or may not have affected their dispositions as reason might allow. It's a trope, yet there is a certain truth about walking a mile in your neighbor's shoes.

Still, I also think a line has to be drawn. Trying to be kind to my neighbor doesn't mean I have to agree with him. I can't see that the reason for walking that mile must be to accept his point of view (the feeling which I fear is typically meant when the line is invoked) but only to be more considerate of the challenges he faces. This can of course mean your changing your own mind. But not of necessity. Your neighbor might be wrong in his opinions and actions just the same.

I think what bugs me is that there's another side to that idea, one which rarely gets expressed. That is, your neighbor also has the responsibility to fit your shoes to his feet too, if the advice is to have any useful value at all. It is not a one way street. 

So, by all means, be considerate. But don't change your opinion unless that's really the right thing to do.

You're Kidding, Right?

Today is Saturday, August 19. 2023. It's 7:48 in the morning. Outside it's 54 degrees.  Inside, my furnace just kicked on.

Are you kidding me? I can't remember my furnace ever, ever being on in August. I don't think it's even happened in September. Typically, May to September, nothing. Rarely in April even.

It took me a few minutes to identify that odd sound. I honestly didn't realize what it was. Then I sat down my breakfast bowl and went to stand on a heater grating, to feel the warm air.

I suppose I could have turned down the thermostat for summer. But I never had to do that before. And, truth be told, it actually feels nice. 

Still, the furnace on, in August. Just. Plain. Weird.

Self Rule

G. K. Chesterton was once asked what was wrong with the world. He famously answered, "Me."

P. J. O'Rourke, an Irishman of some note, wrote a delightful little book called What's Wrong With the World. His answer? Every one of us.

What do we make of this? Yes, they were being a trifle sarcastic. But were they on to a truth?

My answer is yes. We are what is wrong with the world. We are stupid. We are wasteful. We are selfish and rude and, well, all about us. Why should we expect the world to be better than we are?

We should not, of course. Yet somehow we expect that it will be. Why is that? 

I think it's because we know that the world can be better than what it is. And, that we can make it better than that despite ourselves. That's why Dr. Jordan Peterson says begin by changing yourself, by getting your own house in order. You can't rule the world. But you can rule yourself. Maybe, just maybe, we should start there.

46

In 1984, on the World Champion Detroit Tigers baseball team, Dan Petry was the second starting pitcher after Jack Morris. Peaches, Dan's nickname, was solid behind the Hall of Famer Morris.

While watching the Stanley Cup Finals in July 2021 in Hessel in da U.P. in 2021, which was weird (thank you COVID) I noticed a Montreal Canadiens player named Jeff Petry. An odd surname, methinks. So I looks it up. And lo and behold, he's the son of that same Peaches. 

Then here we go this past Tuesday, August 15, and the hometown Detroit Red Wings hockey squad acquire by trade Jeff Petry, who asks to wear number 46, the jersey number of his Pops. And I think, serendipity. 

All right, not so much. But Jeff wearing his old man's number on a team from the D, maybe it is. Surely it's a wink at the past. A very much appreciated wink.

Athletic Pulse

Doctors. They all presumably have, if not the same then similar training, and access to pretty much the same information. Yet they draw different conclusions. What's up with that?

My pulse has always been on the low side, hovering around 48, 49, 50 beats per minute. It's been that way all my life, so far as I recall. My old doctor was okay with that, but out of curiously I asked when we should be concerned. "If it's regularly at 40 or below," he explained. So, all right. I'm all right.

Yet that physician retired, and I transferred to a doctor he recommended. He seems like a good guy too. But when my heartbeat was 48 last month he did the old slow head shake tsk tsk. "What's wrong?" I asked.

"Oh, 48, that's too low. Unless you're an athlete?" He queried.

Even I laughed out loud at that, as did most of you. Don't deny it. "Well, are you?" He persisted.

"No. I walk 45 - 50 minutes most days, a brisk walk mind you, but I'm no athlete."

The Doc har-umphed. "We must keep an eye on that." He assured me I'm in no danger, yet he let slip the word 'pacemaker'. "If this keeps up, at some point we'll have to consider it."

Be all that as it may, why is one physician unconcerned with a pulse of 48 and the next one, a colleague of the one who retired, tsk tsking me?

I don't get it. But I'm not a doctor. I'm also not an athlete.

Just Stay Away

Years ago I remarked to a curling friend that I didn't know how I could ever quit curling. "That's easy. Just don't go into a curling club," he responded. When you want stop doing something, simply quit going where it is.

What he said makes sense. In fact, I find it generally true. In recent years I've found that even things I truly love like baseball, I don't miss when I stop paying attention. Then, like yesterday, I go to a baseball game, and all the old feelings and anticipation are right back in front of me. All I want to do is enjoy the game. Immediately at the end all I want is to go to another game.

I haven't swung a club since before COVID and, although I do intend to golf again at some point, I can't say I miss it. Yet I don't doubt that the first time back I'll feel exactly like I did yesterday when I walked into that baseball stadium in Lansing. I don't doubt that when I hit the ice this fall in the curling league I've committed to all the old curling vibes will be right back, front and center, although I haven't played regularly in several years.

We humans are, I think, fickle beings. Sometimes it reaches the point where we even forget what we like until we are reminded by sights and smells and remembrance of things past. But if you ever do want to stop doing something, just stop. It seems to work.