A Bit of Einstein's Energy in All of Us Celebrities

     With E=mc², we know that energy equals ( mass  x  speed of light )².  If this applies to all things with mass and thoughts harbor energy, then I ask the question—how much does a thought weigh? Perhaps someone will fill-in the missing part of the equation:
                     a thought = ( ?   x 2.99792458 )²
     With consideration for energy, a thought has enough vigor to put my lips and limbs into motion.  With mass, a thought has enough gravity to anchor an erroneous belief that builds negative emotions with much fervor. 

          …our real fears are the sounds of footsteps walking in the corridors of our minds, and
         [anxieties are the floating phantoms] they create.                         –  Truman Capote

Together, mass and energy have enough influence to attract Rationalization and Justification—two of the most notorious fellows.

     According to ‘Laboratory for Neuro Imaging,’ the average human has 70,000 thoughts a day. This might make you think your mind is busy, busy, busy, but I’ve come to suspect that there are rest stops—marked by red push pins—throughout my mind’s map.  These are stations where it meets Rationalization and Justification for drinks (and they probably order pizza, bulking up for more anchoring around).  Worse, I’ve watched my mental energy get stuck and become static—circling in its cage.  With this many thoughts going in and some not coming out, something’s gonna give.

       We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell.          –  Oscar Wilde

     These days, my thoughts aren’t near as heavy.  It’s lunch and I’m sitting in the park, eating a Lebanese salad.  I feel good, so it’s safe for me to think about this time last year. With ‘now’ running parallel to ‘then’, I realize I’ve lost weight.  My memories and hopes are floating and agile, seeking better couplings.  But, I had to let go—of heavy thoughts and advantageous people—in order to be this fit.

      After a period of time, living as if you were someone else is no fun.    – Richard Chamberlain

     Over the past 10 years, I’ve hypothesized the weight of various thoughts.  The question pops up when there are thought clouds over me or an other, looming with complications and computations to filter through.  I’ve come to a simple conclusion. Experiences cause energy to flow, and then leave thin film residue.  Like plaque in an artery, these layers of experiential mass weigh my thoughts and lessen my powers.  The trick to life—it seems—is experiencing the unsolicited stuff (from everyone and everywhere), filtering it through, and releasing what isn’t beneficial.

     Wisdom is the daughter of experience.                                          – Leonardo da Vinci

     Today, an NBA athlete shared the wonderful display of shedding meta-mass…for all the world to see:

     It takes an enormous amount of energy to guard such a big secret.      – Jason Collins

Mr. Collins wasn’t blackmailed by a self-righteous stalker, and he didn’t apologize.  He freely released his truth, adding the profession of ‘athlete’ to these artists who preceded him.

     What’s changed?   Everything.  The new generation isn’t cowering with the usual suspects—Rationalization and Justification.  We introduced DADT because it was progress and soon struck it down because even it held back our species.  And, the younger ones are working their way through the muck that has weighed our souls and drained our powers.  They aren’t waiting, or asking permission, to participate in the next greatest evolution. 

     Things can change in an instant, so why not live truthfully?            – Jason Collins

     Today's hero silenced the usual suspects of yore.  What was the apocalyptic result?  His significant financial providers—including Nike—voiced support and friends had his back.  Whatever lucky man—who wins Jason’s heart—will share life’s spectrum of experiences with the man he loves (from really good floor seats).

     And your very flesh shall be a great poem.                                       – Walt Whitman

    If you have a freedom story to tell, we’d love to read it—whether you know you're a celebrity or not, “).

Riding a Tricycle, Holding Daisy Dukes

Alice

“Chazz, get up. Let’s take the dogs out.”

“No, I’m tired.”

“You never want to do anything. Why do you drive all this way to lay on my couch?” Alice asked.

“I don’t have this many stations on the other end of my remote. Besides, it’s good for the girls to visit.  When we were together...”

Alice’s phone rang and she answered it, cutting off a reminder of the beginning of a memory that was going to address the elephant that was cross-legged and smoking on top of the coffee table.

“Yeah, I do.  What time?” Alice spoke to the caller.

Pause.

“You know how to get here?”

Pause.

“Ok. The gate code is 1-2-3-4.”

Alice put her phone on the bar and then threw a pack of cigarettes at Chazz’s head.

“Get up.”

“Who was that?”

“It was Micki.  She’s coming over later. We’re going for beers.”

Micki

“I’ve got a date tonight,” Micki said to her ex after she hung up.

“Who?” Melinda asked.

“I used to work with her ex.  When Chazz and I lived in Houston.”

“Christy?”

“No—aye, veigh!” Micki glared. “Why do you always bring her up?”

“I wonder. You tell me why I always think of Christy when you talk about Houston.” Melinda leaned forward and bugged out her eyes.  She pushed her face toward Micki.  “Maybe, because she broke us up?”

“That’s not why we broke up.”

“She was the first of a few reasons why we didn’t break up.”

“You want to go there?”  Micki bugged her eyes and pushed forward before she pulled back with emphasis.  “Besides, we’re better as friends.  We don’t fight near as much. Right?” Micki pulled the top from a Lite—Psssssttt.  “Right.”

“Whatever.  Toss me one.”  Pssssstttt. “Who’s the new girl?  What’s her name—Chazz?”

“Her name’s not Chazz.  I worked with Chazz.  I’m talking about her ex, Alice,” Micki took the last gulp.

“That’s right.  I remember Chazz.  So, what’s up with this Alice?”

“She reminds me of Christy,”  Micki grinned and crushed the can.

“Aye, veigh!  I’m going to kill you!”

Chazz

“Now, I’m really, really tired,” Chazz was the last one up the stairs and into the apartment.
“You were tired the day you were born,” Alice said.

“I remember. I did a lot of work that day.”  Chazz stretched out and reached for the remote. “I’m going to watch tv while you and Micki go for beers.”

“No. You’re going with. You can’t just come here and lay around like when we were together.” Alice pulled the pillow from under Chazz’s head and then popped her with it. “You’re going for beers with us.”

“I brought a twelve pack,” Chazz pointed toward the kitchen.  “Besides, you don’t even drink.”

“I’m going to eat, and y’all drink.”

“I’m not going on a date with you and Micki.  Uh-uh, no way.”
“I’m not dating her, I don’t even know her.  We’re going for burgers.”

“She’s going for beer and you’re going for burgers.  That’s a date, going the wrong way on a trike.”

The Not-Date

Buzzzzzz

“Hello?”
“Hey- uh, Alice. Can you let me in?”
“The gate?”

“I forgot the code.”

“Hold on.”

Buzzzz.

Knock, knock.

“Who’s there?” Chazz smiled when she opened the door.

“What the—?  Oh, ‘hi Chazz.’ What are you doing here?”

“Taking a nap,” She lunged toward the couched and plopped. “We just walked the dogs.”

Alice was dressed except for her shoes. She bent to lace them and then straightened her new walking sweats. “Did you have trouble finding it?”

“I like those. Did you get them at Academy?” Micki asked. 

“Macy’s.”

“Oh,” Micki straightened. She looked around the apartment but stopped to stare at Chazz’ elongated comfortable stretch. “Yeah, I’ve been here before. I knew this girl last summer.  Have you ever been to the pool?”

Chazz stood. “You want a beer?”

“I drink anything that’s free.” Micki tugged on her UofH cap.
“Aren't we going for food?” Alice asked.

Micki caught the beer.  “You still know how to play 3 gulps?”

“I’m playing 6 gulps these days,” Chazz replied.

“Well, down the hatch.” Micki crushed the can and looked up, “What are you going to do?”

“Huh?” Chazz asked.
“While we’re gone.” Micki looked at Chazz.  “Do you lock up?”

The Date

“Chazz. Can you send back my tacos? I asked for chicken,” Alice asked. “Just get them in a to-go.”

“Sure.”

“Hey Chazz, what’ve you been up to since Houston?” Micki asked.

“Don’t you mean since last month when I gave you her number?” Chazz nodded toward Alice.

“I mean. Did you ever get a job?”

“No. I go to dinner with people who will pay my bill in exchange for sending back their food.” Chazz nods toward Alice.  “It’s only a part-time job, but it keeps me out of the dumpsters.”

“You don’t have to be a shit.  We were friends,” Micki said.

“Yeah—until you and Christy started going to Sonic for afternoon slushes.”

“Wow!” Alice looked at Micki with a renewed interest, “You were the one who broke up Chazz and Christy?”

“That wasn’t the reason they broke up,” Micki snapped.

“I’ll get the check,” Chazz raised her arm.

After the waitress split the bill, Alice went one way while Chazz and Micki headed to the parking lot.  One lit a cigarette, and they shared it.   

“You remember when Melinda and I broke up?” Micki asked while exhaling.

“Yeah?  But then you always went dancing,” Chazz replied.

“Right.  That’s my point. On Sunday morning, we’d always say, ‘Why doesn’t anyone ask me out?’”

“Because everyone thought you were still together.”

“Right.  You ever wonder about stuff like that?”

“No. I don’t care what other people think. ”

“You seein’ anyone?”

After the Not-Date-Date

“Great idea.  Thanks for making me drink $4 beers instead of free ones,” Chazz said.

“What was up with her?” Alice asked.

“She was pissed because you brought your ex on a date.”

“If she wanted it to be a date, she could have asked me out.”
“She called you and asked you out.”

“She said, ‘Do you want to get something to eat?’”

“That’s what people do at the beginning of a date.” Chazz leaned in for a hug and whistled for one of the two sisters, “Come Daisy.”

“Stay, Dukes.”

Smelling the Sky Like It was Yesterday

I grabbed a used pair of Levis from the hamper.  I did a full day of yard work on Saturday and assumed it was the pair that’s dedicated to pulling weeds and scooting against the earth.  But, I’d grabbed the pair that I wore Sunday when I took Sweet Georgia Brown and Cali Surfer Girl for a drag around LSU lake. 

It’s routine for me to get home, walk down the half flight of stairs and put on clothes for our immediate daily walk. There's no chance for negotiations. The two of them have formed a union chapter and know their rights.  They are staring and waiting for me to get on with what they’ve been waiting for since I put on my work clothes and left this morning.  

Cali doesn’t throw her head forward to beckon me out of the closet but moves toward my knees and smells the denim that’s wrapped around my thighs.  I think that’s weird, but I remember that she is smelling yesterday—the other dogs that brushed me, the pollen that’s everywhere, the air, and maybe even the sky. She’s half here and half back there on the path we explored.  This is the gift of a dog’s smell. 

I thought about how that experience is so much like sensations that humans bring to first dates.  Everything might be new, but former sights, and maybe smells, compete with “now.”

Benvenuto! Yin-dee-ton-rab, ยินดีต้อนรับ! Selamat Dating! Bienvenido! Willkommen!- You've Got Friends in Smoky Places

Dragging my bag into my most-often-visited Hampton, I see a couple that is smoking (cigarettes).  They are inhaling and then throwing back their heads to blow the smoke up and away.  For some reason, people who do this are most often smiling on their way down.  Isn’t that odd?

Usually, I abhor smokers because I had to hate the smell and residue in order to stop the habit that perpetuated for the length of a ski tip (+) 9.99 more years.  But watching the current strangers in this ritual, I was envious.

"Wouldn’t it be great if I had a partner and we shared a vice?" I thought.

#1 had vices but ours weren’t the same; #2 had very few; and, #3 was addicted to work which excluded me entirely.  So, I’ve never had a partner who might share my tailored vice.  #1, #2, & #3 (as well as my mom and siblings and bestys) would probably scream, “Thank the good Lord!”  I did have an unrelenting gerbil-motor that kept my body moving furiously forward during most of the waking hours.  I can’t imagine the nonsense I would have spun into if I had a like-minded partner.

Anyhoo, it seemed to me that this couple (and the various others that I’ve seen together at this very same entrance) gather there to share something special.  I’m really, really envious.  It’s not that I want a vice that’s going to kill me and my lover (unless we can die together because I’m still working through my co-D stuff), but it seems these guys channel life and put it right here, right now.  They aren’t thinking about tomorrow and the what-ifs; they are saying, “Let’s go have us time.”  I’m not saying it’s the best form of camaraderie, I’m just saying I finally get it. 

If you’re ready to tune me out because smoking leads to death—and there’s not much room for discussion—, I agree.  But there’s something to this  ritualistic simpatico. It reminds me of a conversation I had with a friend who is going through a divorce. 

“What poor guy will put up with her crap?”  He referenced his soon-to-be Ex.

“A guy who benefits from her vices,” I replied. "She'll find a guy who lets her do her thing so he can do his."

This led us to a discussion about ‘normal’.  He fought to acquire it for their family.  He couldn't understand the disconnect—the where, when, how of it. 

“She didn’t want your version of normal,” I said with a neutral tone. "She's still figuring out what that looks like for her."

She wanted anything but normal because that hinders the odyssey, and she’ll find a guy who is captaining his own peculiar little vessel.  He won’t mind that she’s not available and she won’t feel like she’s supposed to be doing something normal.  Together, they'll both have someone who isn’t creating an agenda that doesn’t fit.  

I guess what I’m trying to say is that couples who share compatible enough vices are living right here, right now.  Sure, they’re throwing all hell to the wind, but I could've used a bit more of that spirit in a previous relationship(s).  Going forward, my pursuit will be to create a vice that doesn’t steer my body toward a cancer center but doesn’t keep me horizontal on the couch after the nightly news. 

If this entry ping’d an old memory, send your comment or full story.  Certainly your vice has been a burden or a benefit; certainly you have a friend with a vice that is centering or riveting for her and the ones who watch.  Have I mentioned that you can use this space for telling stories about your friends’ fun and foibles?  

Speaking of friends with various ways, whoever set in motion “2500 Lesbian Linking Lands” you and your buddies who are abroad created a serious international peeps list.  Until recently, that particular link popped up with most of the newbies.  Some still check in to catch up on what’s going on.  In fact, this list of various visitors is a good representation of an average month:

It’s pretty awesome, huh? 

I’d like to welcome the latest arrivals: Italy, Thailand, Indonesia, Mexico, and Austria!  You’re in good company, “).