After the earth dies, some 5 billion years from now, after it’s burned to a crisp by the sun; there will be worlds, stars, galaxies coming into being, and they will know nothing of a place called “Earth.”
Sometimes when the stresses of life are getting to me I try to remember the above quote and how it applies to the meaningless of everything I do. I admit, sometimes it works, but mostly not.
The economic disarray, joblessness, and overall feelings of hopelessness in this country is akin to Karl Marx slapping me in the face and telling me, “I told you so.” I know that if I don’t kiss up to my boss–leading to an immediate termination–I could end up like one of the homeless folks that I see outside of my second story window. (I have nicknames for two: one is the “predator” because of his ass length dreadlocks and likeness to the alien in the movie of the same name, and the other is “Old Yeller” because he loves to drink beers next to the Starbucks garbage can and, well, scream at the garbage can before he passes out in front of it.) And as I’m daydreaming one day while being inspired by these gentlemen, my mind wandered to a time that had been long erased from my rotted cerebrum–a time when the only thing you had to worry about was school, when you were finally going to get laid and your measly pittance of a weekly allowance.
Carney Lansford was the third-sacker for the A’s during their dominating run in the early 90’s and one of my favorite players. His nerdy glasses and un-ironic mustache (I always thought guys did this because they had thin upper lips) gave him a comforting “cool dad” like quality. After tinkering a bit with batting stances, my 13-year-old self decided that Mr. Lansford’s hand jerky style was the one I’d mimic while rocketing balls off the cyclone fence intertwined with branches and leaves. (my cousin and I thought this made it look more like Wrigley) He was also part of the team that won the ’89 World Series, which was the last time the boys in green even came close to sniffing a title. (’06 ALCS doesn’t count as we were swept by the Tigers and weren’t even supposed to go that far) I sat there, lost in a myriad of unspoken emotions and feelings that had rushed to me in a fruitful and happy wave, and suddenly a burst of terrible 80’s classic rock comes pounding out of my clock/radio. Time to go to work. I must cut this story short, good reader… wage slavery calls.
All the ballplayers had that mustache in the 80s. I lived in New York in those days and when I’d watch or go to a Yankee game I couldn’t tell Mattingly from Don Slaught from any number of them. (well you could usually tell Mattingly because of the line drive home runs)
You’re right. I wrote somewhere about how gay culture was co-opted into the mainstream and the mustache and disco were just two of these trends of that time.
(late 70’s early 80’s) Somehow the mustache hung around for the better part of a decade as I remember almost every dad having one as a small child.
Yeah, that “All we are is dust on the wind” thing. Works for me, sometimes, too.
If I start feeling depressed or overwhelmed about things that I really can’t do anything about- currently that would include the nutty political situation- it can help if I just sit for a minute and visualize myself moving outward from this planet, then out of our solar system, then through and beyond our galaxy, and then…..
Somewhere along in there, whatever I was obsessing about starts to seem just silly.
It also works for me to do the “last minute on the timeline” thing, in which I remember that not just our species, but mammals in general, have only been here for a few seconds on the time scale, starting from our planet’s forming.
Basically, insignificance seems to do the trick. Seems counterintuitive, but it works…sometimes.
Nice writing, as always. Not insignificant.
Yeah, I do the timeline thing too. It’s sort of comforting to know that we are a mere blip on the Earth’s radar screen of time and that we probably wont exist long enough to do any permanent damage.
Thanks for the comment John. I always enjoy them.
you know, while I think about it, I suspect this year is the year I’m finally going to start (or, resume, actually) paying attention to my “Home Team”, and that will largely be your fault. The Giants, of course, have my heart, but I guess there’s room for another team in there, if only to spite Lew Wolff. I get the impression that I am going to be hearing a lot about the team from you, starting in a few weeks (No pressure, but, hey…). I think this could be fun. I mean, I already kind of keep track of the Red Socks and the Yankees, just because I think that’s what a baseball fan ought to do, and I have a new friend who comes from Cleveland, so I’ll be paying some attention to the Indians (which, he assures me, is a one-way road to heartbreak), so it’s not like I’m just one one-team guy.
Hey, I’m getting excited. Pitchers and catchers report in a month. Oh, boy!