John Wise

What is it about “normal” that makes my skin crawl? I can handle it in small amounts, but I’m forever hunting for the personality quirk or edge that allows me to find something redeeming in people I meet or identify an aspect of film, literature, music, or art that displays a hint of brilliance that goes beyond expectation. Reducing it even further, I’d say I’m looking for an inkling of authenticity but not affected authenticity.

Abrasiveness without stupidity, ambition without snobbery, awkwardness because of curiosity, these things seem to manifest in people and things I enjoy knowing and exploring. On the other hand, there’s the adoption of trendy shit to make someone appear relevant, which only exacerbates their fakeness and triggers me to recoil from their grotesque figure.

John, why now? We are closing in on leaving for a vacation in which our time is going to be spent on a 100-mile stretch of the Central California Coast from Monterey south to Cambria. While everything will likely be fine, I’m anticipating the crass arrogance of needy Californians living in the center of their own tiny universe to be in full effect. Now amplified by the travel crush that is busting out of the pandemic, instead of happily going into a break from that ugly routine, I’m afraid these selfish people will only see their own need to be out front without shame, demanding they get all they want. When I consider that this is typical of California in the best of times, I really wish I wasn’t aware of this right now.

The reality is likely not to be what I’m anticipating as we are not interested in the 17-mile drive through Carmel or visiting the Nepenthe Restaurant. Our route will take us north out of Monterey to the Elkhorn Slough, not a popular place. While we are staying at Treebones Resort south of Big Sur, there is nothing there that would draw in day visitors or cause traffic jams. In Cambria, we can meander north to find a quiet corner somewhere. While in Monterey itself, our visit to the aquarium is during a members-only reopening, and entries are timed in order to limit how many people are in the place at any one time. If you think you hear me trying to convince myself to be calm, you are right.

I’m nervous, and anxiety is drilling into my stomach. The reason for this rush into emotion is I’m about to go into battle with an unidentified number of people with whom I am in competition for buying entry into the Monterey Bay Aquarium. My browser has been open for weeks, so I don’t forget that this morning at 9:00 a.m., Pacific Time the aquarium starts offering members reservations starting May 1st. This members-only reopening runs through the 14th, and Caroline and I are booked for everything else surrounding the momentous event.

So here I am, 26 minutes before 9:00 a.m., logged into our account and ready to pounce, just as I imagine a thousand others are ready to do too.

The last time I was in this situation was a couple of years ago when a popular Eurorack synthesizer manufacturer was about to offer a new unit. The first bidder was going to be able to nab serial# 0001, and I was certain it had to be me. While I won that distinction, I later learned that there were 5 of us on it, but I was the one able to complete the transaction in under a few seconds. Expert Shopper Level achieved.

Twenty minutes remaining, and I’m feeling over-caffeinated. Our member number sits in another window should I need to grab it at the last second. My credit card is on the counter should auto-fill fail me at a pivotal moment. Two browser windows for the aquarium, one on the home page and the other on our member page. Caroline is talking to me in chat, wishing me luck; she wore her pendant from Newport, Oregon, to work today to carry the luck of the ocean with her in the hopes that we’ll do well in the high-tension stakes of scoring entry on one or more of these coveted days.

With only 12 minutes remaining, I am barely able to control the impulse to refresh the web pages. I’m anticipating that when they update the site, it might kick out those of us already logged in, allowing the system a full reset. My excitement spills into nausea, wrecking me as I worry if my fingers will perform the way they need to in 9 minutes from now. Then the thought occurs to me: how accurate is the time on my computer? Oh yeah, it’s synced to my phone, so I’m solid here. Eight minutes and my breathing feels shallow. Might I pass out?

Invisible enemies on a horizon we cannot see are poised to enter the arena in less than five minutes. Is the crowd going wild? I cannot hear to roar of those who are about to witness our fight to the death. My time as a gladiator seems to only affect me.

The site is timing out…is the crush so great? I’m also on the phone waiting for the next available service rep. My heart is rapidly sinking. It’s now 9:17 a.m., and not only am I trying to refresh the browser, but I’m on hold with the aquarium while minutes are ticking by.

Three or four calls later, after being disconnected, I finally get through, but by this time, I’ve already looked up our options for canceling the eight days of lodging reservations already made. It’s 9:40 when Nicole in member services answers the phone and reassures me that she can take care of my reservation requests. In less than a minute, we have our spots guaranteed for two consecutive days of entry to the aquarium. Thirty seconds later, the email pops into my inbox, and the tickets are here. We have won this round of gladiatorial battle in the area of information.

It must surely be the sign of a bored mind when, out for a moment of writing, I sit here at the coffee shop with nothing at all flowing through my head. I scan the itinerary of our upcoming trip and some of the details yet to be worked out, but find them all too boring to warrant capture. I look around me at the other 11 people here in the coffeeshop and realize I’m the only man here. Does that have any meaning? No. Caroline is at home talking with her mom, which typically induces me to nap, but I didn’t want to do that, so here I am. Then, I’m talking on Skype with an old friend who’s living rurally in the former East Germany. I’m asking about the level of belligerent racist ideology among the inhabitants, and I’m reassured that things are not hostile. This, though, is not the subject matter for any serious train of thought this morning.

Last night, on our walk around the neighborhood, we spent an hour talking with some neighbors we’d never met before. Nice enough couple, older, they both have a love of travel, at least one is addicted to reading, and we learned they love a wide variety of ethnic meals. Along the way, we were asked a question never heard by us before, “What church do you attend?” How do you tell this person, “We are atheists”? Sadly, it feels like we are telling someone we are Satanists when we admit that we do not believe in any God. I can only wonder if our contact with them can go any further.

Maybe a bit of COVID update should be thrown in here. Caroline and I are now fully vaccinated in that we are well past the two weeks after our second shot to achieve maximum antibody protection. While not worried about the virus killing me now, I still wear my mask into any business I enter and walk away from places that have removed the mandate our idiot Governor ended. While our brilliant Mayor Kate Gallego has insisted on continuing the practice, the people who found the entire process to be a sham are belligerently adamant that they are done with the sheep-like antics.

Meanwhile, in India, the wheels have finally come off the cart, well after the initial speculations that India would be hit hard. We hear nothing about China and the pandemic anymore, while Brazil is seeing its fascist leader threatening to bring the military to the streets. For exactly what purpose, I do not know. Europe is looking at more lockdowns, while America is mostly trying hard to return to normal.

Pantry progress: we are down to roughly 350 line items representing just over 500 individual foodstuffs in our inventory. Consolidation of cabinets has begun as we reclaim those for things like dishes. The goal is to take us down to nothing left in our cabinets other than staples needed for everyday cooking and to do so before anything expires or spoils. The two things that take us the longest to go through are dried beans and canned meat, but we are making steady progress with both.

Random theme of the past week has been our recognition of being so fortunate to plan for and be able to travel. Our diet is made primarily from whole foods and very few processed items aside from pasta, tomato sauce, and the canned meats we hoarded last year. If something interests us, we can indulge ourselves by bringing that item or idea into our lives. We pinch ourselves at the magnitude of luck that allows us these opportunities.

So, while I feel that I have nothing of any consequence to really share today, I can be happy that I was still able to write a little something or other. Now it’s time to go home; grill us a steak from the Cattle Exchange in Canadian, Texas, which we will share for lunch along with an avocado-tomato salad, and then set up our tent to be sure everything’s in order prior to us heading out on our upcoming vacation. Just another lazy Sunday.

There’s nothing like binge-watching an hour of Joey B. Toonz to head-kick you into reevaluating what stupid shit you are sharing on social media. While my blog isn’t promoted on social media per se, it is my version of social media for my wife and me along with whoever might accidentally stumble across some post here. So I scrolled down to find out how guilty I might be of posting narcissistic bullshit: GUILTY! Who cares how much dish soap we use or that we are cleaning out hoarded stuff and believe we are doing something altruistic by giving some of it to Goodwill? Guilty. Meanwhile, I’ve been doing some backfill entries that don’t appear in the current scroll meaning, based on old photos I scanned, I’m putting together some dusty old memories, embellished with the fog of time, about my escapades in the red light district of Frankfurt. Here I go again, bragging about a period of nearly 1000 days in which I would have gladly exchanged my parents for 20 minutes with some prostitute, and towards the end of my sojourn in carnal depravity, I was looking for a Thai Surprise, butch Italian woman with beefy dildos, or that woman whose boobs had to weigh in at 40lbs each (she was big and smelled funny, but that didn’t stop me).

Makes me consider that, at one time, my life was real or a different shade of grotesque. Have I really been reduced to filling the pages between travel photos with how much toothpaste I’ve used in my lifetime? Sure, I tell myself that this is all for some future anthropological study 200 or 300 years from now when people will want to study our current time more in-depth, and I’m supplying an aspect of that, but maybe I’m just providing more ammunition for others to reel in the pain of how profoundly stupid we all were. Even those of us who thought they had a clue. Then I think about the masses from 200 years ago or 2000 years ago, and I’m afraid that they were also as dumb as a box of rocks, and I’m simply carrying on the tradition. If it weren’t for my oversized ego still believing that I have something to share and it might yet turn out to be relevant, I’d have to stop this nonsense and realize that these missives into the ether are going right where they belong, into nothingness.

After reading this to my wife, she consoles me that at least I don’t include mukbang sounds in my blog entries about dishwashing, tooth brushing, or eating a whore’s ass.