I Know What I Know... I Think....

Paul Simon once sang “I know what I know. I’ll sing what I said. We come and we go, that’s a thing that I keep in the back of my head.”  And he’s absolutely right. I know what I know, you know? And I know a lot of stuff. And we do, we come, and we go…. Where we’re coming from and going to, well, that I don’t know. But I do keep a list in the back of my head. Unfortunately, I keep a lot of crap back there, like repressed memories of bridges and holes in hotel walls and that one time under the bleachers with… wait, crap. She can probably read this….

(Before I go any further, yes, yes I did take an ambient last night. Just be quiet and pay attention.)

Yes, I know what I know. And because I have fingers and a keyboard and the Internet and a slight touch of neurosis, you will now know some of the things I know. So, let’s begin.

I know… that the following things are polarizing: Politics; Religion; Fetuses; Guns; Soft drinks; Keanu Reeves; Relish; Pornography; Sports; and Domestic pets. I’m certain without doubt that there are many other things in existence that have a polarizing effect, but by and large I think you can pick any one of those things and fit it into the above referenced categories. Yankees v. Red Sox. (Duh.)  Stars Wars v. Star Trek (Easily fits into politics, religion or both. Shut up it does and you know it.) Favorite Actor. (Hint: Keanu Reeves is NOT. HIM.) Boobs? Sadly, boobs play a role in most of these categories. How many politicians and religious leaders have been brought down by boobs? And honey, what you do with relish is your own business.

So what’s the point? Stuff divides people. It happens. And that’s ok. I don’t care if you’re intellectually stunted as evidenced by your inexplicable love of Keanu Reeves movies. It’s not your fault. I won’t hate you for it. Nor will I hate someone because they have different political opinions that I do. And if you’re a cat person, or a dog person, great. At least you like animals. It’s ok to be divided, just don’t let it destroy us. We can still get along…. Except you Keanu fans. You can pick up your tin foil hats at the front desk. (I said I wouldn’t hate you, but I didn’t say that you shouldn’t identify yourselves in public so that I can avoid you.)

I know… that Booger (not his real name) was right when he said “Sometimes you just gotta say what the f*ck” in Risky Business. Those that read this blog know that I have mentioned some events that have occurred in the past year that illustrate just how short our time really is. Live. Love. Breathe. Laugh. Cry. Dance the Funky Chicken. (If you do that last one, please send video.) Embrace the ones you love, don’t push them away. Our existence is not meant to be lived alone. If there’s something you want to do, do it. If you want to do it with a particular someone, tell them. Grab them by the arm and say “let’s go!” No excuses. No whining about how you don’t have the money or the time or the energy. Never been to Vancouver? Save your beer cans and buy a ticket. Always wanted a tattoo? Go get one. Have a crush on that girl in study hall/the next office/at the coffee shop? Ask her out. What’s the worst that can happen, she says no? So what? Are you any worse off than if you didn’t ask? No, you’re not. Because if you never asked, she wouldn’t have gone out with you anyway. Live a little. Hang out at a dive bar on a Friday night, even if you don’t drink a sip. Meet people. Have fun. Just do something.

I know… scars are good. They are. Whether physical or emotional, scars remind us of pain through which we’ve suffered to arrive at the place we now stand. They help us remember how badly some things hurt so that we don’t repeat the actions that caused that hurt the first time around. I, for one, will never again try the Bohemian Butterfly. Ever. Again. Seriously. Whoever thought that position would in be in any way pleasurable…. I still have a knot behind my knee from when… *ahem* What was I saying? Right, I know stuff.

I know… that the phrase “some things are better left unsaid” is, in the immortal words of the late, great Colonel Potter, a bunch of horse hockey. If you ask anyone, and I mean anyone, what they’ve done in their lives that they regret, I will wager all the money in my pocket that at some time they will have regretted not saying something that they wanted to say. Whether it was to tell someone you’re sorry, or that you love them, or hell, that you hate them with the fire of a thousand suns, why didn’t you? I will also wager that the reason the words went unspoken is that you were afraid of the consequences that would inevitably follow once the words left your lips. The band Great Big Sea has a song called “Consequence Free.” Find it. Listen to it. You’ll understand what I’m saying.

I know… that I am not perfect. Right now I could probably lose a few pounds and should be in the gym more often than I am. I know I’ve made mistakes, some of which can never be undone, but there are those errors in judgment that can still be corrected. (On that note: Dear neighbor from when I was eleven: that lawn jockey you had at the end of your driveway with the light-up eyes? It may or may not be buried in the woods approximately thirty paces and slightly to the right of the left back corner of your backyard fence. And seriously? Light-up eyes? That thing was f*cking creepy.) I know, though, that it’s ok to make mistakes. If you’re sorry, and you try to make amends, and you’re still not forgiven, well, it happens. Don’t dwell on it.

I know… that there are some things that will never make sense. Like why a platypus is a mammal with a beak that lays eggs. Why Darcy Regier is still general manager of the Buffalo Sabres. Why anyone thought Keanu Reeves could act. Why one nostril is always bigger than the other.

(Wait for it….)

(Seriously, how many times are you people going to fall for this kind of stuff? Stop looking up your nose and pay attention.)

Why, as the comedian Steven Wright queries, DO we park on a driveway and drive on a parkway? And why does dropped toast always land butter-side down? (Which begs the question – If dropped toast always lands butter-side down, and a cat always lands on its feet, what happens if you butter the back of a cat and drop it out… never mind.)

I know… you people are once again reading this blog and thinking that I’m either off my medication (again) or need to up the dosage (again). You know what? I’m ok with that. If you smiled, or laughed, while you read this, even just a teensy eentsy bit, then I know I’ve done my job. My life is not always smiles, and I know yours aren’t either. So this, I know for certain: If you can make someone smile a day, just one person smile, then your bad day really wasn’t so bad after all.

[DISCLAIMER: No buttered cats were harmed in the making of this blog post. Although Mr. Wiggleschmidt VI does seem to disappear every time I take the tub of Country Crock out of the fridge now. I wonder what that’s all about….]



© J.J. Goodman 2013. All rights reserved.