Tag Archives: musings

Recent Thoughts, April 2020

3 Apr

April 3, 2020

Updates to this site are few and far between lately. The easy answer is that I have less time and opportunity to post. Far less than I used to have. But the better answer is that I don’t feel the need. Don’t feel the urge to write. Is it because my job, in which on some days I do nothing but write, satisfies whatever craving I have? I don’t know. I really don’t feel the writing bug much, if at all. But I can tell you that what I want to do with and get out of this blog is very different than it was when I began 10 years ago. That’s a different story for a different time. Long story short, updates to this blog are likely to remain few and far between. You know what? I’m ok with that,

And judging from my stats and comments, you are too.

With the current situation, many people would think that this is a good time to write, to read, to catch up on TV, etc, etc, etc. Unfortunately, for many people it is. It’s really sad that so many people I know are out of work and have no money coming in. I am not showing off or humble-bragging when I say that I am working from home, getting as much work done, if not more, than before this virus hit. Yes, I am grateful for the money coming in, but the stress level is high. There is the general level of stress many of us feel these days due to the virus situation. I’m in New York City, so I assume you’ve seen how bad things are on the news. Add to that the stress of my job, which I will not go into here. Plus there is my wife to consider, and my Job One is making sure she’s happy and OK. (I don’t mean to imply she’s unhealthy. She’s perfectly fine.) She is uppermost in my mind these days, right alongside the rest of my family that it kills me not to see.

I’m not the only one going through these things. Things are bad (and badder and baddest) all over. I’m no martyr, but this is my sandbox so forgive me if this comes off as all about me. It is. This is my blog, after all. If thousands of self-obsessed YouTube and Instagram influencers can have channels dedicated to the minutiae of their ridiculous lives, forgive me this one post on this obscure website.

One thing I am doing to cut down my general stress levels is avoiding Facebook. A timewaster at the best of times, it has become nothing short of aggravating. Luckily, my feed is not full of idiots licking fruit or jerks throwing virus parties and crowding 50 people into their apartments. My friends and the people I follow are smarter than that.

But Facebook is full of funny memes about toilet paper shortages and social distancing, and joke after funny picture after silly cartoon about the coronavirus. And that’s fine. But it doesn’t do a thing for me. Some of these jokes are funny, some of them make me laugh. I begrudge no one for posting these things. No problem at all. I’m not some weird moralist who finds no humor in this. Go ahead, post your jokes, post your memes, no problem. I don’t care, and you certainly don’t care what I think anyway. But I don’t want to see them. I don’t want to know from them.

For me, it is a little too close to picnicking in a graveyard.

It isn’t just Facebook. I make a point of checking the news only one or two times a day, and I completely avoid any news conference by New York City’s buffoonish part-time Mayor. The Governor is controlling him like a puppet anyway.

Before you think I am all stress – work – stress nowadays, I have to tell you that I made time to watch Tiger King.

Wow. Just wow. That is exactly the type of thing I’d love to blog about.

If only I felt the urge.



“Time is what we want most, but what we use worst.” -William Penn

20 Mar

March 20, 2013

Just some random, not really related, musings on the nature of time.
Somber mood here folks.


A clock is a collection of gears and movable pieces. One gear causes another to turn, which in turn causes another to turn, ultimately a hand on the clock face moves forward a tick. It is in no way connected to the dimension of time. A clock moving backward does not reverse time, a broken clock does not stop time. The gears may move the clocks’ hands, or the gears may move a hand mixer. Neither perceives time. Perception of time is a unique characteristic of higher level living things. Biological clocks work with the decay and growth of certain enzymes, cellular growth, the presence or absence of certain biochemical markers. None of that perceives time. Humans may be unique in being aware of the motion of time.



A man takes a summer stroll through a wood.
He has never been there, has no destination in mind, he has all day at his leisure to enjoy nature.
As he walks along a well-worn path he enjoys the scent of the air, fresh grass, and slight dew.
The sun is high but not hot, the man is filled with the oneness of being.

The path moves among hills and across small, stone-filled rivers.
It gently curves, first to the right, then slightly to the left, but ultimately it wends its way forward.
After a bit of a gentle downward slope, the path branches into two directions.
Each path offers equal beauty. Neither path has more to recommend it than its brother.
It would be good, thought the man, to walk one path and see where it leads. Then, if I care not for the destination, return and walk the other path.

As far as he could perceive, neither path looped back upon itself. It seemed that once setting foot upon a branch that would be the path taken. For it seemed silly to walk the path to the end only to walk it all the way back and take the other path. And what would be the guarantee that the second path would be more pleasing than the first?

The man set his foot and began to walk. What else could he do?



An otherwise poor film contained the line time is the fire in which we burn. Some live their lives like a burning star, only to die before their time. Others only sputter, most smolder and crackle with the occasional flare, until they too die.

Time is the fire in which we burn artistically, if perhaps simply, points out a universal truth: everyone dies. Or perhaps to stay in the realm of the pure and scientific, entropy increases. It is a law of thermodynamics.

A man builds a small house in a remote country. Answering an urgent summons, he leaves, never to return, the house never occupied. Alongside the house is a large pile of bricks and stones that the man had intended for a small garden shed.

Over time the house and bricks remain undisturbed in the remote country. Still they remain, over years, decades, scores, untouched.

A century, perhaps, later, they have come to resemble each other, the house and the pile of bricks. Yet the bricks and stones have not risen into a shed.

And in truth even the pile of bricks and stones has not fared well. Over the long years the edges of the bricks have crumbled.  Some have fallen off the pile and split apart. Some of the stones have begun to wear smooth, the eon-long process of erosion.


“Fine wine improves with age,” sayeth the truism. Perhaps, but the taste is due to a chemical reaction, in a broad sense, of decay, of chains of molecules breaking apart.

“Youthfulness” is simply a euphemism for not acting your age.

“Second childhood” is senility.

And life is too short.

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