Over by the Crater Couch you can observe the Cable Cannibal in its natural habitat!

I wrote the following blog entry on February 5,2014, the day I turned off my cable.

It is still disconnected.

And aside from the first few days where I sat slack jawed staring at the darkened screen waiting for it to magically 
materialize into life, I have survived.

Unfortunately, I still love Oreos and hot tea.

February 5, 2014

Went into rehab today.

No, not in the traditional Lindsey Lohan type of drug stuff way but I walked away from an equally addictive brain drain. By that I mean, I turned off my cable and returned my DVR boxes.

All I can say about that is,
AAARRRGGGHHHHH!
As I stomped away from the UPS store where I had just mailed back the insidious Pandora boxes of entertainment, I felt a little twinge of what Lots wife must have experienced. 
I knew if I glanced behind me I would have been confronted by the faces of Sherlock Holmes, Leonard Leakey Hofstadter, Tyrion Lannister, and the entire cast of Downton Abbey with their faces smashed against the glass screaming, "NOOOOOO!"
"Traitor!"
"Come back!"
"Don't leave us!"
But alas, it had to be done.
Due in part to their constant, daily, non-stop participation in my life, plus the fact that my diet has consisted mostly of unrefined sugar and Oreos the past year, three critical things have happened.

One: My body has increased its girth in frightening numbers resulting in sweat pants for every occasion and a matching turkey wattle.

Two: I have established a permanent nest in my couch complete with a "butt crater" which is the exact shape of my ever expanding backside. 

And Three: My cholesterol and triglyceride numbers are close to matching those of the national debt.

Thus when I opened my cable bill last month my neighbor called 911 because he assumed I was being attacked by an intruder.
It was $205.
In case you didn't read that properly I will repeat it.
TWO. HUNDRED. AND. FIVE DOLLARS!!
This alone would have caused me to spit my morning Oreos and sweet tea all over the crater couch, 
and my sock monkey slippers,
if I hadn't been standing on my front porch.
When I finally regained consciousness and plucked the geranium leaves off my sweaty cheeks, I rolled over in the dirt that serves as my lawn and cried to the heavens, "how did this happen?!?"
Didn't I just sign up for a special "bundle" price of $79 bucks just a few months ago?


Or was that over a year ago?

Over the last few months they have been insidiously adding fees and charges onto my bill all willy-nilly for every blasted thing under the sun.

“Oh ma’am you changed the channel over 10 times a day. That’s a $10 fee.”

“And you watched over 4 hours of educational television. That’s a $20 fee because you were trying to expand your intelligence.”

“That is just not allowed!”

“We will kindly credit you with $5 because you glanced at Jerry Springer for three seconds to see if that man actually HAD two heads and was marrying his own Buick!”

“Now that is what network is all about, missy!”

When I called them to complain about the bill, they explained to me that the “Special Bundle Offers” which I see advertised for $29.99 a month are not meant for me, the long time subscriber, but for all of those poor new suckers they are trying to grasp with their evil cable tendrils.

Never mind, it doesn't matter.  

What does matter is that I am now expected to fork over the amount of money that I used to pay every month for the mortgage on my first house for the privilege of the ability to watch Honey Boo Boo. 

(BTW, I’ve never watched this mess they refer to as a TV series. The commercials were bad enough)

Or a simulated fish aquarium.
IF I so desire.

So I drug out my mental treasure chest and began to rummage through the riffraff.

When?

When did this madness begin?

When did I decide that it was okay to waste countless, precious hours and minutes dragging my mind through this swamp of mediocrity?

Please do not get me wrong, there are many fantastic, clever, innovative, well-written shows on television.

There are also programs which inform and educate us on important world issues as well as those that teach us how to remodel our horrid bathrooms.

But we really must admit.

So much of it is just plain bad theater.

For me it became a placebo during some rough patches in my life.

A glass teat of comfort.

A mind-numbing band aid to sooth the weary soul.

But a new dawn has emerged.

I have taken a stand.

No more.

I have drawn the hard line in the media sand and subscribed to the order of: 
NO MORE CABLE!

At least for now.

It is time to rejuvenate the brain and the pocket book.

Time to get off of the couch and get rid of some of this heart-choking lard.

Time to start creating something that can make me laugh out loud at my keyboard or bring a souls heart to its knees.

As Sarah Bareilles says, “You can be amazing, you can turn a phrase into a weapon or a drug.”

Before now I have been hesitant to admit to others, or even to myself, that I am a writer!

Some of you may laugh at that statement, but that’s okay.

Even the saints had their critics.

So ready or not, I am going to write!

To weave stories which are my own instead of gleaning moments of joy from the work of others!

Therefore I decree until July of this year I am on a strict diet of DVD’s and an occasional peek at my daughters IPad when she is in town and the media monkey just won’t climb off of my back.

After that I will re-assess the situation.

Because football season starts in the Fall.

And I do so love my Chargers.

And the magnificent Game of Thrones will be starting soon.

And the new season of Sherlock Holmes with the clever
 Mr. Cumberbatch.

And the True Detectives.

And who knows what that minx Honey Boo Boo will be up to in the future.

Not to mention those fuzzy Duck Dynasty boys!

Now where is that brochure they mailed me about the special price on a cable bundle?

AAARRRGGGGGHHHHH!!!!

I’m just sayin’.......

The Echo Park "Goose Troupe"

A tranquil Saturday morning at Echo Park in Los Angeles.
I was on a three day sabbatical to the City of Angels for a quick toe dip into the busy lives of my daughters.
A welcome respite from the responsibilities of everyday duties. 
We decided to take a walk to the nearby park to exercise the restless pups and breathe in the promise of Spring.
Echo Park is situated in an older ethnic neighborhood rich in smells, sounds, diverse cultures and life!
The park is happily only one short block from their house and was closed for two long years for a spectacular facelift.
They closed the entire site complete with barricades to dredge out layers of rotted, rancid droppings from the bottom of the lake and replace the water. 
The city installed geyser fountains, planted new grass, built a quaint coffee house resembling a lighthouse and transformed the once dying space into a living oasis for the concrete jungle citizens. 
Complete with fish, paddle boats and various species of waterfowl. 
On the weekends it is especially thriving.
Old men playing checkers on picnic tables cackling with delight as they conquer the board.
Mothers pushing strollers of fussy children.
The runners of all ages and sizes, from the Weight Watcher pack checking their FitBits, to the reed thin marathoner who appeared to have been air dropped directly out of the sky from Kenya.
Skin a glistening healthy cocoa sporting a massive stark white beard. 
Muscles in harmony with energy.

In the "zone".
As I watched him stride toward me I found myself envying his effortless ability to glide over the pavement in his bright green Nikes.
The kids took off to circle the park with the crazy canines in tow and because of my recent knee surgery I sat down on a bench to people watch.
It was then that I saw them.
Three geese in the park.
A pilgrimage of peckage. 
Stairsteps in featherhood.
Lazily waddling across the grass, in a row, looking for a handout. 
A Saturday morning breadcrumb banquet.
The smallest goose a muddy gray, dull mottled feathers, not a stand out by any means.
But quick, darting, purposeful.
The obvious motivated leader of this pack of begging ne're do wells. 
The second goose in line was bigger. 
A cream colored, slothful, rotund creature.
In no hurry.
Over-sized neon-orange webbed feet. 
Content to be the middle child of this band of misfits.
Plodding aimlessly behind his gray commander.
Unquestioning.
Following.
And last in this goose stepping gaggle was a massive gander.
Standing over 2 feet tall, gorgeous black and white feathers, decorative orange and blood red markings above a long black beak.
Impressive fellow. 
I watched as they bullied their way out of the reeds by the water and followed their diminutive leader toward the closest human. 
The grey goose chose a group of four perched by the edge of the water with their pants rolled up to the knees dangling their toes in the murky green water.
Backpacks strewn about, a round of Starbucks clutched to their chests. 
"Ooohhh look!"
"How adorable!"
"Isn't he beautiful!" (referring to the gander)
Out came the phones and the IPads clicking the honking group into cyberspace for all to see.

(The picture above was not any of them, but it amused me when I found it on my Internet search under "goose") 

I admit that I wish I had brought my phone with me.
"He's so big!"
"Look at his markings!"
As if on cue he began to turn, "strutting his stuff", drawing more people to wander over to observe. 
The crowd searched for goodies to stall the threesome, bits of Starbucks scones, broken saltines, infants Goldfish cracker snacks.
The middle goose was friendly, nibbling directly from outstretched palms, coaxing donations from the admirers. 
The gray commander goose gleaned his share from the onlookers but wanted no part of them close up.
Meanwhile the gander performed his role perfectly in this waterside ballet.
The sideshow hawker drawing in the admiring patrons. 
No real effort involved, just being the fluffy eye candy. 
The hard sell.
This scene played out for some time with more people joining the “Goose Admiration Society” by the minute. 
Eventually duties beckoned, attention waned, babies grew fussy and the crowd began to scatter. 
As if on cue, the gray goose sensed the slowdown, hustled his hustlers into a row and set off in search of new frontiers. 
I watched as they waddled away, next to the lakeside looking for a new audience. 
I smiled to myself thinking they were a sort of microcosm of our society.
The non-descript hard working folks.
Flying under the radar.
Doing most of the work but not getting or wanting the attention.
The reward WAS the work.
Then there are the followers.
Amicable.
Friendly.
Happy.
Content to be on the fringes but contributing their part to the project.
And finally the "Stars Of The Show!"
The pretty face on the brochure.
The media darlings.
The attraction.
The lure with no job but just showing up. 
But useless without someone to guide them to the gold. 
I chuckled to myself and wondered which one am I?
As a group they were productive and content.
By themselves they would go hungry.
We all play our part no matter how mundane or grandiose it may seem. 
We are all in this crazy world together whether we acknowledge it or not.
Find your part.
Play it well.
No matter how big or small we are all pieces of this puzzle we call life. 
We ARE the meaning.
We ARE the work. 
Oh, and one more thing. 
My band of wandering geese wanted me to remind you,

Always remember that,
"One man's crumbs are another man's banquet!"

I’m just sayin'…....