It is always with excitement that I wake up in the morning wondering what my intuition will toss up to me, like gifts from the sea. I work with it and rely on it. It’s my partner. —Jonas Salk
I hate that stupid Greenday song. Curse Billie Joe Armstrong for having written it. Curse the stupid video which is entirely too long and much too depressing. Of course, I have both the song and images from the video stuck in my head whether I want them there or not. They’re driving me nuts.
Summer has come and passed
The innocent can never last
Wake me up when September ends
Like my fathers come to pass
Seven years has gone so fast
Wake me up when September ends
Here comes the rain again
Falling from the stars
Drenched in my pain again
Becoming who we are
As my memory rests
But never forgets what I lost
Wake me up when September ends
What the fuck am I supposed to do with that? How does this song help me in any way other than as a reminder that, oh yeah, we’re about to enter the fourth quarter so any goals we had set for the year we either complete now or pretend we never brought them up. Here it is the end of September. Before we know it the snow will be flying. There are things we need to get done.
There Goes The Neighborhood
Looks like the whole planet may be ending its September phase. The news that the atmosphere has surpassed carbon levels of 400 ppm (that’s parts per million for those of you who slept through science class) definitely puts us in that range of being glad I need to pay my AARP dues. While the number really is more symbolic than anything, it is a wake up call that we might want to start looking for alternative places for our grandchildren or great-grandchildren to live. They certainly won’t be hanging out on this planet in a couple hundred years or less.
SpaceX and Tesla CEO and probably the closest thing we have to a real-life Tony Stark, Elon Musk, seems to think colonizing Mars is our best bet. On one hand, I would like to think that if anyone can actually pull off that project it would be Stark, er … Musk. At the same time, though, the difficulty he has had with some of SpaceX’s rockets recently, especially that one mysteriously blowing up on the launchpad, give me a moment’s pause. With all due respect, I don’t want to be heading to a new home and end up having elementary schools named after me. I’m not that hero.
We need to figure out something, though. September is typically the lowest month for atmospheric carbon dioxide. The situation gets worse from here. I know I wouldn’t plan on buying any beachfront property anytime soon unless you’re looking at, oh, maybe Middle Tennessee. Maybe Dollywood can add a beach resort in a few years. That would be fun, wouldn’t it? Yeah, let’s run with that idea.
Arnold Palmer Died, So Did Golf
Actually, the game was on life support before the legendary golfer hit the eternal 19th hole this week. I’ve never been a huge fan of the game largely because I’m not any good at playing it and also because it is one of the most stupid sports to ever be televised. Watching maple sap dripping from a tree trunk would be more exciting and at the end you could make syrup. The Scots were cursing us when they invented golf. That’s the only reasonable explanation.
Major equipment providers are ditching the sport, though, because it’s not “connecting” with Millennials. Rounds of golf played are down. Attendance at tournaments is down. There’s no money to be made there anymore, at least, not like there was when Boomers discovered the sport some 40 years ago. Arnold Palmer was a big part of the golf explosion of the 70s. As he sits down at that eternal watering hole for a round of his favorite drink (lemonade and ice tea carefully prepared and mixed), he’s joined by an entire generation that once thought golf was really cool. They’re all dead now. No one living gives a fuck about the sport.
The question facing club owners now is what to do with all that land full of sand and random holes once no one is interested in wasting whole days standing out there either getting sunburned or avoiding lightening. Might this not only spell the end of golf, but the end of those pretentious members-only clubs that have long been bastions of racism, elitism, and bigotry? More than we could do without the sport, we definitely wouldn’t miss the dismissive attitude. There was a rainbow over Palmer’s home town after his funeral. Maybe that’s a sign.
Good-bye Wonder Woman Fantasies
You know the world has changed when you wake up one morning and find that Wonder Women is definitely queer. Actually, she’s just not that into the entire male gender because they don’t exist in her home of Themyscira. Lead writer for the series, Greg Rucka, confirmed as much in an interview this week. He explains it this way:
It’s supposed to be paradise. You’re supposed to be able to live happily. You’re supposed to be able — in a context where one can live happily, and part of what an individual needs for that happiness is to have a partner — to have a fulfilling, romantic and sexual relationship. And the only options are women. … But an Amazon doesn’t look at another Amazon and say, ‘You’re gay.’ They don’t. The concept doesn’t exist.
Of course, we know plenty of women who wouldn’t mind if the concept of men didn’t exist. That’s another wake up call we should probably answer at some point. We have also known for sometime, in the back of our minds, that there was no way Wonder Woman could really be that into guys. To come from Themyscira to the US would have to be rather like being condemned to a hell full of mysoginistic, sexist assholes. Our brains know that but our groins haven’t wanted to admit it. Time to wake up from the fantasy, boys. None of this world’s Wonder Women are looking for anyone with a penis. Get used to it.
Time To Move On
The end of September is a sign that we have got to move on, dude. Summer’s frivolities are nice, but they don’t last forever. They shouldn’t last forever. We need to wake up and get some shit done. We both know we need to drop a few pounds before the holiday food binge starts. Don’t tell yourself any more lies, the pumpkin spice cravings are just the first warning sign. Hit the gym now so you can enjoy the guilty pleasures later.
Oh, and if you’re not dating anyone, now’s the time to fix that problem. You know your mom is going to be so very disappointed if you show up at another Thanksgiving with your lame roomate in tow. He burps too loud and his fart jokes aren’t funny. Wake up, download a half-dozen dating apps and get busy. You know you’ll dump whomever by Valentine’s Day anyway. Is it so bad that you take a few months to make your mother happy?
Someone needs to write a new song about September. Eleven years and I am so very sick of this one. Wake up. Let’s get going. We can still turn this year into a win. Maybe. At least save it from being a complete disaster. Not voting Republican helps. Eyes open? Here we go.