COLUMN: Walk the Block

I've gotta be honest. I've had a bad couple of weeks.

It's all just getting to me: the election drama, the post-election drama, the isolation of social distancing, and the sudden onset of darkness before I leave the office every day. I've been talking to myself, talking to the cats, and talking to any deities that might fancy listening. This year is just an ugly quagmire of sadness. My days are mostly spent going to the office, working in near silence, then coming home and binge-watching sitcoms in an attempt to remember what comedy feels like.

Call me maudlin if you want, but I've lost my mojo.

I figured out something that helps, though.

For the past week, whenever I've needed a break from the cubicle, rather than slinking to the breakroom or playing on my phone, I've instead been doing something rather out-of-character: I've been taking walks. Nothing exciting, mind you. Just a stroll around a block or two, but it's been nothing less than revelatory. There's nothing wrong with getting a little fresh air and a leg stretch or two, but it's more than that.

It's been over a year since we closed our East Moline office and moved to downtown Davenport, and I've barely explored the area beyond our parking lot. Getting out and seeing humanity in motion, even from a safe distance, is a reminder that the world is still here. We might not be congregating for Thanksgiving celebrations, we might not be hanging out with friends in bars and restaurants like we normally would, but we're still around.

When you take the time for a leisurely stroll, you notice things you don't catch when you drive past in a blur or have your eyes glued to a cell phone.

Things I've appreciated this week:

- The outdoor downtown murals. It's like our very own hieroglyphics. Proof positive that art and people and magic flourish. A block away, I spy a different kind of art in the form of a wall tagged with graffiti. Yes, it's defacing someone's property, and sure, it's kinda tacky. But in those lowest moments of seeing spiked pandemic numbers and wondering if we'll figure out a way to perservere, I've been reminding myself that someone figured out a way to scale a building, cross a roof, and hang upside down over the edge with a can of spray paint just to make that tacky accoutrement to an otherwise non-descript wall. We're nothing if not determined. 

- The Bix statues. Okay, so maybe this is a bit self-serving, since our company is the primary sponsor of the Bix 7, and the statues honoring the annual road race are at the edge of our parking lot. But those statues are really impressive up close. I've driven by them countless times, but never actually walked up to them. Turns out I was missing the best part: the sidewalk of engraved stones, where sponsors and donors can have custom messages paved right into the footpath.

As someone who routinely stares downwards when walking around, this was a great discovery. There's everything from birthday shout-outs to memorial tributes to what even appears to be a brick sponsored by Nike. It kinda makes me want to sponsor one, were I independently wealthy and/or skilled with a chisel and a plucky DIY attitude. But if I ever sponsored a brick somewhere, I'd want a non-sensical message to confuse future generations as much as possible. Imagine this sea of heart-warming bricks and then right in the middle is one that reads "PUT SOY SAUCE IN CHOCOLATE MILK. TRUST ME. IT'S YUMMY." Or, I dunno, "COMMEMORATING THE GREAT ARMADILLO UPRISING OF 1982." Or, simply, "MMM BOP." I mean, if you're going to leave a legacy, it might as well be one that makes people go "What the...?" or get a lousy Hanson song stuck in their head against their will.

Better yet, I should sponsor a brick that just contains a bunch of non-sensical conspiracy symbols, like a pyramid and one of those all-seeing eyes and an ankh or something. Just the perfect amount of mystery to send future generations on a wild goose chase for absolutely nothing. Or I just sponsor HALF a brick with the message "IF TREASURE YE SEEK, HEAD THREE CLI--" and then purposely leave the rest blank. Just because I want humanity to survive 2020 doesn't mean I don't want to drive them insane.  

- The new downtown YMCA. Man, it looks spiffy. If it feels like nothing is progressing in 2020, peep an eyeball at that construction. 

- The raucous ruckus that can only be a train crossing the Government Bridge. Normally, that noise would drive me around the bend. But in the middle of a pandemic, it's a symphonic reminder that things carry on. 2020 might be a weird year, but trains still run and cars still drive. Goods and services still need to get from Point A to Point B. It's a horrible, beautiful noise.

- Downtown lofts. There's a ton of them, and they're pretty cool from the outside. I like my house, don't get me wrong. But it'd be pretty cool to live in a converted loft with huge windows and a roof you can chill out on. 

- THE SKY. Have you guys looked UP this week? Every night, I leave the office to darkness, which is repellent and depressing and an annual adjustment I hate to make in ANY year, let alone one of frustration and sadness and scary times. But if the sky is clear, you can look up right now and see Jupiter and Saturn hanging out by the moon. You can see Mars red and brilliant to the east. COVID might have the world in its clutches, but not the universe. 

Tonight when I got off work, I just stood there for a bit in the parking lot, staring at the sky. For all we know, one of those dots a kajillion miles away could have another dot rotating around it full of eight-legged spider-monsters living their best spider-monster lives. Maybe they don't have to wear masks or socially distance or vote one spider-monster into office while a different spider-monster claims its rigged. Maybe they're just having fun and patting each other on the back (or whatever the spider-monster equivalent to a back is.)

We're in the home stretch on this thing. Vaccines and hope exist, even if they're hard to see right now. If 2020 hits you hard, don't worry. Well, you probably SHOULD worry a little. But then take a breath, put on a coat, walk around the block, and see the world continuing to thrive and survive. if you look hard enough, you might just be able to find something to be thankful for this year. 

COLUMN: Ceiling Bobcats

Crazy week, eh?

By the time you read this, we may know who our next President is. At the time of writing this, I still have no clue. Last I checked, the entire election now hinges on the voting preferences of Wayne Newton, the dudes from "Ghost Adventures," and one Mary F. Smith of 342 Briar Lane, Beaver Springs, Pennsylvania.

In times of turmoil and stress like this, many of you naturally turn to experts for advice, leadership, and a steady hand. And by "experts," I'm obviously referring to your local media's resident humor columnist. I humbly recognize my vital role in our nation's stewardship and your overall peace of mind. This burden weighs heavily on me. I've been hitting the Cheez-its pretty hard this week. 

I fear, however, that I don't at the moment have much to contribute to our nation's discourse. I'm sure you're all collectively disappointed. I've spent the past 24 hours staring at CNN, at times cheering and at other times considering Canadian real estate. I'm not sure what to think, feel, or say -- which is why I went to bed early last night. Optimistically, I thought perhaps my subconscious would sort it all out. Maybe I'd have a relevant dream that could provide answers and wisdom to bestow upon you all.  

Well, I had a dream, alrighty. I'm not quite sure what to make of it, but perhaps we can analyze it together and glean insight and understanding to our current plight.

(I'm not kidding. This really WAS the dream I had last night:)

Like many of you, I've struggled with accomplishing chores and duties in our "new normal" of 2020. In yesterday's dream, one of those duties was to attend a beauty pageant. Not COMPETE in said pageant, mind you. I simply had to attend and be in the audience. Somehow, for some reason, it was mandatory.

This particular pageant was in Maine, and even in my dream, that's a long way to travel. Thankfully, others in town had also been selected for the pageant audience. Specifically: my best friend, a co-worker, an advertising client at work, his wife who I went to high school with, the clerk at my neighborhood gas station, and my ex-girlfriend's little sister. This was the literal definition of "dream casting."

So the seven of us set off on a cross-country road trip to Maine in a rickety old school bus, Partridge Family-style. Admittedly, if I were ever forced to go to Maine, this would be a pretty pimp way to get there.

But to complicate matters, due to COVID, all roadways in Dreamerica had been turned into westbound one-ways. Going east was simply not an option. So the only possible way for us to get to Maine was to head west to Seattle, cross into Canada, and then drive back to Maine.

The next thing I remember, we were pulling into a small town in Montana to stay the night. Bad news, though -- all the hotels in town were booked. Well, all except ONE: the brand new hotel owned and operated by actor Tony Danza. As Tony took our bags, we marveled at our room, which was a two-story warehouse loft complete with mid-century modern furniture and dangerous gaping holes in the floor.

The seven of us were really excited... until we discovered the horror within. Tony must not have invested much in fumigation, because the room was infested -- with ravenous bobcats. But not your run-of-the-mill ravenous bobcats you often find in your standard celebrity-owned Montana hotels. No, these bobcats could walk upside-down on the ceiling and hang like bats.

Suddenly, my random roadtrip dream turned into a hellish nightmare of me and my acquaintances slowly being stalked and murdered by ceiling bobcats. Just as one of the hanging felines had me cornered, I awoke -- shaking, heart racing and covered in sweat. I was terrified -- for about three seconds. Then I just started laughing.

I didn't want to forget anything, so I grabbed a piece of scratch paper and scrawled "CEILING BOBCATS!" before falling back asleep. When I woke to the alarm clock, thankfully I remembered everything -- because the only thing scarier than that dream would be waking to an unexplained piece of paper that said "CEILING BOBCATS!" Sadly, I do NOT know the outcome of the pageant.

I have no idea what any of this means, but it MUST be full of important symbolism and hidden insights, no? Thankfully, the internet has a surplus of dream analysis websites. According to the ones I visited today, dreaming of beauty pageants means I'm feeling competitive. Dreaming of a bus symbolizes a desire to fit in. Dreaming of hotels indicates insecurity. Bobcats represent bad news and betrayal. And dreaming of the ability to walk on ceilings is supposed to mean I've reached a limit psychologically. 

So what are the takeaways here? It's obvious, duh. The election has me feeling very competitive and wanting to fit in with what is currently 50.4% of the popular vote. But I definitely have insecurity about the outcome and the potential for bad news. And I'm pretty sure we've ALL reached our psychological limit with campaign season and 2020 in general.

Sadly, there are no internet resources as to the dream symbolism of Tony Danza, but I'm pretty sure it means I should lay off the Cheez-its before bed.

Hopefully all that helps. It's the best my subconscious can offer. Whichever way Mary F. Smith votes, I hope the election or the results don't stress you out TOO much. At least we get a break from political ads and fundraising pitches for a couple years until it starts all over again. For now, I wish you all a good night. Don't let the ceiling bobcats bite.