Comic Sans Laughter

 Entry 1

Around 1975 my neighbor Don, who had the most amazing comic book collection--Archie, Richie Rich and Little Lulu are the ones I remember, did the most amazing thing--he ordered Sea Monkeys. We were so excited, we could barely wait for the mailman to bring them. When they arrived, and Don's dad told us that they were only brine shrimp, we ignored him. We'd seen the images in the back of the comic book. Who did he think he was dealing with--the unlettered? As one can clearly see above, these were tiny alien beings, who lived in the sea. The image I remember, not pictured here, is one of a Sea-Monkey Poseidon, wielding a dangerous-looking trident. Dangerous-looking only, because we knew they were tiny little beings, these sea monkeys. When they came, my recollection is you got something that was dried, and you put it in water and they activated. I know we checked over and again, but I don't think our Sea-Monkey friends ever amounted to more than just dust in water. This is about the time we learned about fine print. The above image has at the bottom the following phrase, "Caricatures shown are not intended to depict Artemia salina." My fourth grade brain hadn't really paid much attention to that. I was more hooked on the money-back guarantee, the supply of grown food, the fully-illustrated manual and the tricks, stunts and commands we were going to teach the water monkeys. We would be the envy of our friends and classmates. Also, we didn't speak Latin, so didn't think much of Artemia salina. At some point, like in a Leave It To Beaver episode, we learned from Don's dad that the bill of goods Don paid for included sea brine, AKA Artemia salina and hokum.  We were crestfallen and almost learned a valuable lesson, until he announced he was ordering the x-ray specs.

I feel like we live in a Sea Monkey democracy these days. Promises are offered, and that these promises are bullshit is right in front of us, out in the open, but we keep wanting to believe. At the moment we realize we have been duped, another shiny object comes along for us to chase, we fall right back into line, and nothing changes.

Cycles, Bicycles, and a Schwinn IC4

I ran for 30 minutes and lifted weights for another 30 in the home gym today.  I got the rowing machine ready for use - in other words I changed the batteries. I intended to use it today, but some rearranging of the garage must occur for that to happen.

I bought a new exercise bike, which arrives Thursday, and I am excited. I am trying to expand my low/no impact options. As much as I love the treadmill, my right knee doesn't. So, after a bunch of research, I went with the Schwinn IC4. I wanted something that didn't require a subscription to access all its features--a drawback of the Bowflex/NordicTrak treadmill I am using. It appears to be a real great bike, and I look forward to getting my legs back in the shape they were in most of my adult life. They had always been ridiculously muscular, and the atrophy is quite apparent. I hate it. In my 20s, I used to ride my bike from the farthest reaches of North Seattle to Gasworks on the Burke Gilman trail daily. I didn't wear headphones, because I obey the rules, and yielded to pedestrians. Given my most recent experience walking and biking on the Burke, back between 2014 and 2022, the bicyclists are not the same people that used to ride the Burke--the etiquette is gone. People used to always announce to pedestrians or bikes they were about to pass, "On your left," or they would ring their bells to let people know they were coming. That has fallen to the wayside. It felt plain dangerous to walk on the Burke, and like you were a collision waiting to happen if you were on a bike. So, I welcome the stationary bike. I owned and used one frequently until I moved in with Jenny and then gave that contraption--which had arms that moved and peddles--a monster workout every time, and one I generally hated, and apart from riding stationary bikes in the gym--(I haven't been a member of a gym since 2011?) haven't used one in forever. This is going to be fun. After the mirror reality check at yesterday's rehab, I am also putting up some mirrors in the garage to help me see my shape and workout form, as much as I am the anti-Narcissus, I need to force myself to see my image, to stop the denial.

How long does grief last?