Just watched Northern Exposure. I have no idea how many people watch this. I have a feeling I watch more TV than other people in fandom. This episode concerned the death of a friend of two of the older characters. Brought me back to recurring themes in my mind, growing old, dying. Course, I guess most of the baby boomers are doing the same. I always thought I missed that group of the sixties, you know radicals, revolutionaries, activists. I certainly wasn't in the disco group. I never really considered myself part of any part of any particular group, except for the people in the advanced classes in school, the people who didn't wear the latest trends, hey, maybe even two or three trends back. I blame this entirely upon my parents for purchasing my school clothes mail order from Sears, not that I put up any type of huge fight about that particular point. (Gee, do I digress, never . . . ) But I guess, jut maybe I am part of this bulging group of baby boomers, and I guess I have been part of fandom, sort of on the fringes, if you will, for over twenty-five years. Hey, it's just the group that reads a lot, likes music, and is a little nerdy, just like my group in school.

When I was in high school, and possibly even in junior high, I worried about death, growing older, determinism and free will. In the later years of high school (this makes it sound like high school was more than three or four years long) I decided that it was pointless to worry about death. I was going to die, period. I decided it was pointless to worry about determinism and free will. If all of my actions were determined by everyone else and the rest of the universe, each and every atom of all time, it definitely didn't matter. If my actions were determined by free will then it certainly was pointless to worry about determinism and the best path was just to do it. Live it and don't necessarily think that much about it. I plead guilty to possibly thinking more about these things than many of the rest of the people on the earth, but then when I think about it it was just a matter of thinking about other parts of life. There are those that think about their family, or the next meal, or hey, big booties and coochie (apologies to the feminists and socially correct people reading this) (I mean, hey, I had these thoughts too and I really don't think I can honestly apologize for them. (I'll blame determinism, genes and hormonal reaction if I'm in a cop out mood (cop out, hm, maybe sixties or seventies, questionable terminology in the 90's)), family, and much much more. Different thoughts, different people. To attempt to return to the point, I was watching this, drinking beer, thinking about life, my actions therein, and death.

Part of these thoughts arose this weekend(Many weekends ago by now actually). Joe Wesson was there, William Breiding was there, Patty was there, Gil Gaier was there, and more (uh, Corflu weekend, folks, LA, 1992) (Just in case this falls into the crack of all the other things I write, late, delayed.). What draws the show and the weekend together is partially due to Joe. I consider Joe a very good friend. I'm a horrible friend. I'm a really bad conversationalist, I'm moody (this may not be apparent, maybe it is)(If you see me walk off, it could be because I can't think of anything witty to add, it could be because I'm bored (I apologize here. I get bored easily, you know, that short attention span thing), because I'm uncomfortable (like I want to be near you, the crowd, whatever, but I can't "meet and deal" (a term from the Social Security Administration), and other things my brain can't think of at this moment (Do you really care that Del the Funky Homo Sapien is in the background?). Oh, what's the point, well every once in a while I'd just walk off, from Joe, the crowd, you know. I missed Joe scraping his head on the LA freeway rock pile. I felt bad about missing this. I felt bad about not being as wild and crazy as I was in the past (admittedly not that wild and crazy, especially when I think of SC and friends). However I don't feel totally mundane. I do many things people my age (that sounds disgusting) and younger, would consider wrong. I listen to music many would consider disgusting, (well, maybe some would consider it strange simply for the sake of strangeness). I do also listen to Perry Como and Mel Torme (However it is extremely unlikely that I will ever buy a Lawrence Welk album. Well, maybe one, although it doesn't really fit into the category of being so bad that it could be considered entertaining. Maybe one for old time sake (wow, another disgusting trite phrase). I had a great aunt that really liked him. (Sorry a digression) Patty and I visited her once in Santa Cruz and it was very apparent that she wanted us to leave before Lawrence came on tv. I think my parents liked him. Many older relatives liked him. I didn't consider him very original, very creative. I guess he satisfied a need, but still . . .) Anyway I wasn't there with Joe. He had more energy. Maybe I will just I was in a btchy/snide mood and leave it at that. Anyway I was not being very supportive/friendly. Actually I am frequently not very supportive . I'm really unsupportive at the time of people's death. I am personally uncomfortable with death and haven't the strength to try to help a friend when their loved one/friend dies. I thnk I got ostracized for this at least once. Sure, it was at a distance. I just didn't know what to say.

This all makes me think of APA 50. The emotions contained therein bothered me. I was never really a part of it. Never there long. Probing questons from some bothered me too. I could answer but I wasn't sure of the feelings behind the questions (nor necessarily the substance of the answers. I don't really think that much about my own emotions (What's all the BS above then, hm?). I don't usually try to find a reason for them. I think and have always thought that emotions didn't necessarily have reasons that one could immediately or even after much thought and striving cite. My belief is that emotions are not necessarily based upon reason or even necessarily are explainable by cause and effect. (Well, sorry, I could go back to determinism (is this the right term?), chemicals, the environment, genetics, and the universe.) Occasionally patterns can be seen but I don't know that I would believe the answer to Why? Attempting to explain emotions may possibly be conversational material, frequently a source for arguments, but I have never heard something that was undeniably the truth, the source, a final explanation. Of course, the queston arises, would such conversations then end?) Cynicism and a distrust of this emotionalism bothered me. (So many digressions.)

Anyway the guilt was there. A certain disappointment also came about over the weekend. Many of the conversations I overheard or was even a part of seemed frequently relatively pointless, many contrived, many an attempt to communicate but not say much. I'm sure I could lay blame on my own shortcomings at finding relevancy. Unfortunately I couldn't find very much to talk about that had a point.

So let's try to return to Northern Exposure. Here are these friends for life. (yeah, yeah, I know it's a television show, but I also know people like this in this thing around me called reality.) Do I have the ability to exhibit/feel this level of friendship? I'm not even sure I have the ability to see any particular point in life itself. I harbor no desire for death. I have no proof that there is anything other than the worms coming in and going out at that point. I have no faith that there is anything beyond that point. Sleep is an escape, but I prefer to wake up.

So what's the point? Probably there is none. I turn 40 shortly (whoops, now I'm 43). I felt no noticeable qualms at turning thirty. Forty isn't much different. Unfortunately I have a bad habit of thinking it simply as another year nearer death. I worry about doing something with a point, for someone, for myself, but everyone else is going to die too. Humans will probably cease to exist at some point, as may the universe (not that I'm totally certain of the existence of anything or anyone at any time anyway). These are the thoughts I have attempted to avoid since high school and, except for occasional lapses, will continue to attempt to avoid.

Just as a final (?) aside/disgression, as I become older the question of children arose and still occasionally arises. I continue to search for a reason. I am not a close friend to my mother nor was I one to my father, nor am I particularly supportive. I have no reason to believe that a child I raised would be different. Would I continue to exist in some strange way through the memory of the child or the genes of the child? Doesn't really seem like a valid concept to me. Can I believe that a child of mine would make a better world or have a reason for existence? Not really. Oh well. Might as well make it moderately physically impossible and that way I will have one less thing to worry about it. Course I could add it to one more thing to get depressed about. Life and its eternal balance.

The last question. Will I look at this in the daylight, in a more "lucid" moment and decide it is just as sophomoric and stupid as much else that I have written and edit the whole thing out?

Or I could talk about Twisted Puppet Theater on Showtime and the Worm Chef that loves to eat dirt and blow it out the other end. Or the dog that keeps getting hit by a car and thrown to the side of the road.

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