JJ's Blog

A Dream With My Mother

2013-03-07T17:51:00.000-08:00

(For some context, read my previous entry about my mother.)

So last night I dream I have fallen into a lake from a paddlewheeled ferry.

I tread water as I watch the lights of the ferry move farther & farther away. I'm not sure if I jumped overboard or was pushed. In any case, I am certain the boat isn't stopping for me.

Looking around, I see another glow in the middle distance and start swimming towards it.

The waters of the lake are warm and calm, but I'm somehow aware of things moving through the depths beneath me. I have to focus to keep from panicking as I swim.

As I get closer to the glow, I see that I'm swimming to a small island. It's just yards across, a little patch of grass sticking a few feet up from the surrounding lake. On it sits a wrought-iron bench with an electric lantern hanging over it. And someone is sitting on the bench, staring right at me.

Of course, it's my mother sitting there waiting for me. She begins laughing and clapping her hands as I step out of the water. Magically, I'm completely dry as I do so, and by the time I get to where she is sitting, I'm wearing the same white outfit as my mother. It's made of soft linen and looks like something a monk might wear. The grass feels soft and cool under my bare feet.

"I told you," my mother says. "I told I'd be here."

"Yes, you did," I say. "But how can I be sure you're you?"

My mother shakes her head at this.

"None of my enemies are strong enough to impersonate me," she tells me. "I would know it if they try."

I sit next to my mother on the bench. As we look out over the dark surface of the lake, I can see the ferry as a far-off, fading point of light. My mother pats me on the shoulder.

"You know why you're here, don't you?" she asks.

"All I know is I'm dreaming," I say.

My mother points to the glittering speck of the ferry.

"That boat was taking you somewhere you thought you wanted to go," she says. "But I could tell it wasn't right for you."

"Where was it going?" I ask.

"I don't know," my mother says, waving her hand. "I just knew you wouldn't belong there."

I turn to her.

"So, you made me fall off the boat," I say.

My mother cracks up at this, clapping her hands and nodding.

"It was so easy!" she exclaims. "You're so clumsy. And you're not always alert like I tell you to be."

This is when I hear a noise behind us. I turn to see that there's a bridge attached to this little island, a wooden walking bridge that stretches into the distance, and I can only assume that it goes all the way to the shore of the lake.

What I hear are footsteps. Something is running towards us on the bridge, which is shaking slightly. Whatever is coming, it sounds big and fast, stomping its way towards us, and I think I hear growling.

"You have to go now," my mother says as she stands up. She cracks her knuckles and does some quick knee-bends.

Then she looks at me.

"Get up!" she exclaims. "Time to go!"

I stand.

"Where do we go?" I ask. The thing on the bridge is close enough now to almost see. It's definitely large, running on two legs, and snarling.

My mother gives me a little shove towards the water.

"I'm not going anywhere," she says. "But you need to leave."

Then she begins walking towards the bridge. I start to follow, but my mother stops and turns towards me. I'm terrified, but she just looks annoyed.

"I guess it's good you didn't leave yet," she says as she pulls a little pouch out of the front pocket of her outfit and hands it to me. "I forgot to give you this."

I open the pouch and look inside. Inside are a toothbrush, a pen, a pocketknife, a large, transparent marble, and a small vial of urine-colored liquid that looks like it has grains of sand floating in it.

"What's all this for?" I ask.

"We don't have time," my mother replies, taking the pouch out of my hand, cinching it closed, tying it shut, and then wrapping its cord around my wrist. "Just don't lose this, okay? You're going to need it."

The thing on the bridge, still running, gives a long howl that almost makes me wet myself. After a glance at it, my mother gives me another look of complete irritation. I can't tell if she's peeved at me or the thing that's howling.

"Now, you leave," she says. "Start swimming. I'll find you later."

"But what about...that thing?" I ask.

"It's not here for you," my mother tells me. "If you stay, you'll just get in my way."

"Where do I go?" I ask.

"That's up to you," my mother says. "Choose a way, then go. But do it now."

The thing is now standing at the end of the bridge, looking for all the world like a giant movie werewolf with long arms that end in knife-like claws. Its growling has subsided, but as it stands there, it keeps swinging its arms around, as if warming up for a fight.

My mother starts walking towards the thing, again reaching into her pocket, this time pulling out a sparkler and a lighter. She lights the sparkler as she walks, and when it begins spitting out sparks, my mother starts waving it around in big circles. The smoke from the sparkler billows out so thickly that soon I can't see her or anything else on the island.

"Go, JJ!" I hear her yell.

I presume the next words are directed towards the beast.

"YOU!" my mother shouts. "Why are you always following me! Why do you always bother me! Everywhere I go, you show up. Why?"

As I step back into the waters of the lake, I hear my mother continuing her tirade, and I hear the beast start to whimper and whine. When I get about waist-deep, I realize my outfit has disappeared and I'm naked, with only my mother's pouch tied around my wrist.

I start swimming away from the island, conscious as ever of things moving through the depths beneath me.

jj@grouchyjohns.com
www.jjwylie.com

My Mother Visits The Shop Again

2013-02-18T07:25:00.003-08:00

(For some context, check out my previous entry, "Today's Visit From My Mother.")

So last evening, as I was talking to the artist Tommy Vinci, I notice my mother walking into the coffee shop.

I introduce her to Tommy, telling her he's the one whose paintings adorn a whole corner of the shop.

"Oh, you have a very bright imagination!" she exclaims. "Keep creating! It keeps you young!"

Tommy, as usual, is very gracious as my mother gushes over him.

Then she turns and hands me a big bag of almonds.

"I got you these for your prostate," she says.

I thank her, and we continue to make small talk for a while.

Then my mother says, "I have to go to the filipino store before it gets too dark."

As I walk her out to her car, she says, "You've been sick, haven't you?"

"I had a cold for a few days, but I'm okay now," I tell her.

"I can tell," she says as she slides into the driver's seat. "But you've lost too much weight. You need to eat more."

I reassure her that I'm doing just fine.

"Have you been dreaming?" she asks.

This is a new line of questioning.

"Doesn't everyone?" I reply.

"Well, I've been practicing on how to help you," my mother says. "So you'll be seeing me in your dreams soon."

"That's great, Mom," I say. "I need all the help I can get."

As she straps on her seat-belt, my mother follows up.

"Is anyone troubling you? I can tell you're being troubled," she says.

We're back to familiar territory now.

"No one's troubling me, Mom," I say. "I have no enemies that I know of."

She gives a kind of dismissive snort at this, as if to say I'm being overly naive.

"Well, when you figure out who's troubling you, just give me their name," she says.

"I will, Mom."

I watch as she backs her car out of its parking spot and heads off to buy who knows what.

Later, I sleep a little restlessly, wondering what dreams my Mom is going barge into.

jj@grouchyjohns.com
www.jjwylie.com

Gandhi Loses His Shoes

2013-01-09T13:25:00.002-08:00

"One day Mahatma Gandhi was getting on a train in Calcutta, surrounded by many of his followers, when in all the hustle and bustle his shoe fell down into the small gap between the train and the platform just as the train was moving off. Without hesitation, Gandhi took off his other shoe and threw it after the first, as his followers looked at him, stupefied. Gandhi explained one shoe was no good to him, and no good to the person who would find it on the track. So why not throw the other show down on the track, so at least the finder could have two shoes?"

- from Little Theories Of Life by Peter Fitzsimmons.

Doing A Self-Check

2013-01-07T08:49:00.000-08:00

A couple of days ago, I'm at the store, using the self-check register to tally up & pay for my items, none of which are significant for the purposes of this story, except to say that none of them are significant. They are just a big pile of the kind of crap we all need to get, just to get through our days.

And I'm feeling it. I am in a rush, and the tedious logistics of it all are weighing on my mind. I can't help but feel sorry for myself & frustrated that I am having to gather and pay for and haul home this pile of ultimately trivial stuff.

Which is when, of course, I see the guy in the wheelchair pull up to the self-check register next to me.

He's got a lapful of the same kind of crap I've got, which he duly starts ringing up, except that, where I just have to stand there and wave each item past the scanner and drop it into a bag, this guy has to lean forward, holding an item out with one hand so that it gets scanned, then roll his wheelchair a few inches so that he can drop the scanned item into a bag, all without spilling any of the unrung-up items that are still in his lap.

And this process takes him just long enough that the stupid "please place your item in the bagging area" reminder starts sounding off, every time.

Have I mentioned that he is in a wheelchair? An actual wheelchair, not a motorized cart? Which means, to move, he has to use his hands to spin his wheels, for which he is wearing a pair of those gloves that have the fingertips cut off.

I must have been dumbly gaping at him for a bit because he finishes before me. When he goes to pay, however, he realizes that the card-reader for his debit card is mounted at an inconvenient height, just barely out of his reach.

This is when a clerk steps up and offers to help.

"Nope, I got it," the guy says without looking at her, using one hand to boost himself up on the armrest of his wheelchair and the other to quickly swipe his card through the reader.

The clerk demurs, apologizing and backing away.

"Don't be sorry," the guy blurts out. "I just gotta do this for myself."

With that, as the register starts spitting out a receipt, the guy in the wheelchair re-piles his now-bagged purchases into his lap and starts rolling towards the door.

I finish my own transaction and head for the parking lot.

By some circumstantial quirk, I find myself right behind the guy in the wheelchair as I make my way up the aisle towards my car. And my pace and his are closely-enough matched that I have to decide whether or not to pass him or just fall in line behind him.

I decide to follow.

Turns out I'm parked just across the aisle from him, so I get to watch him load his groceries and himself into his SUV. First, he opens the driver's-side rear door and slings his bags onto the back seat. Then he closes that door and opens the driver's door, and, in one swift, smooth motion, lifts & slides himself behind the wheel. Finally, he leans down, grabs his wheelchair by one of the wheels, picks it up, folds it flat and brings it into the SUV with him. How he got it past his own body into the passenger seat is beyond me.

As he swings his door shut, he notices me staring and gives me one of those quick nods that guys give each other.

Needless to say, I suddenly feel a lot less frustrated. I am also more than a little inspired.

jj@grouchyjohns.com
www.jjwylie.com

Urinal Weirdness

2013-01-01T19:48:00.001-08:00

Earlier today, I'm at the Fashion Show Mall food court when nature calls, so I head into the restroom and step up to the only open urinal, which happens to be between these two drunk guys, both of whom are clutching (in one hand) those yard-long, plastic margarita bongs you can get everywhere on the Strip.

Just then, "We Are Family" by Sister Sledge comes on the mall's sound system, which is cranked to stadium-show decibel levels in the restroom, and the guy on my left starts beat-boxing. Then, the guy on my right starts doing this kind of rappy scat-singing, riffing on the melody without using any actual words, but totally in sync with the guy on my left.

I start laughing so hard that I can no longer actually pee, which only encourages the guys on either side of me.

This goes on for what feels like a whole minute, until the beat boxer runs out of breath, zips up, and steps away from his urinal with a quick, "I'm out."

The guy on my right soon follows, while I compose myself and finish my business.

And, yeah, I remembered to wash my hands.

jj@grouchyjohns.com
www.jjwylie.com

Perfect Friendship

2012-12-29T12:50:00.001-08:00

Perfect friendship requires time, familiarity, mutual good will, and mutual sacrifice. Each friend has a genuine concern for the well-being of the other, and cares for the other because of his or her good character. Each assists the other in living a good life, a life of virtue and happiness. Since we are often prone to self-deception, or at least inaccurate assessments of our own characters, we need good friends who can help us see ourselves as we really are, and then help us make progress towards virtue and happiness.

- from "Chasing Happiness Together," by Michael W. Austin, in Running and Philosophy: a marathon for the mind, edited by Michael W. Austin.

"This Life Is My Only Life"

2012-12-28T07:00:00.001-08:00

Suffering and adversity, instead of being avoided, should be crafted for practical advantage. Abundantly healthy spirits respect the order of rank based on merit, cherish opportunities for self-transformation through struggle and rich exertion, seek personal challenges from motives of joy and love of life, and scorn cowardly hopes for transcendental salvation. This life is my only life and if I confront it with aesthetic creativity and a full heart it will be quite enough.

- from "Long-Distance Running and the Will to Power," by Raymond Angelo Belliotti, in Running and Philosophy: a marathon for the mind, edited by Michael W. Austin.

Today's Visit From Mother

2012-12-23T16:14:00.005-08:00

(For some context on this story, read "Update: My Mother Is Still A Witch" from last month.)

So, my mother drops by the coffee shop today, and her first words to me are, "I know what I am fighting."

"What are you talking about?" I ask her.

"The bad luck that's chasing me. That made me break those candles when I was making your good-luck oil," she replies. "I know what it is."

My first thought when I'd seen her walking in the door was that we were going to talk about our Christmas plans, so this has completely thrown me. But I'm used to this kind of thing, so I recover quickly.

"What is it?" I ask.

"The doctor found another tumor on my bladder," my mother tells me.

"Your bad luck is a tumor?" I stammer.

My mother shakes her head, giving me an exasperated look.

"No, the bad luck is from someone cursing me," she explains, clearly irritated that she has to mention something so obvious. "But the curse has turned into a tumor."

Given my mother's medical history, this is horrible news, and the implications of what I've just been told must show on my face, because my mother pats my cheek and says, "Don't worry. Now that the bad luck is a tumor, I know how to fight it."

"What does the doctor say?" I ask, hoping to keep the conversation grounded in reality.

My mom shrugs.

"He says it's a very small tumor, almost too small to see," she answers. "Whoever is cursing me is not very good at it."

"Did your doctor recommend surgery?" I follow up.

Again, I get the exasperated look, as if I'm focusing on some minor detail, instead of what's really important.

"I have another appointment in two weeks," my mom tells me. "He'll tell me then."

"How do you feel?"

"I'm fine, J.J.," my mother says. "I'll be fine. I know how to take care of myself. I came here to warn you. You should be alert. Whoever is cursing me might give up and go after you."

"What should I do?" I ask, surrendering. I'm clearly not getting any more medical news out of her.

"You should pay attention," my mother tells me. "If they want to curse you instead of me, they have to meet you in person. So if they come to you, get their name and give it to me. Then I can protect you."

Suddenly, we're back on familiar ground. As long as I've known her, my mom has asked me for the names of my enemies. And, as long as I've known her, I've reassured my mom that I have none.

"That's what you think," my mother says after I once again repeat that no one, as I far as I can tell, is trying to curse me.

And, just like that, her visit is over. She mumbles something about needing to go to the store and starts shuffling towards the door.

I walk her to her car and hold the driver's side open for her, waiting for some last-second twist or revelation, but it never comes. She just wants to leave. She gives me a peck on the cheek and pulls the car door shut, giving me another quick wave as she drives away.

It's only then that I realize that I still don't know what we're doing on Christmas.

== UPDATE: January 21st, 2013 ==

(My mother had surgery last week to address her bladder cancer. According to her doctor, it went well, and my mother came home the same day as the operation.)

So I call my mother today to see how she's recovering, and the first words out of her mouth (after hello) are, "Who's been asking about me?"

Her tone is accusatory. I suddenly feel like I've been caught in some kind of lie.

"Um," I say. "Just the family. Everyone just wants to know how you're doing."

"No one else?" my mother asks.

"Who would be asking about you, Mom?" I ask.

"The people who follow me," she replies. "They're probably wondering why I haven't left the house in a while."

I already know where this is going, but I ask anyway.

"Who, Mom?" I ask. "Who is wondering this?"

"Probably the detectives trying to take my disability," she says. "Or the people trying to curse me. They probably think I am working on my psychic abilities. If they find out I'm just recovering from surgery, they might try something."

My mother is convinced that a task force has been assembled by the government to find ways to take away her Social Security payments and that detectives in unmarked cars follow her around, waiting for the moment she breaks some arcane federal regulation that will disqualify her from further payments. In fact, on her last visit to the coffee shop, she became very disturbed when I couldn't identify every car in the parking lot. She was sure at least one of them was a member of the task force.

My mother is also convinced that someone is summoning supernatural forces in order to do her some kind of harm. Whenever I try to find out why she would have such shadowy enemies, she always scoffs, as if such nemeses are a fact of everyone's life.

"Don't worry, Mom," I tell her. "The only people asking about you are family."

"Oh, that's good," she says. "You can tell them. But let me know if anyone else asks. They might be trying to find out something."

"Will do," I say.

"And be sure to get their name," my mother adds. "So I can put it on my list."

jj@grouchyjohns.com
www.jjwylie.com

Links I Like For The Week Of December 9, 2012

2012-12-09T17:38:00.004-08:00

This week is the 40th anniversary of the "Blue Marble" photo taken by the astronauts of Apollo 17. It's a shame we haven't been back to the Moon, isn't it?

Tabatas are an integral part of my daily exercise regimen, and they're a big part of why I've been able to lose 80 lbs and 8 inches off my waist in the last year. This article gives a great comprehensive view of them.

RIP Dave Brubeck whose "Time Out" is an essential album of American music.

"Triumph" is a wonderful poem by Alan Shapiro.

This week, my personal earworms were provided by Everything But The Girl and their 1995 album "Amplified Heart," which contains 3 tracks that are always on my personal playlist: "Rollercoaster," "Troubled Mind," and the worldwide hit, "Missing." Tracey Thorn's voice just does something for me.

We'll see what next week brings. I hope we all make it...

jj@grouchyjohns.com
www.jjwylie.com

Update: My Mother is STILL a Witch

2012-11-12T07:47:00.000-08:00

(For a little background on this post, check out "My Mother Is A Witch" from a while back...)

So, a couple of days ago, my mother popped into the coffee shop.

She's been doing this more & more lately, which is how I got an impromptu "psychic check-up" on her last visit, when my mom put her hand on my chest, closed her eyes for what felt like a full minute, and then opened them to pronounce that I was healthy.

I got no such treatment this visit.

"Listen," she said. "I can't bring you any more good-luck oil yet. I need to pray over it more. Maybe 7 more days. Then it will be strong enough for you."

"Oh, okay," I replied, playing along.

Then she asked if I was still eating a handful of nuts daily "for my prostate" and if I was making sure I wasn't being followed home from the shop. Of course, I told her I was. What kind of son doesn't follow his mother's advice?

We visited a little. She told me her diabetes was under control, and she'd never felt better. I told her how business was and filled her in on the family news she was missing out on since she won't get on Facebook. ("People find out what's in your house with that Facebook!" she has warned me more than once.)

As I was walking her out to her car, my mother once again promised to bring me some good-luck oil as soon as it was ready. I nodded and thanked her in advance for it.

Then, as I was helping her into the driver's seat of her car, she said to me, "Oh, I almost forgot. I made a new spell for you."

Once again, I played along, as if she had always made spells for me.

"Listen," she continued. "Whenever someone wants to hurt you or has evil in their heart towards you, you just look them in both eyes and say, 'SAH-MAH-ELL,' just like that."

She was serious, as she always is about these matters. Still, I felt like I needed to dial things back a notch.

"Well, you know," I said. "I don't think there's anyone out there looking to do me any harm."

My mother clucked and shook her head as if to say that I was being naive.

"Just remember it so you have it when you need it," she said. "And I made it only for you. It won't work for anybody else."

I was afraid to ask what the spell was supposed to do to whomever I cast it on, so I just thanked her again and watched as she slowly drove away.

jj@grouchyjohns.com
www.jjwylie.com

Eff The Weather, Man

2012-09-15T11:28:00.001-07:00

Often, when I go running in my neighborhood late at night, I run into the same old man going for a walk.

He's tall & very distinguished-looking, and he moves at a pretty good clip considering his pronounced limp. We always seem to be coming towards each other down the street.

And we pretty much have the same conversation every time we see each other.

First, we give each other that nod that men do when they make eye contact.

Then I'll say, "How you doing?"

And he'll answer, "I'm doing well, thank you very much."

His voice is a deep, rich baritone and his enunciation is perfect, which only makes the next part of this conversation all the more jarring.

Because this is when I say, "Nice night, isn't it?"

The old man always chuckles at this, and then he says, "Hey, man, like I like to say, fuck the weather, man. I'm still breathing, know what I mean?"

"I certainly do," I say, giving him a little laugh of my own.

Then the old man waves at me and continues on his way as I go mine.

jj@grouchyjohns.com
www.jjwylie.com

An Actual Conversation I Just Had With An Employee

2012-09-04T17:48:00.000-07:00

"Oh, wow!"
"Sorry about that. It came out a little fast."
"It was a gusher!"
"Just give me a second. Then we can start over."
"Oh, okay. I think we're good."

jj@grouchyjohns.com
www.jjwylie.com

There It Is Again...

2012-08-22T19:57:00.001-07:00

There it is again, that quality of evening light that seems to sharpen the details while bathing everything in a cool, cleansing mist.

Makes me pensive, grateful to have made it through the day, yet hopeful for tomorrow.

Be well, everyone!

jj@grouchyjohns.com
www.jjwylie.com

Today's Eye-Opener at Grouchy John's Coffee Shop - The Iced Caramel Macchiato with Foam

2012-08-20T06:35:00.001-07:00

An Iced Caramel Macchiato with Foam

SWEET MONDAY!

Today's eye-opener is pure sugary goodness!

An iced caramel macchiato topped with a thin layer of foam to hold up a generous cross-hatching of caramel drizzle, this drink is guaranteed to get your blood-sugar & caffeine levels pumped up for stomping out those Monday morning brushfires!

Come get one. The Grouchy John's Coffee Shop drive-thru opens at 5am every weekday.

Stay caffeinated, friends!

jj@grouchyjohns.com

www.jjwylie.com

What Happened At Grouchy John's Community Drive Event Last Night

2012-08-18T10:06:00.003-07:00

Whew! We're still recovering from last night's Community Drive Event here at Grouchy John's Coffee Shop, but we wanted to take a moment to thank everyone who helped make it a real success.

First, a summation: While the raffle tickets are still being tallied, it's clear we raised several hundred dollars & numerous crates of supplies for the Clark County School District's School/Community Partnership Program. Also, we overflowed the Threesquare barrels with groceries & non-perishable goods. And the United Blood Services Bloodmobile was swamped with donors, even having to stay an hour-and-a-half late to try to take everyone's precious gift of life!

Second, a thanks: Our participating vendors really stepped up, from Great Bao's wonderful pork tacos to Tuff Cookie Bakeshops delectable cookies

to Nosh Bar's wholesome & nutritious samples to 702 Salon's funky face-paints & hair-stencils, we could not have asked for better partners for our Community Drive. Oh, and special thanks to Mr. Miyagi for providing the music!

And we can't forget all of our generous friends & customers who contributed both donations & prizes, including Metro Pizza, Bread & Butter, Crepe Shack, Nevada Repertory Dance Theater, Tommy Rocker's, Black Mountain Grill, Madame Tussaud's office staff, Flightlinez.com, artist Tommy Vinci, DC Auto Tinting, and Colorado River Coffee Roasters.

Finally, to all of you who showed up, our heartfelt thanks & appreciation. We apologize that our air-conditioning couldn't keep up with the crowd, but you were all so generous & supportive that it turned our humble coffee-shop into a community home.

Thanks again, and we look forward to doing it again next year!

http://www.facebook.com/events/343528505727544/

My Mantra (a work in progress)

2012-08-12T20:23:00.000-07:00

I've tried religion. I've tried philosophy. I've tried politics.

All have failed me. Each is rife with imperfect systems that inevitably organize people into rivals.

But I need something. I need organizing principles. Without them, I'm a tangled mass of arbitrary impulses.

And so, I've come to making my own mantra.

It has changed over the years. I'm constantly tinkering with it.

It gets longer, and then I cut it down. I read it to myself every morning and at random times throughout the day. It really does help.

So, without further ado, here's the current version:

Be grateful for this day. You do not deserve it. But you're here. Enjoy it.

Whatever happens today, greet it with gratitude and wonder. This day shall never come again.

Whatever you did yesterday is done. Hopefully, it prepared you for today. But, even if it didn't, you're here. Do your best.

You don't have to have a reason for what you do. But it helps. The better the reason, the more it helps.

Love is all that matters. Express it. Accept it. Love is what makes life worth the struggle. Love much. Love well.

Beware of selfishness. It will lead you to the wrong choices. Your appetites can drive people away. Selflessness is the proper expression of love. Helping others is the best way to help yourself.

People matter more than experiences, which matter more than things. Let this be the way you prioritize your choices and actions.

And have some fun.

Let me know what you think of it.

jj@grouchyjohns.com
www.jjwylie.com

Birthday Wrapup

2012-08-06T09:41:00.001-07:00

Me, blowing out my birthday candles...

(Note: I want to thank everyone who observed my birthday. The generosity & grace shown to me was both inspirational & humbling. I really don't deserve such attention, but, believe me, I'm happy to get it!)

Nowadays, I don't really celebrate my birthday, so much as survive it.

See, every year, on the anniversary of my birth, I use the occasion to reflect. I try to remember where & who I was the year before, in order to kind of gauge my progress. Some years have been good. Others, not so much. (Curious thing: the good years always come from the generosity of others, but the bad years are always entirely my fault.)

In more bureaucratic terms, my birthday becomes a kind of annual personal performance review.

So how do I rate this past year? Well, on a traditional academic grading scale, I think I'd give myself a nice, solid B. Maybe even a B+.

A year ago, things were frantic. The business that my partner and I started (Grouchy John's Coffee) was eating up every available hour of the day, as well as every potential erg of energy I had, and the financial returns were slim at best. In other words, the business was slowly growing, but we were killing ourselves in the process.

Also, I was planning & preparing my November wedding to the long-suffering Princess.

And, finally, my health was not so good, mainly from all the stress, as well as the fact that I was being lazy about taking care of myself. My weight was approaching an all-time high, and my strength and stamina were at personal worsts. And my normally-occasional insomnia? It was spiraling out of control.

Still, I was motoring along. I was even doing a little writing.

Man, was I ever feeling my age!

Then I got married, and I started to turn things around.

Not only did Grouchy John's Coffee Shop successfully open, but I began to really focus on my own personal development. It sounds self-centered to constantly blather about self-improvement, but, the truth is, I wasn't just doing do it all for myself. I was also doing it to become a better partner, friend, and husband to the people I care about.

After all, if the people who love you don't deserve you at your best, then who does?

So, I began to watch what I ate, and I started to run. And I became even more militant than ever about reading & writing daily. (The details of this process are even more boring than this blog post, so I'll spare you.)

As of the last several months, I've achieved a kind of balance between the various demands on my time & energy, and, with the help & advice of friends & family, I feel more capable & productive than ever. Besides growing Grouchy John's Coffee, I hope to put out more of my writing. Maybe this year, I'll even have time to take a vacation!

But life isn't about what you can buy or where you can go; it's about relationships, and, in these terms, this has been a banner year for me. I've made lots of new friends, and I've been able to maintain and/or rekindle some old ones. I'm especially gratified when someone I care about reaches out to me in a time of need. To be trusted is always an honor.

I could've done better. I should've done more. But, all in all, I'm happy with the way this past year played out. And I can't wait to see how things will be when my next birthday rolls around. Provided I'm still breathing when it does...

jj@grouchyjohns.com
www.jjwylie.com

The First 20 Minutes by Gretchen Reynolds

2012-07-28T17:02:00.000-07:00

Available from Amazon

What really did it were my wedding pictures.

On what was supposed to be the happiest day of my life, my gut was enormous, and it showed. And when had I picked up that extra chin?

Of course, I didn't see myself that way. In my head, I was still the skinny kid I was in college. But those pictures, which began to show up in my inbox almost as soon as the ceremony was over, said otherwise.

So, without much fanfare (mainly because I doubted my own 'stick-to-it-iveness'), I started to focus on getting healthier. Which, of course, meant dropping the extra weight and getting stronger. I cut the snacks & sugary drinks from my diet. I started to run. And I dusted off the weights in the garage and began to use them.

Also, given my own bookish nature, I began to read up on fitness.

When The First 20 Minutes came out near the beginning of this year, I dutifully gobbled it up. But I must have been in a workout-induced fog, because it wasn't until a couple of months later, when I read the book again, that its revelations really sank in.

Written by New York Times writer Gretchen Reynolds, The First 20 Minutes offers a comprehensive tour of the current state of fitness & health research, ranging across a variety of disciplines, and the book's conclusions were, for me, revelatory.

Among the things I learned:

Inactivity is as deadly as tobacco use.
Stretching is overrated, but superstitions aren't.
Vitamins & supplements can do more damage than good.
The more you exercise, the smarter you get.
Chocolate milk is a better recovery drink than Gatorade.
Most of the health benefits of exercise can be gained just by going for a brisk 20-minute walk every day. (Hence the title of the book!)

Arranged in neat chapters, each of which is concluded with a nice, numbered encapsulation that offers practical advice on how to implement its lessons into your life, The First 20 Minutes is a book that I cannot recommend enough.

Since reading it and integrating its insights into my own daily routine, I have greatly increased the efficiency & effectiveness of my exercise routines, doing more good in less time. If any of you know what a Tabata or a Fartlek is, then you'll know what it is I do every day.

The result: I've lost 65 pounds since the beginning of this year and my energy levels and moods have never been better.

I'm not saying The First 20 Minutes was instrumental in my weight-loss & improved health. I am saying that reading this book gave me the intellectual ammunition to stay the course. In other words, it's a book that helped me keep talking myself into working out.

Do yourself a favor: Read this book, and then get up, get moving, and keep moving.

jj@grouchyjohns.com

www.jjwylie.com

Today's Anecdote: Cops For Snacks

2012-07-11T09:53:00.000-07:00

Some cops come into the shop for coffee, and they hang out for a while.

As they leave, I say, "Stay cool out there," at which one of the cops stops and says, "You know, the thing is, people know it's gonna be hot, but they still lose their minds!"

"I had to respond to a call yesterday where this woman's car overheated and died," he continued. "I get there and get her car over to the side of the road, and she says, 'Did you bring me some water? I told the operator to make sure you bring some.' I go, 'No, ma'am, but there's a store right over there.' Then she asks me to take a look at her car to see what's wrong with it. I tell her I'm a cop, not a mechanic! That's why they gave me this (pointing to his weapon), not a wrench. Then she goes, 'You're not very helpful! Why do they even have 911 service!' So I had to tell her, 'Ma'am, I'm here to help you with emergencies and make sure you're safe, not repair your vehicle or provide you with snacks. Have a nice day.'"

jj@grouchyjohns.com
www.jjwylie.com

Frank Warren at TED

2012-07-10T10:42:00.002-07:00

Below is a video of the presentation that Frank Warren, the founder of the PostSecret project, gave at TED.

Frank is an example of someone whose crazy idea basically blew up in his face and turned into a cottage industry that benefits not only himself & his family but does countless good for others, if only to bring people together in a way that fosters sympathy and communal feeling.

I believe in the PostSecret project. I visit the website every week. It's the kind of thing that encourages connections between strangers. In that way, it is, I feel, sacred. And fun.

Below is one of current personal favorite PostSecrets:

Enjoy.

jj@grouchyjohns.com
www.jjwylie.com

Last Night's Dream: My Mansion Housewarming Party

2012-07-08T17:49:00.001-07:00

So last night I had this dream that I was throwing a housewarming party after moving into this giant mansion.

The place really was gigantic and kind of mazelike, with many levels surrounded by a big expanse of land that was walled-off into little gardens. I don't know what I did to get the money to buy it, but it seemed like the mansion was on some kind of ridgetop overlooking a city and the ocean. Maybe it was Los Angeles. Maybe it was no place on Earth.

Anyway, I'm just walking around the grounds of my new home. There are white-smocked caterers everywhere, tending to long tables festooned with food & drink, as well as black-suited security guards wearing dark glasses & talking into their sleeves like Secret Service agents. There are even a couple of stages where some bands are doing sound-checks.

I'm dressed very casually, in jeans and a white long-sleeved shirt & comfortable shoes, and as the sun starts to set, I find myself at the front door of the mansion, standing and waving as limos pull up the long driveway, circle around a big fountain, and stop to let their passengers out onto a red carpet that leads inside.

The people getting out of the limos are all dressed very formally, in tuxedos and long gowns, which makes me very self-conscious, and they're everyone I know. Old friends, members of my family, people I used to work with and people I work with now -- they're all there, including acquaintances and people whose names I can't remember but whose faces I kind of recognize. And they all just kind of wave at me without saying anything before heading into the party, making me feel kind of foolish.

But somehow it feels like it's my job to welcome everyone, so I stay until the last guest has arrived and the last limo has pulled away. By then, it's well after dark, and I can hear the party going full-bore from where I stand out front. There's music and laughter and the buzz of excited conversation.

And so I enter my own house to join my own party.

I start saying hello to my many guests as I move through the crush of people, and, at first, whoever I talk to responds politely, with a quick nod or a wink or that thing guys do with their eyebrows and a little jerk of their heads.

But as I get further into the mansion, something changes, and people stop noticing me. I say hello, and it's like they don't even hear me, even though we're standing right next to each other. It's not that I'm invisible or anything like that. I can reach out and touch people, and when I do, they acknowledge my presence. But then they just go back to whatever conversation or activity they were previously engaged in.

And suddenly I'm too self-conscious to assert myself. It's like I'm afraid to interrupt my guests, even though it's my party.

And so I find myself outside the mansion, wandering the grounds like before, only this time every garden is packed with partiers and I just weave my way through them like a ghost.

The only people who speak to me are the staff -- waiters who say, "Sir?" and offer me a glass of champagne or an hors d'oeuvre, or a security guard who nods at me and asks, "Sir, is everything alright?"

I just wave them all off and keep wandering.

I pass through a gate into the large garden that is farthest from my mansion. It's a big meadow, bigger than a football field, and the near end has a bandstand where a swing orchestra is playing in front a crowd of dancing, swaying couples.

Right next to the bandstand, on another raised platform, is a giant, round banquet table where my entire family is sitting -- my parents, my wife, all of my siblings and cousins and aunts and uncles.

I make my way onto this platform, and I realize that they're all engaged in the same conversation, with everyone telling some family story that everyone knows so that each person contributes a sentence or two. And I feel like I should know this story, with the way everyone is laughing and nodding and participating.

But I don't, because I can't understand a word anyone is saying. It's not that they're speaking in a foreign language; it's more like the music is so loud that I can't really follow what's being said, even though everyone else can. They're even laughing at punchlines in unison as the narration moves from person to person.

And, of course, no one even acknowledges me when I come up. They're too engaged in getting their story told.

This is when I notice, at the far end of the meadow, a helipad, complete with a helicopter on it.

So I hop off the platform, make my way through the throngs of dancing couples, and head over to the gleaming helicopter that I know must surely be mine.

As I step onto the helipad, one of the black-suited security guards nods at me and opens the side-door of the helicopter. As I crawl in and take a seat, the pilot powers up the machine. The side-door gets closed and latched, and as I look out the window at the lights and movements of my housewarming party, the helicopter begins to lift off the ground.

Straight up we go, and I look down at my lit-up estate as we rise. I can see all of it -- the sprawling mansion, the terraced grounds, the frenetic crowd of partygoers -- getting smaller and smaller beneath me as the helicopter gains altitude.

"Where to, sir?" the helmeted pilot asks.

I turn away from the window.

"Take me out over the ocean," I tell him. "I think I'd like to be alone for a while."

(Comments & interpretations welcome.)

jj@grouchyjohns.com
www.jjwylie.com

From Grouchy John's Coffee Shop - The Caramel Mocha Frappe

2012-07-07T11:17:00.002-07:00

Almost everyone loves chocolate, and almost everyone loves caramel. But when you put them together?

There are very few people who can resist this powerfully decadent combo of flavors.

Super-sweet and super-cold, this is the perfect way to beat the heat this summer!

Come get one. They're always available at Grouchy John's Coffee Shop. (And the trailer, too.)

jj@grouchyjohns.com
www.jjwylie.com

The Holstee Manifesto

2012-07-03T06:54:00.000-07:00

As manifestos go, this one ain't half bad.

Visit their site & buy the poster.

jj@grouchyjohns.com
www.jjwylie.com

New Art at Grouchy John's Coffee Shop - Peace Too! by Tommy Vinci

2012-07-02T05:43:00.002-07:00

Local artist Tommy Vinci has hung another piece in Grouchy John's Coffee Shop!

It's entitled "Peace Too!" and features the same whimsical energy & bright colors that characterize all of Tommy's work.

This 11" by 14" work isn't a print; it's ink-and-paint on canvas, a unique original.

Come on down, get some caffeinated happiness, and check out "Peace Too!" as well as other work by Tommy Vinci, including his popular minis for only $10. Tommy makes frequent visits to our shop, so, who knows, you might even get to meet the artist himself!

See you soon!

jj@grouchyjohns.com
www.jjwylie.com

"How Are You Doing?"

2012-06-21T21:44:00.000-07:00

You ever look at someone and just know that they're going through something awful? You don't know what it is, but, whatever it is, it's killing them. You can just tell.

Since you don't really know them, all you can do is say, with all sincerity, "How are you doing?" -- which sounds so inadequate since it's what we all say to each other every day without really meaning it.

But you say it. You say, "How are you doing?" And this other person puts on a brave face and says, "I'm okay. How are you?" But you can tell they're just being polite. They're dying inside.

"I'm good, thanks," is what you say next, even though what you should be saying is, "Hey, you seem troubled, friend. Is there anything I can do?" But that would be sheer madness, because of the risks involved (being misunderstood or taken advantage of or laughed at or whatever).

But what if you made a real connection instead? What if, instead of just being polite, you reached out and thereby saved someone from what was killing them? Just by asking, "How are you doing?" and meaning it and then listening to them tell you what they're going through?

Almost none of us does this. But we should, don't you think?

jj@grouchyjohns.com
www.jjwylie.com