I was reviewing some of my old posts, going over the rants, and clearing out some of the comments I've gotten recently that amount to SPAM, frankly. Nothing from anyone who's been a regular follower of this column, just miscellanious stuff that had little, if anything to do with what I had actually written about. I'm holding steady in a lot of ways, which, frankly, is absolutely maddening. I'm not a guy with a real appetite for the status quo, and I can already hear people going, "NO SH*T?! GOD, THERE'S A SHOCKER!" It's not really in me, and not necessarily something I've ever even been conditioned to. My dad was at his best, and happiest, when it was his name on the shingle, and not someone else's. He worked for Philip-Morris in the 1970's, and to fit into that particular culture, he had to start smoking cigarettes, at least over the cigars everyone in creation knew him for. Yeah, I know, some would call it "taking one for the team," but when it comes to that, is it even worth it? It was essentially the straw that broke the back of his marraige to my mother, whatever that may have amounted to overall, but....ah, never mind, in retrospect, it's probably just as well. I'm trying to get over a malcontented, chaotic childhood and young adulthood, trying to get over being an undiagnosed, unmedicated ADD for most of my life, trying to get over being regarded as a freak, and just wanting to lay low for the rest of my days. But let's talk about some of the stuff I haven't talked about to this point.

• I HATE my first name. Yeah, I know, every kid gets taunted about their name somehow or other. George becomes "George of the Jungle." Mike is, "I wanna be like Mike," or, "Hey Mikey!" which I can see people despising from their own perspective. But Peter? I can't begin to tell you how many times, even from adults, even into my 30s, I heard, "Peter, Peter, Pumpkin-eater....," or some R-or-X-rated contortion of the same. It's not funny. It stopped being funny after the 8,000 times kids teased me about it in kindergarten. Never mind the idea of my name being a reference (at least in some circles,) to a part of the sexual anatomy, and--you can see where I'm going with this. Pile that on top of being viewed as a freak because I could read better than anyone else in school, usually a good two or so grade levels ahead of my actual grade, and it starts to all fit together bout why I'd just prefer to be left alone at times.
• I hate the fact that people have preyed on my having a hellacious startle reflex. People have frequently snuck up behind me just to make me jump, and I surprise myself in not having delivered a walloping left-hook at least once. Not like I have a walloping left hook, but presuming I did, I suppose I would have been justified on more than one occasion in delivering, if only in self-defense. I've only been jumped twice in my life, once in grade school, and the poor sap who jumped me then made the mistake of doing so on a day when I happened to have been wearing my favorite cowboy boots. I'm quite sure his toes were probably never the same. The other time was in high school, and the kid who grabbed me, although he was on the wrestling team, was also a good six inches or so shorter than I was; I had no trouble lifting him up and pinning him between my body and a convenient wall, for at least a few crush-blows worth, until he relented, realizing that this was a really bad idea. He made no mention of cracked ribs in the days that followed, so I don't presume that I actually hurt him. His comment in the wake of this incident had more to do with, "man, I'll have to remember that move." Anyway, I hate having to have been that creative in the name of simply defending myself.

Being left alone. Yeah, okay, I know I'm not alone in having this desire, hell, I was shocked to find out that J.D. Salinger was alive until just recently. The larger point of all this is the amount of time I've had to spend just being on the defensive. And given that people spent that much time preying on my startle reflex, yeah, I've probably spent longer in life than I ever should have off in my own little world. I'm surprised I'm still alive at times. Taking my meds, at least that has changed, but now sometimes I'll be in a classroom, and it's "why are you shaking?" (a question I don't have a real answer for, so I usually just beg off with some response about a family history of Parkinson's, which is true.) Somehow or other, it just never stops. I wish I was a bit more "normal," so to speak, it certainly would have served me better. On the upside, none of this stuff is nearly as serious as some of the cognitive impairments I've witnessed, but it doesn't keep it from being a bit*h. I've had my share of successes, and I know I will continue to, but when you spend most of your life having been a social disaster, and at the same time having had people wonder, "why isn't he doing more? he can do better," the last thing you really wanna worry about is developing close relationships. More people who are unhappy with who I am; yeah, this I need. I'm trying to be better, but obviously, this process is not one that's going to change me overnight, if in some instances at all. I'm still fighting the battles over being trapped in a God-awful economy with essentially nowhere to run, being over 40 in said economy, and thus not being nearly as desirable as younger, fresher (and more socially adept,) minds. Add it up, and I suppose it all really does add up to who I am, in fact I know it does. CAN I change? Some things yeah, some things, maybe not. I know when I've felt successful. I know when I've felt comfortable in my own skin, which is not all the time. And the only reasonable response? Keep moving, keep learning, keep trying to grow, and see what the world throws at me next. I've had to be tough, and maybe I do just need to laugh more. I want to, believe me.

I also had an odd thought over some of the things I've heard lately about dementia. They say now that a Mediterranian-type diet, with a lot of fish, fruits and vegetables, and olive oil over vegetable oils, reduced the incidence of Alzhimers'-related dementia between 30 and 40 percent depending upon which study you're looking at. Also keep in mind that nothing is conclusive in all this, and they're trying to figure out which portion of such a diet plays the biggest role in combatting dementia, but it's interesting in and of itself, and in how it relates to American society. For the most part, this type of diet is hell-and-gone from whatever sounded desirable to Americans for most of the last 100 years. To the Depression-era kids, nothing ever sounded as good as a big honkin' steak, with potatoes and something fried on the side. Baby Boomers had a similar line of thinking. To Gen-Xers on up, it was a fast-food nation; we want it now, so bathe it in oil and grease if need be, and Super-Size it, while you're at it. Are we now paying the price for it, in our parents living longer, but with less of their cognition overall? Are we paying for it because health care costs associated with this kind of living have now sucked us dry as a society? Perhaps. Greed has been seen as good for a long time, loathe as we as Americans have been to admit it. I know me standing up here on my little soapbox railing about it does little, if anything, but if one more person thinks about it, maybe it eventually will catch fire as a thought. I can always hope for better.