5 (or 6) things

About 6 months ago, my boss gave me a pep talk. The kind wherein he gives "life advice" that he learned over the better part of the century. There were 6 trivial items that he had outlined and gave specific examples of, namely:

1. Wake up with a start.
2. Accomplish one small feat to start your day.
3. Think of the end, first.
4. Make a regimen and stick with it.
5. Reward yourself.

Yeah, I know that's just 5. I'm keeping the last one for myself, sort of our little secret. Maybe when I'm in the mood I'd finally be able to focus my attention for more than an hour and actually write a book about all these, so understandably I'll need to hold back that 6th item just so the 3 people actually reading this blog would be compelled to buy it. Heck, just look at what Stephen Covey did, holding back that "8th" habit for an entirely new book after his previous 7 ones became a best-seller. Then again, what sort of chance do my 6 habits have against his 8, right? Some smart-ass bookstore clerk would probably put my book beside Covey's and people would look at the both of them and say "Hey, I'm getting my buck's worth with 7 (or 8) habits more than the six this loser is trying to sell." So I guess that shoots down any chance of my book selling for a profit.

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Lately I've been running out of nonsense to talk about for this blog. Not that I'm making a lot of sense these days, but there has been nothing occupying my noggin'. Take note that there is a huge difference between thinking up nonsense and not having anything to think of, sensible or otherwise. To remedy that I've bought some books, but as soon as I close them, the thoughts fly right out of my head. Really convenient.

So I opened up my notebook, the one I use for work-stuff and found my notes about that meeting I had with my boss. That was interesting... serendipitous, even. Now, not only do I have something to write about, but I've got 5 (maybe six, *wink*) topics that would keep this blog in circulation among my 3 readers. That'll at least assure you that I haven't been hit by a bus or a speeding bicycle lately.

Here's what I'm going to do, I'm going to write 5 posts to explain the 5 (or 6) items enumerated above for my succeeding posts. I can't give you a schedule of when these posts are going to come out because, well you know me, I just can't plan that far ahead, can I?

Oh, and a disclaimer, I said I'd discuss these items as my boss had done, but in no way does that imply that I follow these items personally, nor that these actually work. It's just something tossed out there, for the entire world to take up or disregard. Sort of like someone asking you for some spare change, it's not really required or anything, is it? Unless of course, that person has a gun pointed straight at your balls, which is kinda hard to ignore. If it was trained at your heart or your head, some of you might get smart thinking they're bluffing or you're likely not to feel anything if they did shoot. But at your testicles? You're not likely to die from a gunshot wound there, but kinda makes life a heck of a lot lonelier and miserable, doesn't it?

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You could stop here, I guess. The next paragraphs are kinda out of topic, effects of my short attention span. If you'll notice how the first part ended, you'll correctly guess that were diving straight into testicles, where all my focus has conveniently shifted to. You could salvage your taste buds now and leave, I'll understand. Probably, you could go back to the succeeding parts after a short break. At least then you'd have already eaten. If you're bulimic, it is highly recommended that you do this. (Bulimia is a bad thing, by the way. But then again, so was that Baconator Mexican Melt I ate a few minutes ago at Wendy's for breakfast. So who am I to judge?)

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I recently found out that some friends of mine had their pet cat "fixed".

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Yeah, that was an awfully short paragraph, wasn't it? I intentionally left that statement on it's own so that you'd realize how big and massive (I was gonna say weighty, but had doubts if that was in fact a real word) that felt for me. No, I don't have some special kinship with that particular feline, nor to felines in general. Just that the act of c*stration seems so medieval to me. I couldn't even spell that word out in its entirety. From hereon, if I really have to, I'm referring to it as the "Sad C". (The 'Big C' was already taken)

My first actual realization that there was such a practice came with farm animals. Here was a little baby boy-pig, held upside-down by someone wielding a sharp razor blade. I felt my legs give way from under me. I almost gave up eating pork, then I heard that they did this to bulls as well. If they could, I'm sure they'd also apply this practice to fish and chickens. So I swallowed my pride and went on cooking bacon and steaks. God help me if I were to turn vegan.

Still, that doesn't mean I'm okay with it. Of course, this is a practice done since early times up until today, I'll admit. Eunuchs had their packages "cut off" to ward off temptation as they bathed and served the emperor's harem, and there are lots of males voluntarily having their johnsons cut off to this day. But then that's voluntary, they wanted it. I'm fairly certain that this isn't the sentiment of the majority of males, human or otherwise. If I were a cat or dog, I'd more likely volunteer for behavior modification via electrocution or drugs than be spaded.

Obviously, I've spent an awful lot of time in thought about this topic, knee-weakening as it is. I owe it to all those who've undergone the Sad-C. I start off with the idea of a person's definition, do johnsons define being males? Their individuality? Probably not. So why are men all sentimental about it?

A friend of mine tells me that his grandfather had undergone the Sad-C. He had the Big-C, Prostate. It was painful as hell, as he grimaced and at times lost it due to the pain. His children (my friends father and his siblings) had signed the waiver for them to do the Sad-C. When gramps woke up, without his willie, he was devastated, and set out to hunt the children who had this done to him. My friend found his dad and uncles hiding under the bed and the dining room table, scared to death.

Imagine yourself locked up in prison, hard labor in Siberia or the South Pole, for 300 or so lifetimes. Obviously there's no going back to the real world in this case. But what if, the warden comes up to you and tells you he's gonna cut your sentence to just 10 days if you subject yourself to the Sad-C? Will you take it? Personally, I'd rather take my chances in the biting cold and hard labor. (And the occasional ass-rape, which is why if I'm gonna end up in prison for the rest of my life I'm gonna want to contract some form of contagious but non-lethal leprosy)