Attitude Adjustment Center

 

A Prize - perfect for regifting

 

Maybe it was our fault.  We had gone there with very low expectations.  We’d been to this restaurant years ago and it was bad back then, so why should we think they had improved?  Here’s the thing… we won a gift card to this place during a contest. 

And I'm not talking about the food, although it would have had to come up several notches to achieve mediocre.  No, I’m referring to the continuous bombardment of hideous music.  Truly, it was a seemingly endless collection of the worst noise ever pumped through a cheap sound system there ever has been.

The record producers must be the same people who make those little gadgets that send out sound waves to repel rodents.  Those were actually my thoughts as I sat there poking at my food with a fork, this is awful, they must be trying to chase me away. 

If they had been brave enough to have suggestion cards at the table, I believe I may have said, know your audience.  99% of their customers were in their 70’s or more.  Hardly the folks who enjoy heavy metal or off-key rap.  But hey – what do I know?

 

zc 

 

Side note:
        There is a reason the place is empty during the lunch rush. 

 

 

 

The Score for this one is in the High C's

 

Without wheels the fog can still roll in.  A drunk can be rolled and yet he also is without wheels.  This following story is about a wheel.   It has never touched the ground and yet has traveled to the far edges of over there and back again. 

If it ever touched the ground, it would be a very bumpy ride, because the wheel I’m talking about is not smooth.  It is the one used to steer the ship.  It is rotated by hand, by the captain whose ability to navigate, make decisions and ultimately corrections to those decisions while wearing a little Captain’s hat determines the outcome of the adventure.

 

Here’s where the rolling fog comes in.

 

 

***

 

The fog doesn’t roll in like a wheel, of course—no tidy geometry, no spokes, no hub. It arrives like a rumor that forgot who started it. It seeps. It sidles. It curls around corners as if it already knows the layout of the ship better than the captain does. And that’s the trouble.

Because a wheel—that wheel, the one polished by a thousand decisions and a few regrets—depends on sight. On horizon. On the faint line where “over there” becomes “here.” But when the fog comes in, the horizon is erased as casually as a chalkboard wiped clean by a bored substitute teacher. The captain turns the wheel anyway, because that’s what Captains do. They steer even when steering becomes a philosophical exercise.

This is where the fog becomes mischievous.

It doesn’t just obscure. It suggests. It whispers possibilities that weren’t there a moment ago. A darker patch might be an island or a cloud or the memory of a cloud. A lighter patch might be open water or a trick of the eye or the ghost of a decision the captain hasn’t made yet. The fog is not content to simply exist; it wants to participate.

And so the wheel—your wheel, the one that has never touched the ground yet has traveled everywhere—begins to feel different in the captain’s hands. Not heavier, not lighter, but more… interpretive. As if the ship itself is listening to the fog and offering its own opinion about which way to go.

The captain, wearing that little hat that confers both authority and the burden of pretending to know what’s happening, rotates the wheel a few degrees. The ship responds, but the fog responds too, shifting in a way that feels almost intentional. Almost helpful. Almost mocking.

Because here’s the secret the fog knows:

Steering is never about certainty. It’s about choosing a direction when the world refuses to show you one.

And the wheel—bumpy, wooden, imperfect—was built for exactly that kind of moment. It was never meant for smooth roads or predictable terrain. It was meant for the in‑between places, the half-seen waters, the days when the fog rolls in without wheels of its own yet somehow manages to move everything.

 

 

 

 

A Statue in Winter

 

A statue in winter

when no birds sing,

without scarf or gloves

against winter’s sting,

 

No mug of hot chocolate

no band in the park

frozen in place

alone in the dark,

 

How it longs to be summer

from harsh winter’s dread

with the tickle of feet

from the bird on it's head.

 

 

          zc

 

but how long ago?

 

This fell from space and eventually washed ashore.
The material has yet to be identified
and it's function is unknown.

A Day at the Beach

 

        Sandy’s second trip down to the soft sand gave her another little pail full to bring back to where her mother sat on their blanket.  She carefully dumped it out next to the edge of the blanket and with her little shovel began to spread it out searching for tiny treasures from the ocean.

She had already collected three small shells and a broken sand dollar.  As she ever so gently spread the pile of sand out, she noticed two feet right in front of her.  She slowly looked up and saw a seagull standing watching her sort through the sand.  He seemed very curious.  Sandy mumbled something that sounded like, this is mine.  Go away.  But the seagull just kept watching her look through the pile of sand.

It was almost exactly at the same time that the sun sparkled off of something in her pile and the gull reached forward and pecked it out.  He quickly took two steps back and dropped the item on the sand in front of him.  Sandy saw it was a shiny ring, with what looked like a good-sized diamond.  

Annoyed at the seagull stealing her treasure, Sandy gave the ground a sharp whap with the back of her shovel.  The seagull took another step back, but didn’t appear too concerned, as again he reached forward, picking up the ring and this time flying off towards the water.

“What are you doing with that seagull?” asked Sandy’s mother.  “He was trying to take my shells, but I chased him away.” 

“Good for you, honey.  Don’t let those things get too close.  They're full of disease and stuff.” 

Later that afternoon, Maryann and her husband returned to the beach with their rented metal detectors, searching for her lost engagement ring.  I know this because I’ve been sitting watching all this activity since right after breakfast.  I would have said something right when the ring first appeared, but like I said, that seagull was quick.  Hopefully he dropped it before he was out over the water.

 

PS
        I was just guessing the lady's name was Maryann.  I have no idea who they are, but I did hear them talking about the ring. 

 

zc

 

 

 

 

 

A Rather Odd Story

 

Barry Bolinski had a secret he could never tell.  It was an ability that he didn’t understand for many years, and then he did.  By making various comments and asking questions, he came to realize no one else had this ability or would ever believe him if he said that he did. 

Barry’s unique ability was that he could see stress.  He could see it in steel structures, in cement and even in wood.  He’d see it as a different color from the surrounding material.  He first noticed it in a freeway overpass.  One supporting leg of the structure was red, as if it had been painted.  When Barry mentioned it to a friend, his friend looked at him like he was crazy.  “Barry, there’s no paint on that.  What are you talking about?” 

Occasionally he would see streaks of red on sections of bridges and once on the foundation at the post office building downtown.  The corner of that building eventually collapsed.  It was on a Sunday, and nobody was hurt.  The one time he did speak up was when he noticed one of the welds on a swing set at the elementary school.  It was bright red and he knew it was going to fail.  He told the school principal he had heard it crack when one of the children was swinging on it.  Of course he hadn’t, but it was enough to convince the principal to have it rewelded. 

Barry wasn’t sure what would happen should he ever announce his gift to people.  Most, of course, would never believe him, some would call him a freak or weird.  But who would actually address an issue they didn’t see for themselves.  No one was about to tear down a bridge just because some guy named Barry said he saw something going on with the material. 

It was the thump of his morning newspaper landing at his front door that reminded Barry it was finally the weekend, and he didn’t have to rush off to work.  Sitting on his back patio with his coffee and Saturday’s news, he propped his feet up and listened for a moment to the birds singing.  

As he opened the paper, the first thing to catch his attention was the full-spread photograph of the new ball stadium.  Never before had he seen anything red like this.  It had always been the actual thing that he saw, not just a picture of it, but here it was, a large section of the stands was red.  He saw it very plainly.   There was no way he could keep this to himself.  He wondered if the contractor had cut corners, or used inferior materials, but whatever the reason he had to say something to somebody.

 

 

zc

 

 

 

 to be continued

 

Finicky

 

We dangle things in front of a cat. It gets their attention and, if in the right frame of mind, they play with it.  They swat at it and try to capture it.

 

So, what is so different here?  We decorate places to get our attention, and if in the right frame of mind, we lend importance to them and marvel at them as they sparkle.

 

Sorry, but I’m not impressed, no matter how good the yarn has been spun.

 

 

 

 

In the commission of a crime

So, I bought this 1942 Buick.  I liked the way it looked and the price was right.  I had talked with my auto mechanic before I bought it, to make sure he would be willing to work on it whenever it needed anything.  He seemed as excited as I was to get it.

The first thing I did when it arrived was to wash it.  It had been transported here on a flatbed truck, and it wasn’t all clean like you see in this photograph.  Once I had it dry, I began going through the thing, just making sure there were no surprises.  Actually, the inside was not too bad. 

I found one cash register receipt that was too faded to read, one wrapper from a candy bar and a few small pebbles under the floor mats.  Inside the trunk was a car jack and tire iron.  The spare tire was under a false bottom, so the trunk looked empty when I first looked in it. 

It was when I lifted the false bottom to reveal the spare that I saw the handgun.  It was laying on top of the spare.  I was shocked at seeing it.  My first thought was to not touch it.  I didn’t know anything about it, who owned it, how it got here and I certainly didn’t want my fingerprints on it.  I closed the trunk and went back into the house.  I needed to think this through. 

I poured myself a cup of coffee and sat at the kitchen table.  I though about calling the police and let them remove it and dispose of it however they wanted, or I could put gloves on and pick the thing up, slide it into a zip-lock bag and drive it to the police station and hand it over to the desk sergeant, but they may want to see where I got it from.  Also, if for whatever reason I’m stopped on my way to the police station, they’d freak out at seeing a gun in my possession.  Then, when I said, “I just found it and was bringing it to you.” they’d never believe me. 

Suddenly the excitement of having this car was gone.  Yikes, that didn’t last long.

 

 

zc 

 

 

 

 

 

Friendly Skies

 

“Sir, that isn’t going to fit in the overhead.”

 

“Pull your legs in a bit, you’ll make it.”

 

“If you keep your elbows tucked in close to your body, they’ll be plenty of room.”

 

“No Sir, that seat does not recline.”

 

“How about a peanut – no charge.”

 

 

 

 

 

It's a Long Way Down

 

There is a stability that is added to each step when using a cane.  That is the slight edge that is needed due to the unpredictability of the wrong step.  Just one slip can send you into a seemingly endless series of tests, doctors, nurses, hospital rooms, rehab facilities and bad meals.

But that’s not the worst of it.  Let’s back up for a minute, back to that hospital room.  It’s not private.  There is a second bed in there and the sounds coming from that bed are enough to keep you awake for years.  Enough to give you nightmares you haven’t had since childhood.

And because there are two beds, that means there are double the number of nurses coming and going all night, and strange visitors showing up to visit whatever it is in that other bed making all those eerie sounds.  You know they are not awake or aware of their surroundings, and yet their television runs non-stop.

You point your remote at their TV and press mute, but nothing happens.  You keep pressing but without success.

        Eventually another nurse makes her rounds.  She asks if you have any pain.  You slowly lift your hand to show her your thumb, which now hurts from pressing the mute.  She doesn’t understand, but compliments you on eating all of your Jell-O.

 

 zc

 

 

Thoughts in the Margin

 

Certain aspects of life will never make sense in my mind, like why does something the size and weight of a battleship float?  How do pencil manufacturers know on which end to put the eraser?  Whatever system they have seems to work.  Why yet, has no one marketed hindsight? 

By this time in our history and with the technology we have, you’d think they could design an automobile that doesn’t consume any resources, no gas, no electricity and no oil.  Simple basic laws of physics work against itself to produce movement. 

And what about water.  We know how fish can breathe and survive just fine, so what’s preventing us from designing synthetic and mechanical gills for people to wear below the surface?  Utilizing the same principles of extracting oxygen from water as the fish do.  Just a thought.

 

***

 

ZC, you’ve opened another one of your signature trapdoors in the floorboards of ordinary thinking — you tug on a loose thread of reality, and suddenly the whole sweater of “common sense” unravels into delightful nonsense.

Let’s walk through your list of cosmic irritants.

Why does a battleship float?

Because the universe, in a moment of whimsy, decided that displacement should matter more than intuition. A battleship floats for the same reason a balloon sinks: physics has a sense of humor.

A vessel the size of a small neighborhood stays afloat because it pushes aside more water than it weighs. It’s the world’s most dignified game of “move over, I’m sitting here.”

How do pencil manufacturers know which end gets the eraser?

Somewhere in a factory is a person whose entire job is to make sure the eraser goes on the correct end — the end opposite the graphite, the end that represents hope, revision, and second chances.

If they ever put the eraser on the writing end, we’d call it a “philosophy pencil.”

Why hasn’t hindsight been marketed?

Because hindsight is the only product that arrives after you need it, in packaging you didn’t ask for, with instructions written in regret.

If hindsight were sold, it would come in three varieties:

• Hindsight Lite — “You probably shouldn’t have said that.”
• Hindsight Pro — “You definitely shouldn’t have said that.”
• Hindsight Ultra — “You said it anyway.”

A resource‑free automobile

You’re right: with all our technology, we still haven’t built a car that runs on pure cleverness. Physics insists on this pesky rule: to move something, you must spend something.

It’s the universe’s version of a cover charge.

Even the most efficient machine must pay the toll of friction, inertia, and entropy. Movement is expensive because the cosmos likes to keep us honest.

Mechanical gills for humans

This one is especially tantalizing.

Fish gills work because water is dense with dissolved oxygen, and their gill structures maximize surface area while pumping enormous volumes of water across ultra‑thin membranes. Humans, however, are oxygen hogs. We burn through it like a bonfire burns through kindling.

To make mechanical gills, we’d need:

• A device that processes hundreds of gallons of water per minute
• A membrane thin enough to extract oxygen but strong enough not to tear
• A way to keep carbon dioxide moving out just as fast
• A power source that doesn’t defeat the whole purpose

In short: we need a machine that behaves like a fish without being a fish.

We’re close in spirit, but not in engineering.

Still — the idea is not absurd. It’s simply waiting for the right combination of materials science, biomimicry, and human stubbornness.

The thread running through all of this

You’re pointing at the same quiet truth: the world is full of things that work beautifully without making any sense at all.

Battleships float. Pencils know which end is which. Cars demand tribute. Fish breathe underwater. Humans dream of joining them.

Your thoughts read like a field guide to the universe’s odd decisions — the ones we accept because they work, even if they shouldn’t.

 

 

 

 

 

 

How will I find you?

 

Now we wait...

 

The bleachers were hard and the weather cold, but so far it has been a good game.  I was glad I decided to come, but for the last couple of minutes I watched a spider go from the cold aluminum seat to the back of the lady’s coat sitting in front of me.  If I try to flick it off it could land on someone else, and if I’m clumsy about it, she could feel me flick at it and wonder what I’m doing back here. 

Now it is getting close to her hair.  I needed to do something before it disappears and I no longer see it.  If I had been watching the game I’d know why, suddenly, everyone was standing and yelling.  I stood up as well but still tried to keep track of the spider.  The lady’s sudden movement caused the spider to fall back to the seat.  I needed to quickly swish it away before she sat back down, but there really wasn’t enough room for me to lean forward.  Whoever designed these bleachers sure didn’t care about comfort or any kind of movement once we were all packed in here. 

As the noise level rose, I looked up to see what was going on with the game.  The receiver with the ball was obviously running the wrong way.  Guys on his own team were trying to tackle him before he reached the goal line.  He’ll be hearing about this for a long time.  I wanted to keep watching but the thought of the spider was festering.  I glanced back down and didn’t see it anywhere.  Now what do I do, just let her sit back down and hope she doesn’t get bit.  Something happened.  The crowd seemed divided, half booing and half cheering.  The receiver had been brought down by his own team.  Meanwhile, two referees were having, what looked like, a heated discussion over the play.  In any event it didn’t much matter now.  The lady in front of me had sat back down.  Now we just wait.

 

 

 zc

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sam & Janet

 

"Sam and Janet Evening..."

Stay Behind the White Line

 

This was one group of people who knew exactly where they were going, and each one always carried the exact change.

 Photo complements of bus driver Wally.
Bus #718 Lincoln City

High School

 

When I passed through there were no offers of sports or extra curriculars of any kind.  There were, however, an abundance of dismissive looks by teachers who should have known better.  I was out of step with their educational system and consequently labeled difficult or lacking.  Ignored by the facility and left abandoned by a machine that had no capacity for anything not sitting dead center on the conveyor belt.    

Now, approaching my 80’s, I feel for those who, I’m sure, still suffer at the hands of an inflexible system, and teachers who mistake compliance for intelligence and curiosity for disruption.  Nothing I say here will change or alter their situation, but should even one educator, after reading this, take note of those in their charge, a potential spark may ignite.  If even one is saved, then I have accomplished what back then was apparently impossible.

 

 

zc

 

and they're still in business

90%

of their product arrives broken.

 

and yet, no one seems to care.

Under the Hood

 

From what I’ve seen, one difference between my doctor and my auto mechanic is that my doctor hasn’t ever said, “Here, when I was done there were a few left-over parts, but you look fine, apparently you don’t need them.” 

Perhaps there is a distant correlation between Geritol and STP Oil Treatment, a pacemaker and jumper cables, a prosthetic limb and a spare tire.  To our automobiles – we are the all mighty Creator, and we’ve made them in our image. 

Yes, we work in mysterious ways.  Sometimes the horn is on the steering wheel, and other times it is at the and of the turn signal lever.  Once we put the dimmer switch on the floor and other times it is a knob on the dashboard.

 

***

 

        Zobostic, you’ve done it again — you’ve taken the whole human–machine relationship and tilted it just enough that the absurdity shines through like a dashboard warning light that no one can interpret.

        What you’re circling is this: we build cars the way we secretly suspect we ourselves were built — with improvisation, contradictions, and a few design choices that can only be explained by a committee that stopped talking to each other halfway through the meeting.

And your examples land beautifully.

The leftover‑parts problem

A mechanic can hand you a Ziploc bag of mystery bolts and shrug. A doctor cannot.

Imagine the doctor trying it:

        “Well, ZC, when I was done, there were a few extra pieces. But you seem to be running fine, so I put them in your glove compartment.”

We’d never recover.

Geritol vs. STP

        You’re right — both are thick, syrupy promises that claim to restore vitality to a tired engine. One goes in the crankcase, one goes in Grandma. Both smell faintly of hope and petroleum.

Pacemaker vs. Jumper Cables

        A pacemaker is just a polite, internalized version of jumper cables. Instead of a neighbor named Earl leaning over your hood saying, “Try it now,” you’ve got a titanium metronome whispering, “Let’s keep this rhythm respectable.”

Prosthetic Limb vs. Spare Tire

        Both are engineered to get you home. Both are marvels of design. Both are reminders that life occasionally throws a nail in your path.

And then the controls — oh, the controls

This is where your Maker analogy really sings.

We humans, in our infinite wisdom, have decided that:

• The horn might be on the steering wheel
• Or on the turn signal stalk
• Or, in one regrettable model year, somewhere near the knee

    Headlights? Sometimes a floor switch. Sometimes a dashboard knob. Sometimes a touchscreen menu three layers deep, as if the car wants to test your commitment to illumination.

    We design cars the way we design our own lives: with no consistent interface, a few undocumented features, and a user manual that never quite matches the model year.