PLAY TO WIN: LET THE GAME COME TO YOU

THANKSGIVING DAY BUSKING

BUSHWAKKER STAGE OCTOBER

MY COLLEAGUE, ACE

ODIS PORTRAIT

ODIS PICTURE

Admittedly, whatever I spill out on any of my pages is my propaganda for whatever issues happen to be lingering on my mind.  For the most part this propaganda is empirically gathered, whilst remaining zeroth in terms of being economically reliant.  (I am stating that I’m not politically motivated for profit, only for notoriety.)  I am referring not only to this blog entry, but to every blog entry before and those after today’s read.  For example, all of the pictures posted above represent my propaganda agenda of self-promotion.

My regular readers will recognize that I am continually expressing certain themes, especially the road theme.  I’m guessing (in psychologically educated fashion) that my recurring road theme must certainly be a projection of one of my innermost yearnings.  There is no doubt this is the case.  For quite a long time I’ve longed to be a planetary busker.  I pine to travel the planet and hike and busk (with either guitar or pencil) at all my stops.  This is my muse – this is not quite my reality.

And so to continually write about my imaginings I tend to contaminate (perhaps belittle is a more appropriate descriptor) the notions of other regular folk who do not share even the same dreams as I.

My essay today, as always, begins with a snappy title.  Snappy titles, I’ve been told, have become part of my writing signature.  Keeping up with such bluster it’s rather incumbent upon me, I’ve decided, to concoct words worthwhile and phrases philosophical to deserve the letter space beneath my snappy captions.

Admittedly, I have been somewhat stigmatized by certain peers because of my delusionary travel dreams.  I hike as frequently as my days allow and I busk as much as the weather permits.  And with regard to this stigma I am a precious repository.

According to Erving Goffman there are three categories of stigma, and I am playing to win in all three categories.

• BODY ABERRATIONS

In my counselling experiences, all of us have body blemishes that are unwanted.  Those of us having curly hair wish for straight hair, is my favorite humorous example.  But those of us who are short who long to be tall is not humorous. 

Any short guy publicly demonstrating inappropriate attitude is often described as suffering “little-man syndrome” according to his critics.  This is a stereotype I know, but I know, too, that such a prejudice stems from explaining empirical experiences.

Factoid:  I suffer not a lot from my imaginary body aberrations.  One of my greatest fears is becoming a skinny-fat guy, skinny arms with a pot belly.  To alleviate such a fear, I lift weight practically every day, and long-distance run on sunny days.

(I stand six feet one inch and so do not suffer from “little-man syndrome.” Rather, I suffer the Apollonian syndrome.)

• TRIBAL

As far as tribal concerns, being a middle-class white guy, I have never suffered a prejudice with regard to the color of my skin.  And as far as religion is concerned, who would ever know unless I tell them that I am an existentialist (long term for atheist).  I am thinking that Goffman’s reference to tribal stigmas would be referring to mainly groups with which we associate, and I am just bracketing the first two that come to mind, that of race and religion are the first ones coming to my mind. 

Factoid:  Being tall (in the last bullet) and white (in this bullet) has thus far left me unscathed in the oppressive social stigma department.

• CHARACTER BLEMISHES

Character blemishes stigmatize in brutal fashion.  Narcissism has become a bandwagon nemesis among victim-clients in the relationship arenas; and, gas lighting has become the common phrase describing the bully antics of the narcissist antagonist involved.  Narcissism is listed a personality disorder, and I am characterizing this as an example of a character blemish.

Factoid:  I am filled with character blemishes.  I am arrogant (I am, most times, the smartest guy in the room); I prefer to ride alone (I do not enjoy group work because I am, most times, the smartest guy in the room and therefore have no patience for others’ stupid questions and pseudo-philosophical discussions).         

And I will add a fourth category: AGE. 

• AGE

Time is on my side in this regard.  I do not mean time in the sense of running out the clock, but time in the sense of my having been on the planet for 68 years, suggesting my 68 years of life experience gives me the time credentials to express my empirical voice of authority.

Factoid:  People insist I neither look nor act my age.  I can attribute my not-looking-my age to genetics; while I can attribute my not-acting-my age to adhering to B.F. Skinner’s advice, and I paraphrase:  If you want to get old, just act like your old.  Complain to everyone about your ailments and have people open doors for you and physically assist you through those doors.

Taking advantage of all my play-to-win attributes list above, I usually win because of my simple strategy of letting the game come to me.  For example, I never need to solicit for social opportunity.  Being the coolest and smartest and fittest guy in the room, familiar strangers forever gambol for my acquaintance, forever seek my advice, never challenge my positions or actions.

A play-to-win attitude takes discipline.  I compensate for my imagined future body aberrations by staying fit.  I steer clear the stigma of tribal propensity by being apolitical and non-evangelical.  I conceal my stigmatic character blemishes by being a loner, drifting in solitary fashion avoiding, generally, any foofaraw.  I desist the stigma of age, simply by not acting my age.  And whether I am on contract for others or for myself, I never take political advantage of my age. I am a company guy and my obeisance to my bosses and clients is steadfast.

To simply let the game come to you is the acknowledgement that to live is to suffer.  As long as you are breathing, things positive and things negative will always come into your life. 

 Let things come to you and deal with each thing accordingly. 

   

TRIBES AND TOGS: DESIGNER DUDS BY EVOLUTIONARY PSYCHOLOGY

AUTUMN IN WASCANA

Of course I could write about my favourite season, autumn, but really I’ve written this opening sentence as an excuse to post my autumn picture taken a day ago in my favourite park, Wascana.

Nope.  I’m not going to write about autumn.  Instead I’ve decided to write about tribes (notions of social divisions) and togs (apparel), prompted by my curiosity for understanding more about my behaviours being domineered by evolutionary psychology and, in this essay, the significance of my signature costume.  (I’ve referred to Evolutionary Psychology evocations several times before in previous blog entries.  My belief is that all of the behaviors of all organisms are solely directed toward their continuing their species, and humans not being any exception.  All the behaviours of all human beings, be they wittingly or unwittingly, are by the grand evolutionary design only to procreate, designed only for the sole pursuit to produce offspring.  Because I say all behaviours, this refers to everything social, including our choice of dress.  We are all accursed anthropoids having evolutionary urges. We are like peacocks really, forever strutting on parade.  In this notion I am not delusional.  And I remind the reader that everything I write is generally true; but specifically, everything I write is a lie.  For example, generally, we are heterosexual, though specifically and well-documented, we are not.)

I’ll begin by stating in my evolutionary fashion, that generally everyone on this planet just wants to get along.  And in this pursuit there is a certain craving to be accepted by our peers, by those workmates and playmates with whom we are in physical and emotional contact.  Caving to the craving, to look like and dress like those with whom we desire to mingle, is a fundamental starter tactic we employ in this regard.

Factoid:  Because I have bracketed myself as being among the billions who simply want to get along, it makes perfect sense for me to describe the garb of others I’ve observed daily while perched on my piece of the planet.  First, dear readers, you must know that most middle-class men of my ilk who are on the climb of the corporate ladder look like this:

ALFRED HITCHCOCK

I’ve pictured the president because the president used to personify authority.  And now I’ll present a couple more authority figures in America, whose positions, too, used to present authority in America.

Admittedly shallow, I’ve pictured these three, Donald Trump, William Barr, and Mike Pompeo, because I feel compelled to poke fun at Trump and his similarly suited stooges.

This chubby mien seems to me an American thing (American referring to both Canada and the U.S., not referring to Mexico).  I have been elsewhere enough, and I am especially thinking of European countries, to argue that slim people live there and fat people live here.  This is stereotyping I know, but from an exploratory empirical and hubristic point of view.

Living in Canada and the USA, downtown business men are trending in blue suits and brown shoes.

A suit can hide forty pounds plus of unwanted fat ...

but not always.

Admittedly, not all business men wear suits to conceal their weight.  Some of the suited are fit.  If ever I desired to be in a suit, I would like to look like these guys:

Certainly fit people look fine, but I’m noticing that the fit tribe share the same trendy blue suit and brown shoe trappings.

But not me.  While those in the chamber of commerce communities tend to dress up, we, the folksy singer-songwriters, trend to dress down. 

I NEVER wear a suit.  Factoid:  I do NOT even own a suit.  I ALWAYS wear jeans with a black or white long-sleeved and collared shirt.  Factoid:  I am colour-blind; such a colour passion for shirts leaves no error in my mix-match.

SELF AT WORK

 

SELF (EXTREME RIGHT) AT PLAY

Marching in my CHAUCERIAN PARADE this week are some fanatics of the Saskatchewan Roughriders of the Canadian Football League (CFL), dressed in their tribal garb on game day.

IN RIDER GEAR AND MELON HEADS

MORE MELONS ...

… in a kit to kindle existential primal functions.