One month ago I wrote a blog post titled: “I swear, the heat makes me stupid.” So what is this, I ask myself, the sequel, “Rain also makes me stupid”?
Perhaps the feeling comes from Tuesday’s Trivia Night at Coco Loco’s where I insisted with grave authority to teammates Rose Alcantara and Adam and Jackie Feldman that the tiny little atoll that the U.S. bombed the crap out of during our “We freaking love the nuclear bomb” era was called Bimini.
It is called Bikini.
Or perhaps it is the discussions about childhood Catholic guilt that Jackie and I sometimes get into that unlocks this confessional need.
Maybe I am at the point in life where doing dumb things is sometimes more entertaining and rewarding than being safe and, um, ordinary.
In the Four Noble Truths of Buddhism we accept that life is suffering. It is inevitable, as we walk through this life, that we will sometimes step into a pile of dukkha on the sidewalk of existence. Just the way it is. Avoiding dukkha becomes its own form of suffering.
Embrace the dukkha. Celebrate the sometimes dumb things we do because we are learning to love this life we have been given. That’s all I’m saying.
(And with that I add, thank you Rose for this morning’s Cafe Americano with a double shot …..)
So, now I need your help. Which of these two things is dumber than the other:
Exhibit A: On Friday night, Rose and I went to a fairly new south-of-town beach bar called Island Time. The DJ was pumping out a Motown/Big Chill kind of a soundtrack, the breeze was tropical-sweet and the rum and cokes were flowing.
Pretty soon I got it into my head that I knew how to dance.
I swear to god there was a look of terror on the faces of otherwise happily dancing men and women who were within striking range of my flailing feet and hands. Delusion knows no bounds when rum is involved. I even think I assumed that the floor was clearing because people wanted a better view of my really cool moves.
That is about the time that one of my flailing hands slapped me in the face. Hard enough to send my favorite eyeglasses skittering across the (mercifully) mostly empty dance floor.
Well, the eyeglasses went in one direction and one of the stems went in another.
I coolly picked up both pieces and quickly realized that putting them back together that night would be unlikely and dubious at best. I mean, who needs classes when you’re already blind drunk.
Maybe that is an exaggeration. Not blind, clearly.
I shoved the pieces into my pocket and resumed laying down some really cool moves on these Southside cats.
The next day I discovered that somewhere between Island Time and the Sir Barry Bowen Bridge I lost the stem to my glasses.
Yes, pretty dumb.
But wait. There’s more.
Exhibit B: Today Rose and I went stand-up paddling in between the various storm fronts that have been passing through like express trains this week. It was calm when we started out.
I was surprised at how off my balance was, even in the fairly becalmed waters near shore. Then I was surprised at how really off my balance was as we paddled into rougher water and stiffer winds out near the barrier reef.
I think I was using some of my moves from Friday night to keep from falling into the drink.
Let me clarify. “Drink” is just a term used for a body of water that you are trying not to fall into. There was no drink involved before or during paddling. In fact, Rose and I did partner yoga at Zen Arcade, followed by breakfast at Caliente’s.
The only drinks were water and three cups of black coffee.
My moves on the paddle board had a similar effect to my moves on the dance floor. I went ass over tea kettle into the water.
Rose pointed out that my sunglasses had flown off my face and were sinking and that perhaps I should grab them. And my bandanna was floating away.
So I dove for the glasses, snatched up the bandanna and grabbed the center well indentation on the board so that I could smoothly hoist my body back on board – before anyone noticed from shore.
That is when my wedding band flew off my finger and rolled across the board.
Landing with a sickening kerplop into the Caribbean Sea.
I dove for it but got nothing. (I did mark the spot – on an intersect due east of San Pedro High School and due south of Grand Caribe.)
Normally I remove the ring when I go swimming or snorkeling or, yes, paddle boarding. Even sometimes when I do the dishes.
Well, there you go.
Is it “A” — slapping yourself so hard in the face while dancing that you break your own glasses … then lose the stem that might have easily fixed them?
Or is it “B” – wearing your already loose wedding band out onto the sea while paddle boarding, where it slips off and disappears into the abyss as your loving wife looks on in dismay?
The week is young. A third dumb and dumber contender is always possible. For example, I am currently gearing up to replace a bathroom mirror …..
But, hey, let’s stay positive. Two dumb things a week are plenty.
Thank you for our vote. Use the comment section and vote early and often. Just like Republicans in Florida…..