Octomom update & other distractions

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Because this story is ostensibly about distractions and I wouldn’t want your mind to wander, I’ll start with the headline tease that likely snagged your attention in the first place.

Octomom is alive and well in Laguna Niguel, California, striving to finish her autobiography, recovering from a booze and pill addiction and doing what the NYTimes says is a bang-up job of raising her 14 children. Headline: “The Octomom proves us all wrong: The Happy Household of a former Tabloid Curiosity.

And — good news, fellas! — the gal’s still single!

I know all this and more because Val and I over one vacation breakfast in Chincoteague, Virginia, explained to the kids the who, what, where, why and how of Nadya Suleman, 44, the woman who in 2010 gave birth to 8 children because, I guess, there’s something about having six kids that leaves one unfulfilled.

Did I mention she’s still single?

How the conversation led to Octomom, I cannot recall.

A widely-debunked myth claims we use just 10 percent of our brains. Nonsense, say top neurologists. All of our brains are active nearly all of the time.

They say this like it’s meant to reassure we’re deserving of being the planet’s dominant life form and thus get a pass for indifferently extinguishing all the others.

Me, I have more respect for the brain power of the common canine.

Even a stupid dog is the more efficient thinker.

A dog’s thoughts can be roughly dropped into four categories: eat, play, sleep and  screw. Romantics might be tempted to lump play and screw into the same category. But I’ve seen horny dogs in action and unless you consider a quick butt sniff romance, I’ll contend there’s a difference between play (chasing a tennis ball) and screwing (google it).

Imagine how much happier and more productive we’d all be if we thought with the discipline of dogs.

Alas, it’s not to be. 

See, I use 100 percent of my brain, but it’s devoted to learning and retaining things like the marital status of Octomom.

In the hour I’ve spent composing this blog — talk about your pointless distractions — this is a partial list of the distractions that have rolled like vapid tumbleweeds across the wasteland of my mind.

Baseball, lunch, Jeff Probst, golf, bourbon, firewood, sex, Elizabeth Banks, sex, the new Springsteen movie, mosquitos, Stones on tour, pizza, book sales, my in-grown toenail and is it time to water Buck’s plants up here on the 3rd floor (no, but I did it anyway).

You know something a dog never thinks about? Jay Thomas. He played Eddie LeBec on “Cheers.” He died two years ago Saturday at the age of 69.

I’ve been thinking about him ever since a friend sent me a link to a commercial that showed George Washington driving a car. As I know what a black hole of distraction YouTube can be, I pondered if I had time to watch the 30-second clip.

I did.

Then I figured since I had time for that I had the 4:45 it’d take to watch Thomas tell David Letterman the uproarious story of the day he met the Lone Ranger. It’s absolutely hilarious. Letterman says it’s the funniest story he’s ever heard. Check it out.

I now watch it whenever I find myself getting depressed by distracting news about climate change, gun violence or polls that hint Trump will win again.

I’m using 100 percent of my brain but, unlike the dog, about 97 percent of it is pointless BS. I worry I’m changing my cranial composition from gray matter to fecal.

It’s a pity the Nazis so thoroughly polluted the term, because I could really use a leisurely stretch in a concentration camp. 

Really, there ought to be a camp where adults could go to learn how to concentrate.

The blog result would be fewer stupid distractions: more coherence, less Jay Thomas.

We’d pick a topic and wring everything we could out of it, which in the case of Octomom we can only hope wouldn’t result in more children.

The last thing I’d recommend for an aspiring writer like Suleman is more runny-nosed distractions running through your home.

Especially if you’re prone to having them all running through your head.

RRS: Dining discounts for device-free families

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A growing number of restaurants are giving 5 percent discounts to families who agree to put the damn devices down and engage loved ones during vital meal time.

Their motto: “Disconnect phones, reconnect families.”

I think it’s a great idea. I read about on my phone last week while I was ignoring my family at a local restaurant.

I think it would be fun to exasperate a waiter or waitress by insisting I was entitled to the discount anyway because, indeed, even though I’d been on my phone my calls dealt with uniformly grave matters.

Then I’d let the server overhear me talking about my blog.

Of course the best thing to do would be to as your order was being taken would be to pretend to answer your phone and shout, “No! No! No! Make the incision behind the left ear! The left ear!”

Then set the phone down and say, “And I’ll have the lasagna.”

I’m always fascinated by the increasingly common site of the family unit sitting at the restaurant and appearing as socially distant from one another as the planets of the solar system.

When did it all go so wrong? What if you need the salt? Text the request?

What about if you need a genetic match for a new kidney? I guess you could try Craig’s List, but there are merits to asking a sibling.

And, most pressing, could that one day be me and mine?

See, I’ve been at that table as both son and father. I understand how family dynamics can pulverize efforts to even appear civil in public. We had a night out a couple of weeks ago that was brutal.

The sisters were warring. Val was angry. The tension was palpable.

Heck, I was the only one who managed to appear serene and the only reason for that was because I was the only one who’d had the good sense to stop at the bar and get a good snootful before our table was called.

It happens. I mean, we can’t all be as happy as Jon & Kate Gosselin. 

The difference these days is disgruntled family members can e-scape to places that make them feel loved and important.

Places full of total strangers using fictitious names!

I admit the only time Val and I halt our ceaseless gazing at our electronic devices is to admonish our children to halt their ceaseless gazing at their electronic devices.

But she and I would never dream of using our phones in any dining situation. Like so many parents, we’re trying to set a good example. It seems to be understood by the 14 year old. She’s yet to push back on the policy.

How that’ll work with Lucy, 8, remains to be seen. After all, she’s the one who when we tell her she can’t have dessert reacts like young Damien Thorn does in “The Omen” when his parents try to take him to church.

What do these people — children and parents — have in common?

The only thing I can figure is a desire to feel important, to feel needed.

It’s confounding. 

Our lives become appreciably more balanced and sane the instant we realize our jobs aren’t nearly as important as we think they are.

Of course, that’s easy for me to say.

I haven’t taken what I consider a really important phone call since the mechanic called and said, sorry, my car wouldn’t be ready ’til 2 p.m. and I had a 1 p.m. tee time and my clubs were in the trunk.

So I can’t pretend to know what it’s like to be truly important.

Still, I’ll never understand how so many people allow the need to appear important usurp the need to be loved.

Because each and every one of us has the opportunity to be truly important in ways that matter most.

Just don’t be disappointed if it’s only to the person you’re asking to pass you the salt.

Related . . .

Death to boring dinner conversations

Text messaging menace under my roof

Smart phones, stupid people

I miss when phones were phone shaped

Avoid phone upgrades: Smart phones smart enough!

My work week sabotaged by distractions

I had grand ambitions for this week’s productivity. I was going to write a travel story about fans making Alabama pilgrimages to Jimmy Buffett’s birth place, send copies of my new book to media friends who might help me promote it, and send query letters to agents who might be interested in my novel.

Here it is Thursday and I haven’t done squat.

Instead I’ve been besieged by an avalanche of pesky distractions.

I tried starting projects and never got any traction.

Woe is me!

Or when it comes to starting productive work, me is “Whoa!”

I’m too distracted now even to put together a coherent post about the distractions. So I’m just going to run ‘em down before all the good seats are gone at the Happy Hour.

• The Blue Angels -- The nation’s premier aerobatic group has been roaring what seems like just inches above my head for the past two days. They’re in Latrobe for Westmoreland County Air Show 2012 at the Arnold Palmer airport. The airport flight path runs directly over my office and the first roar of the F/A-18 Hornet’s jet engines nearly blasted me out of my seat. They’re all over the skies and it’s riveting. They spent the afternoon flying directly over my home and I’d run out the door every two minutes just to catch a glimpse. They’re loud, awesome and right upon you before you know it. Air show week is the one time all year where everyone in Latrobe collectively ducks. Distraction Level (scale 1-10): 7

Heat -- My office is unbearable and I’m rethinking my commitment to not use air conditioning all summer. I’m distracted thinking someone else is going to get rich off my idea to develop a line of clothes that we’ll wear to keep cool, the way we wear sweaters to keep warm in winter. If you’re cold and cheap in the winter, you could conceivably never use the furnace. But the only to way to keep cool indoors in summer is to crank up an air conditioner that is working its mechanical little ass off cooling down 98 percent of the room where you’re not. It’s a terrible waste. D.L.: 8

• Bacon -- I don’t know what the lunch special was at The Pond on Tuesday, but the main ingredient was bacon. It’s impossible to work in an office where the restaurant below you is cooking lots and lots of aromatic bacon. Another link alert: you can read my ode to bacon here. I’m surprised no one’s developed a bacon perfume for women. I’m sure men would find those wearing “Eau de Bacon” irresistible. D.L.: 7

• Twitter -- Like fatherhood, Twitter is another thing I used to ridicule and have since fully embraced. Ever since I got a big rush of new followers (well, big for me), I’ve felt an unreasonable obligation to tweet more faithfully. I enjoy the art of it and sometimes smirk when I think I’ve composed a dandy. But my tweeting is distracting me from my other distractions. I don’t know whether it will lead to anything profitable or not. I’m doing about a dozen a day now. You can check them out here. D.L. 6

• Crayons -- I’m now spending about an hour or so each day using crayons to sign  books for friends or buyers -- and those categories are interchangeable. Anyone interested in my book is a friend. But, I promise, no one signs a book like me. I use nearly a dozen crayons on the title page, sign it in crayon and even include a tiny crayon self-portrait up in the corner. Takes me about 10 minutes to craft each one. A distracting idea? Certainly, but I think it makes the book special. I hope so. And, man, I’m really digging that part of my duties now includes about an hour a day spent scribbling with crayons. Try it! It’s fun! D.L. 6

• Golf -- I’ve played more golf this year than in the past two. And I still stink. When people ask me how I play, I say, “I’m erratic, which is an improvement from lousy.” Erratic golfers hit at least a few good shots. I was invited to my second fancy function at Latrobe Country Club in one month yesterday and played mostly lousy with some erratic shots thrown in for good measure. I don’t know why I can’t improve. I told my friend I think my problem is I’m too social. If I golf with people I dislike I play better, but that’s about four hours spent with people I dislike. I play lousy with people I enjoy because I never shut up, tell jokes and do more giggling than golfing. My friend said, “Well, can’t you concentrate on golf for four hours and save the social element for the 19th hole?” No, I can’t. I’m simply too much fun. D.L.: 8

• Kids -- Val works Monday and Tuesday every other week so I’m home those days watching the kids. I can’t work with the kids around. They’re too distracting. And it makes me feel noble when I think, to hell with work, my daughter wants me to play with Barbies so I’m playing with Barbies. That crayons and Barbies are two of my key distractions doesn’t reflect well on my wage-earning diligence. D.L. 20 (10 per kid).

• Beer -- As I mentioned, I’m a very social person. I get calls nearly every day from someone who wants to see me. None of these people play pinochle. But they do uniformly drink beer. And they’re my friends. I like to drink beer with them. But my friendships distract me from getting more done. Like I said, right now I’m typing fast and furious -- and that’s not a current events reference -- so I can get to the bar for a few before dinner. That’s crazy. But, hang in there, boys. I’m on my way. I’m distracted by all the time I spent wondering why my priorities are the way they are. D.L.: 6

• “Bein’ a Dad” -- This is a 1998 Loudon Wainwright III song I heard on Father’s Day. It’s catchy and hilarious. It keeps going through my head. Check out the first two verses:

Bein' a dad isn't so bad

Except that you gotta feed 'em!

You gotta shoe 'em and clothe 'em

And try not to loathe 'em

Bug 'em and hug 'em and heed 'em

Bein' a dad can sure make you mad

Man it even can drive you crazy!

It's as hard as it looks

You gotta read ‘em dumb books

And you end up despising Walt Disney

Now I’m distracted by wondering whether I need to devote about $50 and a dozen hours getting caught up to speed on I guy I only recall from a few appearances on M*A*S*H. D.L. 5

• Tech problems -- The homepage for www.EightDaysToAmish.com was down for the past two weeks. This is a cosmetic distraction. Most readers wouldn’t notice it. But it’s a spiffy gateway to new readers and, thanks to Twitter distractions, I had a bunch of new readers the past two weeks. Several said they tried to click onto my blog by the Twitter link and found the page closed. So I had a golden opportunity to reach new readers and am fearful some of them may never come back because the blog with the word “Amish” in the title operates like it’s run by tech-resistant Amish people. I am distracted with worry that one of them may have been Stephen Spielberg. D.L. 8

Total Distraction level: 84 out of 100.

Total earnings for the week: about $100 in book sales.

Productivity: Dismal

Scorecard: I had a hell of a lot of fun.

Golf, kids, crayons, beer, bacon and Blue Angels -- there are some real angels in heaven who probably didn’t have as good a week as I did.

And I can just about guarantee next week's going to be super-productive!

I'll just need to concentrate.