It is sometime around 1977 or 1978 and the monorail from the Disneyland Hotel had dropped us off in the park near the Submarine Ride and the Matterhorn. We will starting the day with a planning session aboard the People Mover. These small 4 person cars look like colorful pieces of gum and are attached like a train. Getting bored with talk of when and where to meet for lunch, I glanced down to my left and was able to see straight into one of the shops. Tunnel vision kicked in and I saw a blue toy car in a display case. I saw nothing else and that care became my primary goal for the day. Dad, being the swell and patient man that he is, took me directly to this store and made the car mine. Measuring about 1 1/2 ” wide and 3″ long (ish) the blue Mercedes was dazzling in the display case. The woman that worked there let me touch and roll the display model. Other cars were in that case but they were all dead to me. It was the blue Mercedes that had latched on to me hard. After making my obvious choice, she turned around and opened the second from the bottom of 4 long drawers. Each drawer was filled to capacity with cars in boxes. The pinched the box with her thumb and index finger and placed it on the counter. I was not sure if the box was more exciting than the actual car. The purchase was made, the first time of many that Dad would dip into his wallet that day, and we left to explore the Magic Kingdom. The blue Mercedes was the centerpiece of my car collection for many many years. There is one place where it could be and it will hopefully be found today. The memory of the blue Mercedes came out of nowhere and it is now an inch in the brain that must be scratched. Possibly until it bleeds.

A week was just spent at St. John’s College in Santa Fe, New Mexico. The occasion was the 2017 Summer Classics/Science Institute and the topic was Infinity in Mathematics. The seminar consisted of 14 people and 2 tutors all sitting around a huge wooden table in Evans Science Lab Room 126. 4 hours per day (10a-12p and 2p-4p) spent discussing the topic of infinity by such people as Aristotle, Euclid, Proclus, Galileo, Carroll, Cantor, Oresme, Brouwer, and Hilbert. The 2 Tutors (what Professor’s are called at St. John’s) were Peter Pesic and Philip Lecuyer. It is not worth the time to go into the details of their accomplishments but believe me when I say that these are absolutely brilliant and accomplished scholars. The seminar participants included a 17-year old from Los Angeles attending with his father and an Indian guy, Mr. Marasinghe, who was an accomplished Mathematician. Both had a really strong hold on the topic at hand and they said they understood about 70% of what we were dealing with. I understood about 35% of the topics and could see how they worked in my head. This is not the same as understanding and feeling comfortable with the topic. It was a pure joy being surrounded by humans that were oh so much smarter than I am and the concentration that it took just to follow the discussion was both exhilarating and exhausting. At one point on Thursday we spent 3 hours covering the information contained in 3 pages.

Learning at St. John’s is based on questions and discussions exploring those questions. There are no lectures and the Tutors do not lecture. They guide the discussion in a way that allows the seminar participants to think on a different level. Every comment and question is valued and at no time is anybody told that they are wrong. Someone may disagree with them but that is the entire point. To be challenged by and learn from others. The seminars are formal and there is no raising of hands. It is a discussion. Everybody, including the Tutors is called Mr. Brethouwer, Mr. Pesic, Ms. Jones, etc. If one of the Tutors has 2 Ph.D.’s they are still referred to as Mr. ” ” It is respectful and about equality and the formality leads to a deeper discussion taking place around the table.

There was a small amount of time when not in seminar spent riding a bike and going for a hike or two. The pure joyful benefit of Summer Classics is the time that is available to simply read, writing, and study. Over the course of the week I was able to known down 988 pages in various books and journals. This was done under a tree, in the library, in the cafeteria while eating, and in the dorm room. Pure time to read without interruption.

I just got home yesterday but I am already anxious for the 2018 catalog listing the courses that will be offered. In the meantime it is time to read as much as possible and pay down the credit card so that Summer Classics can once again happen.

A quality rant should either start with words misguided parents find offensive and tell their children to not use, or it should start with a list. This rant will start with a short list of several things I have always found….boring and uncomfortable.

1. Fireworks
2. Parades
3. A dry heat
4. Grillin’!
5. “Visiting” with folk

I’m assuming the point of fireworks is to celebrate the US of A independence from Britain. Fine. I just do not understand the joy of standing in the middle of some street while the guy with the fewest DUI’s on his record (women folk shouldn’t light crackers…too dangerous) lights cheap, loud, and smelly fireworks of various sizes. BOOM! CRACK! SIZZLE! Boy howdy, that there made me proud to be a “Murican! Really? Why? At some point George, let’s call him George, has one too many Keystone Lights and sets the tip of his finger on fire and has to take a powder. The lighting of things is now in the capable hands of Barbara Sue who is the next most responsible at the age of 13. While lighting the second one, baby brother Jason (you know his fucking name is Jason) gets in the way and Tessa (child #4) yells at him that she is going to tell Ma. Well Ma is sitting five fucking feet away doing a structural integrity test on a Wal-Mart summer sittin’ chair. The plastic straps of the seat just a diggin into those meaty meaty thighs. She gives a firm “go on now Jason!” and the festivities continue. Large rollin’ coal trucks pull up and it is now 1135p and the whole mess of kin across the way is shitfaced, methed out, angry, and burping up the seven burgers they threw down their pie hole 5 hours earlier. The decent folk across the street are trying to enjoy NETFLIX or a biography on Bertrand Russell. GO…THE FUCK…..TO BED. ‘Murica will be here tomorrow.

That same day or the day after, this same group and many others just like it will be lined up on the Main Street waiting for the annual Patriotic small town clusterfuck to roll from Pythian (that’s the McDonald’s to all you big city folk) through downtown where the mess will disband somewhere on Rio Grande. Highlights for the 4th of July aficionados will be the 72 customized 4×4 vehicles and the one lonely stock black Rubicon that someone bought and is now so far in debt they can’t see straight. But “boy ain’t she purty and my girlfriend just gets to tingling when she rides in it!” Giddy up. Other highlights for the die-hard fans of the red, white, and blue will be some tractors (my guess is about 11 of them), any flatbed with hay on the back, and of course the cop car with its lights on (Police Lives Matter!) A few things will not get any waves and will not get the crowd excited. This will include members of the local Democratic Party (commies!), and anybody carrying a musical instrument that is not a fiddle, wash bucket bass, or a 2-string banjo that “used to belong to muh Daddy!) The entire thing lasts an unmerciful 12 minutes and if I never seen one again in my life I will be thrilled.

All of this takes place in the dry heat of Western Colorado. Think of an oven filled with dirt. People will be sporting sweat stains that are crimes in 11 European countries. On every corner there will be a lady with a special sleeveless item from the Wal-Marts with sweat stains mooning down to her draws (pants). This stain will look like an eclipse and right next to it, cuddled up real tight like, will be grandchild #5 that she has had to raise. Mmmm mmmmm….grammy sweets smells  the kitchen floor at Starvin’ Arvins! Fuck dry heat.

The menu for grillin’ time…there will be no exceptions: Pre-formed hamburgers from…you guessed it….the Wal-Marts, as many Bar-S hot dogs as you can eat (made out of  lips and assholes), tater salad…that real special kind with about 4lbs of yellow mustard thrown in and little bits of hard-boiled eggs….the beans….just call them the beans….a big fat juicy nasty ass fucking piece of watermelon. Junior is tucked behind the trailer going to town on a piece that would joke Godzilla. Drinks will be Country Time lemonade, mixed with luke warm water or you can just snort the crystals off the fold ’em up table. For the adults Dr. Pepper and the ever-present Keystone Light. If you aren’t wearing a trucker hat you are not welcome. If you have your GED you get an extra scoop of the yellow potato salad. Them’s the rules.

These fine folk belly up to the feed trough and commence to visit with each other. Visiting really goes down when you are only talking to family and maybe one select neighbor who was invited because he has the biggest truck. Acceptable topics are weather, baseball, love of Donald Trump, the terrible economy, and how people with brown skin are going to lead to the downfall of all that is sweet and holy. No…other…topics.

Fuck the 4th.

For this purpose, the word celebration is a synonym for acceptance. Turning a blind eye to something or not having the ability to recognize how painfully stupid it is can also be a celebration. The argument that the internet is a root cause of stupid decisions or stupid actions is just too easy. It is too large a target where blame can be placed and that argument alone is made so that a discussion does not have to happen. Looking at other sources and reasons is a much better place to start.

Comfort and complacency play a large part in stupidity. Are complacent people by nature stupid? Of course not. The working definition of “stupid” is much more broad. Being complacent can certainly give the appearance of laziness and a lack of interest in our world. Comfort comes into play because paying attention and doing the work required to verify facts is hard work. It takes time away from other things and it can be easier to just get information in sound bites or from sources that are not necessarily worthwhile. A great example would be politics where individuals often barely think beyond the information that they find comfortable and that perfectly fits their own world view. Someone voting for Donald Trump because of his stance on law enforcement is a ridiculously clear example of not thinking beyond information that offers comfort. Another example, and part of the threesome that makes up the topics never to be discussed, is religion. A ready made narrow view that offers both comfort and complacency. This book says how it is and no further thinking required. Boom, done. Historically, religion is the leading cause of human suffering and death. Definitely stupid.

The narrow world view that religion offers is the leading cause of blind eye syndrome. Seeing injustice, suffering, and cruelty around you but doing nothing about it because it does not directly affect you or it is happening to those that are different than you. Too many think that as long as it does not directly impact them then it simply does not matter.

Reality TV. There is absolutely nothing wrong with escapist entertainment. Everybody needs a way to escape from their own reality from time to time. The problem comes when this type of entertainment is the only type of TV that is viewed or is seen by the viewer as actually being worthwhile and on some level smart. The number of people that have a steady diet of reality TV is staggering. If it was marketed as being what it is, mindlessly stupid, would the numbers go up or down? What if it was offered as “entertainment to escape your own reality” instead of being what it is, a boring type of voyeurism. Again, would the numbers go up or down? Viewing drug addicts fight their battle, extreme obesity, relationship drama, and thinking that those that offer nothing to society are worth any time is the very definition of celebrating stupidity.

Safe talk and avoiding any form of controversy. Those with strong beliefs often simply do not want to have a conversation. Holding tightly to worldview they seem to become threatened and go from 0 to 100 on the defensive scale as soon as even the hint of a conversation is evident. Whatever your beliefs, why be afraid of talking about them? If you are so secure in what they are and who you are why get so defensive. This gives the appearance of stupidity because the fear of the discussion does not play well and often comes off as simple ignorance.

The acceptance and pseudoscience and fact and as being helpful is another broad sign of far reaching stupidity. A five-day liver detox by drinking water, vinegar, and citrus juice. Stupid. You have a live and kidneys, if they are not doing their job of detoxing then you are dying. You do not need a five-day program you need to go to the emergency room. Essential oils to cure everything from gout to insomnia to a persistent skin rash. No. Essential oils can smell good and be relaxing. End of their usefulness. Crystals, being against vaccinations, avoiding GMO foods, and thinking a pure organic diet will solve all your health woes. No. Vaccinate your kids, crystals are worthless, GMO is safe, and buying purely organic because of a label and because David Avocado Wolfe said so is just stupid.

Confronting stupidity when it is observed, speaking your mind, and going against the comforting and easy grain of society is a sign of resistance and resistance is good. Taking the path of knowledge is more difficult but oh so worth the effort. Now more than ever the fight against blatant stupidity is more important than ever.

Gene Roddenberry created the Star Trek universe with a vision of inclusivity; a pursuit of knowledge, and the use of technology to make all lives better. Bigotry based on color of skin, nationality, sexuality, or the number of horns coming out of your head did not exist. Yes, there was tension with Klingons, Cardassians, and Romulans, but let us not split hairs. This world is one that should be worked towards as it provides a foundation for something much better.

Many topics could come out of this but the focus of this particular rant will be “men” still having issues with and being threatened by women. Recently on planet earth, news was going around about how women only screenings of the new movie “Wonder Woman” were organized and a large number of small-minded male humans lost their minds. I guess they figured that they were burly males and that they should in no way be excluded from anything. The thought of not being included in a few screenings cut to their very core and they became enraged. This is an example of how very far away we are from anything resembling the universe portrayed in Star Trek. I am in no way trying to speak for women I am simply making an observation of how those of my gender need to quickly change their outlook and behavior.

How threatened and thin skinned must one be to get butt hurt over a women’s only screening of a superhero movie? This is something that is completely beyond my comprehension. As men we should be celebrating, supporting, and encouraging women of all colors, shapes, and ages. When women find success we all find success. Men should see women as equal partners in all areas and stop-putting women in pigeonholes defined by gender stereotypes and perceived social norms and expectations. Men should be striving to be examples to young girls and young women so that they see that they are not a lesser gender but a gender that is part of the overall game that we all playing. Weak willed and narrow-minded men absolutely need to be encouraged by and motivated by smart and independent women. Men need to be encouraged by and motivated by women who struggle, have found themselves in bad positions, and have found their way out and forward. Men need to be aware of and sensitive to women who are in bad positions in which they have no control and cannot see a clear way out. Smiles should come to our faces when we see women of lesser abilities move forward with their lives and not let life’s all too frequent hurdles trip them up. A last place finish at the Special Olympics should be as celebrated as graduating first in a high school class. Nothing but goo can come from seeing women as equals and being partners with them instead of obstacles in front of them.

It amazes me how many “men” still think women are by nature bad drivers, that they are the weaker sexes, and that their place is in the home. The Christian notion that the man is the head of any household makes me both cringe, laugh, and cry just a little. Any man who is married and views their spouse as anything less than an equal partner is not worth any of the macho shithead attitude that they believe is an asset in life. If you are a man and your idea of cooking only happens outside in front of a grill then you need to get in the kitchen and learn how to prepare a meal from scratch. If you are a male who cannot pack his own suitcase then you need to show some personal responsibility and try to begin to understand that no woman is your slave or your servant. If you are a man that does not help with the dishes then you have a lot to learn. Expecting a meal on the table when you get home from your manly job? Well fuck the hell off and figure out your own meals. Any young girl that observes this sort of behavior by a brother, father, grandfather, or uncle is given the wrong message. One can only hope that there will be some male in her life that will help correct the examples she is being given.

Since the beginning of my unofficial professional career in February 1998, I have seen literally hundreds of men who have similar attitudes but take it one step further to being abusive physically, sexually, or psychologically. They have such huge egos and low sense of self that they only way they can begin to feel power and control is to exert power and control over others, most often women. Power comes from doing well for others and being kind. Control comes when you are able to recognize your shortcomings and shore up the courage and self-control to do something about them. Asking for help shows more power than using fist or harsh words. Taking a deep breath, walking away, or simply saying, “I’m sorry” shows more control than seeing yourself as a big strong man who dominates over others.

So many men need to figure their shit out and change their ways. We are all in this together and I hope as my life moves forward I have many strong, wise, and wonderful women by my side.

Starfleet Command would be highly disappointed in the way we treat each other, especially those that are seen as smaller, weaker, darker, lighter, or less bright than the image we see in the mirror.

The maintenance of books in regards to what is currently being read (Goodreads), what is checked out from the library, what is on KINDLE, and what is currently being read that is owned in hard or soft back is just one part of the thing called book maintenance. The second part of book maintenance is knowing what is on what shelf or in what currently reading stack. Bigly (as you Trump fans would say) maintenance was done today. As new acquisitions are counted and placed on their appropriate shelf, it becomes clear that further maintenance is now needed just in the area of biographies. A biography there, one over there, and a few more on this shelf, is no way to lead a life. All biographies (except for music bios) now need to be in one place so that they can all be seen at the same time. Science fiction is another category that should all be together but is now scattered between two shelves at that is just sloppy maintenance. The shelf for books just on the St. John’s curriculum (undergraduate and graduate) is in order with materials, book catalog, personal catalog and such on top of the books. The goal here is to own a copy of every book on both curriculums. Currently about 47% accomplished. The metal shelf supports all books on music, which would include biographies, theory, history, scores, librettos, etc. These are catalogued separately and are included in the master catalog for all music items owned (CD’s, vinyl, etc). Two hours of book maintenance was successful but led to the conclusion that more shelves are needed (or a new wing on the house) and that the goal of acquiring a 9,000-book library is mostly on track. This could be accomplished if books were simply purchased in bulk but that is madness. All books acquired must be wanted, desired, speak to the reader, and have a place in the grand vision.

This is what happens when you have no children and time to burn.

Having older siblings leads to being tortured in various ways. Growing up my brother and sister told me that one Easter morning they saw a 6-foot long bunny on the couch. Fully horizontal, this giant beast was apparently not giving off vibes of love and happiness but something more sinister as if out of a Stephen King novel. Ever since I heard that story Easter morning had an ominous feel to it. The hours leading up to the bright sunny dawn were especially dark. Was this something that ruined the holiday for me? Hell no, it added something interesting and supernatural to a holiday that I already knew was completely bullshit. Growing up without religion (thank goddesses), Easter was all about crappy chocolate in egg shapes. My mom gave it a hell of an effort for a few years when the idea of candy and colored eggs still held some sort of excitement for me. There was no church, there was no lessons about zombie Jesus, just a series of crappy eggs hidden behind the couch. Sitting here with my in-laws on this most fake of all holidays, the memory of the evil 6-foot Easter bunny slabbed out on the couch keeps me sane and happy in a snarky sort of way.

On the way to church (Starbuck’s…let us pray) the decision was made to swing by the ATM and pull out $60 in walking around money. Pulling up in front of the bank was the last easy thing that happened. The ATM lobby was FULL of two adults and so many children that I stopped counting. It appeared that the gaggle had just arrived as Mom #1 was working on finding her ATM card. She plops this gigantic bag on the lip of the machine and proceeds to dig. Candy, receipts, breast pumps, romance novels, and a newly minted GED certificate fall to the floor as the dig continues for the card. She pulls the damn thing out by itself. I can only assume that is was floating free amongst the various detritus of that hideous bag. Phase fucking 2 begins as she attempts to figure out how this little bastard goes into the machine. After trail and error the machine finally sucks it in as designed. Confusion descends as now it is time for the 4-digit PIN number. This is appears to be a real ball scratcher as two attempts are made before the magical and correct combination of 1-2-3-4 is discovered in the dark recesses of her mind. Her brain unit must have been all tuckered out from that GED testing.

The machine comes to life and is ready to do its job in a quick and efficient manner. Completion of the task is just seconds away. But no…..no fucking way is this going to happen. Mom begins to panic and squint at the screen as if she is peering at Russian nuclear launch codes. That one hand comes up with the finger poised. Apparently randomly touching the screen is her approach. Nothing is happening as the choice of having to choose a language is fucking befuddling and taking this sled quickly off the rails. After much drama this task is finally completed. Now, the options for what the next step are displayed and this is simply too much. She sort of jumps slightly in frustration and mumbles a not so quiet “oh my, oh my” as she now needs to choose deposit, withdrawal, stamps, transfer, or to check her balance. Gears grind away as she seeks to remember why oh why did she walk through the fucking door in the first place. The circuits finally find their way to each other and a choice is made. One small $20 bills shoots out of the slot and is quickly wadded up and placed into the dark depths as that ugly as sin purse. The card atomically comes out of the slot and she jumps back as if she had just been shot. What in the holy hell did she think was going to happen and why was this such a huge freaking surprise?

The task has been completed but the journey is not yet complete. Before she steps away from the machine she decides its time to yell at 7 of the accumulated 11 kids and teach a few some learning. Once this is mercifully completed Mom #2 steps and and begins the exact same process. Just as slowly and just as idiotically as her buddy. The time has come to bail because if I have to watch this process one more time I’m going to engage in felonious behavior.

It is 2017 people. Find some learning and figure out how to use a fucking ATM. This is not advanced work and the process should be ingrained to the point of automatic muscle movement. Seriously, fucking concentrate so that other lives do not have to come to a complete halt because somewhere in 1983 your life went south and you stopped learning anything. Practice makes perfect.

The equation involves the use and manipulation of four variables. The result is never the same yet still takes on a similar pattern. The first variable on the table is the demographic women in their 30’s and 40’s. The second variable is love (blissful sigh). The third variable is geographic and that is a small town. The fourth and final variable is the concept of getting the word out there in subtle and not so subtle ways.

Picture this. A small town in the western part of a state that offers pass through services to those traveling to better destinations. There is a whiff of desperation in the air that can be pinpointed. Those passing through will simply have an uneasy feeling, which will soon pass as they move out of the city boundaries. For those that are in this town on a daily basis the uneasy feeling is identified. It is the smell produced by women in their 30’s and 40’s who are desperately seeking a relationship, have suddenly found themselves in a relationship, or are crashing down from yet another failed attempt at blissful blissful sweet love. Most have a divorce or preferably two behind them and they are very much seeking the next even they would never admit this fact.

The variables are now combined and have been crunched various ways. The public output are the posts seen on social media from people in your past. Out of nowhere there is a photo of X at a sporting event standing next to dude #32. The female in the pair is smiling as if she just won the lottery. The guy next to her, in the obligatory baseball hat featuring a snowmobile manufacturer, has an odd grin on his face and looks like a monkey doing algebra. A look of “oh fuck, what now” comes from his eyes and you know damn well what is on his mind. He is thinking how many times he can get laid without having to commit to ANYTHING. He knows it, his friends know it, and the American people know it. Female Y is thinking, “Yes, this is the one! This is finally the sweet man I will spend the rest of my life with!” Uh, no he’s not and you know that deep down. It would benefit her greatly if she was simply thinking what the guy is thinking….getting laid. But no, visions of flowers, dresses, joint checking accounts, and a wedding notebook bounce through her nightly dreams. Photos on social media will often have one of two sentences attached: “watching the final four with my babe!” or even “first time in Vegas with my honey!” BABE and HONEY after only 60 hours. Yeah, this will last. Ugh…it never fails.

This happens in bigger towns as well but the sense of desperation seems to be thicker and fetid in smaller towns. It must have something to do with the population pool from which these choices are being made. One thing you won’t see is anybody seeking somebody from outside a 100-mile radius. After all, somebody from the “big city” might not share the same values and have an unending love for the surrounding scenery. Nothing says eternal romantic bliss like 272 straight trips down the road to the local meadow where the views are just spectacular. Go to the fucking city people, it will serve you well!

When all of these variables are combines it creates a great ruckus and somehow everybody knows what is going on with this person. This is by plan because simply being in a relationship, planning a wedding, or trying the new man on for size is not enough. Everybody must be aware of your fleeting bliss or it does not count. On the phone talking to your new love? Be sure to speak at the top of your lungs so everybody knows. Just met a new guy at the tractor pull or at the classic rock cover band concert? Get that stuff on social media, first in very cryptic ways, and then BAM, surprise everybody with a picture of yourself and Matt, Steve, Dave, Paul the newfound troglodyte with 3 past marriages, two kids, and recently obtained GED certificate. Why is he so beloved? “He works hard and is a great daddy!” Yeah, doubt it.

There are worse things in life than divorce and it is often a great decision. Nobody is faulting anybody who has been divorced. It just seems odd that so many think that the 2^nd, 3^rd, or 4^th attempt will have a different outcome than the prior attempts. One common denominator here is that one of our variables simply cannot stand to be alone and cannot stand their own company. Another human must be in their lives that will validate their very existence. As their President says, SAD!

The strongest relationships are those you never hear anything about.

There has never been a time when not one but two imaginary friends have been just behind the scenes of daily life. One of the friends is a male and the other is a female. The male seems to age at the same pace as its creator but the female seems to be more than a little younger at all times. Go figure. The male imaginary friend is most likely an attempt to do large manly things in large manly ways. Fishing for the fish and tromping through the woods in search of “suppa”….working on the garage in the garage and tossing around the pigskin between games. This is most often a failed attempt and the imaginary  friend rejects these activities and ends up pushing for sessions of Dungeons and Dragons and endless bouts of video games played in some cool dark basement. Male friends have always been few and far between and never a real interest. The imaginary friend was an attempt from an early age to somehow fit in when in fact fitting in was the last thing that was desired. This imaginary friend still exists and makes an appearance as needed and at no scheduled time or place.

The female imaginary friend has also been in existence from very early on. She is much more adventurous than the male and actually wants to do things that are not part of a stereotype. She is of course super cute and beautiful at the same time but she has no idea what she looks like. Above else she is smart beyond words and is more interested in putting her nose in a book than putting on makeup. The girl next door who is on track for a Nobel Prize. Funny, inspiring, athletic, personable, goofy, geeky, and many other things.An attraction is there of course but it simmers just beneath the surface. Time is wasting and that can wait as Comic-Con in San Diego is beckoning. She is the prime imaginary friend. This is not a shock as her creator has always had females and friends since the early days of Kindergarten and it makes sense that the dynamic would not change within the imagination.

Having conversation while completely alone is the dirty little secret that is pressed down on a daily basis. Only on a few occasions have these conversations been noticed mid sentence. A simple excuse often clears the slate and makes the eyes of judgment go away. When alone these conversations with nobody can go on and on. Asking, answering, and wandering through a conversation as if somebody was sitting across the table. Solo bike rides are a common place for fully developed conversations with the self and are a way of free therapy. Just in the last two weeks things slipped a bit and a conversation was taking place between Doctor Who action figures that sit on top of a dresser. Thankfully this was caught and self adjusted and immediately reeled back into the world of quiet imagination.