My Sweet Gibby

The Waxing Gibbous is the phase of the moon cycle that comes just before the grand splendor of the Full Moon. It is my personal favorite for a few reasons, the first being the way it sounds when spoken. Say it with me – Gibbous….Waxing Giiiiibbous. Perch with me on a stool and let your inner bullfrog bellow – Gibbous, Gibbous. Really let that bulbous “B” in “Gibbous” BUBBLE up. Such a lovely word - go forth and speak the name of the Gibb, my brothers and sisters in Ous. I also love what the Gibby represents: Progression towards a finished product. Like a mother watching her child grow, so too do we behold the stages of the moon, from its infancy to its full maturity (I don’t actually talk like that in real life).

The New Moon – or no moon –Is the day mommy and daddy decided to keep the contraception in the naughty drawer next to the socks.

The waxing crescent moon - which looks like the smile on the cheshire cat – is our newborn/toddler years. We see the gelatinous flesh sack go from a dizzied, alien state of bewilderment (not cute at all) to the slightly less perturbed “bulldoze-crawl through walls” stage of life.

The “First Quarter Moon” is my least favorite of the whole cycle. Namely because it’s literally 50% of a Full Moon and we’re calling it a First Quarter – I’ve always said that scientists are very dumb and this further reinforces this objective truth. The FQM (First Quarter Moon) is when the child enters the teenage years and starts squawking at its parents with it’s confused, stupid voice. Again this is the shittiest sequence of the moon phases and I regret exhausting these words. We’re moving on – also if you like this moon, I just placed a curse on you that’ll cause you to go slack-jaw whenever you drink beverages or eat liquid foods. Porages, broths and juices will perennially spill from your idiot face for liking this phase of the moon cycle, dumb dumb.

And now….weighing in at what appears to be between 75-99% of the Full Moon’s Mass but is actually the same weight of the Moon which is 8.1 x 10^19 tons (whatever the fuck that means)......FIGHTING……in a silvery/grey colored pair of shorts……THE……WAAAAAXING GIBBOUS!!!! Our vape smoking, bang flipping, eye gaze averting, acne addled, political contrarian of a teenager has finally blossomed into young adulthood! Now, for this pitiful metaphor that you’ve likely stopped reading, let’s say that the Waxing Moon’s average duration of 7.38 days represents ages 21-35. I mentioned, earlier, that the reason I love The Dirty Old Gib is because, to me, it represents all that goes into any “Finished Product.” While the Full Moon is magnificent and beautiful, yes, sometimes the anticipation of its grandeur is just as exciting. Much like the road trip with your pals to go fishing is filled with great conversation and high hopes. Or, for my painters, mixing red and green to get that perfect shade of illustrious brown. My point is that the process can be equally as enjoyable as the Perfectly Plucked Pike from Lake Wallenpaupack (Alliteration of the century right there) or the brown tulip that you painted that was definitely supposed to be brown because the painting is surrealist.

Over the past three weeks I’ve dramatically curtailed the rate at which I consume things that temporarily Band-Aid the fires of Mount Doom that exist within my soul. I was having a conversation with my great friend, Nick Kuehner, about why we feared reducing these ostensibly engrained lifestyle habits. The working hypothesis was just that – we have built identities upon these vices. We fear that we’re not funny, creative, energetic….plainly put, we’re afraid that we’d lose our personhood without them. What is sad is that there is truth to that - sometimes it takes reinventing yourself. Over the past decade or so, I’ve built an identity on the bedrock of being the chaotic, frenzied, funny, blacked out Tasmanian Devil. Rather than confronting the inner demons that are embarrassment, pining for acceptance, fear of rejection, loneliness…..the solution was to…..like Maverick…pull the emergency lever in enemy territory and eject from the old rusted fighter jet. Here comes the corniest metaphor in the fucking galaxy, folks. Sometimes that fighter jet is enough to defeat the entire army of (insert racially enigmatic name here because the new Top Gun doesn’t want to get sued). I’m not saying I’m going to stop drinking and having fun – I’m not a psycho and I do apologize to my fully sober friends reading this - you’re not psychos either………maybe you are just a smidge. The goal, however, is to supplant these habits with a healthier lifestyle and most importantly, find a more permanent solution for coping with the emotional YUCK than “Powering Down the Traeger.”

So that’s what the past three weeks have been. It’s been replete with early morning writing, exercise, yoga, grain/kale bowls, reading and ripping around on my new motorcycle which is definitely not just an electric bike…..And ya know what???? It’s pretty damn boring. This paradigm shift is not for everyone. Anyone interested in going to Ibiza for my 30th birthday in July? Partially Joking,

A person who actually feels very good lately