I Killed Richard Simmons - Bad Timing, Bad Juju
Or, "how some of my failures amounted to movements in mortality, pushing beyond me." In the summer of 2024.
The things that I am thinking about are metaphysical at best, or hearsay and nonsense at worst, but perhaps worth contemplating. Perhaps it merits writing about and reflecting on, comparing. Putting a few of my linguistic talents towards these speculations and assessements. Really, this conjecture is more fiction than science, but for my ways of life and thinking, it may all be more than coincidence.
Maybe.
Well, first off, my own pet theory, which is probably real: about some Star Wars personas and narratives, of course. Because, all good or even great analytics or conjecture worth their salt either derives from or relate to Star Wars. Facts. Just saying.
Something that built up over time in my life went kind of sideways this past month, similar in a couple fashions to some crazy mix ups in a galaxy far, far away, and long ago, had a cross convergence with the greater world and universe, so permit me to explain.
But taking pre-eminence, is the cause-and-effect hypothesis that I maintain about the characters of Star Wars.
Where did Anakin Skywalker come from? According to his mother Schmee (Schmi?), as a baby he was spontaneously inseminated in her womb, i.e., there was no father. Anakin, like a certain persona of the place we call earth, two thousand years ago, was a product of a virgin birth. Okay, so the question becomes not necessarily how, but why?
I have the why, the reason Anakin was created, or magically pro-created, and why he happened to possess the most meta-chloreans ever counted in any creature or being, thus making him more potentially powerful than any other Jedi or Dark Lord of all time. It was because of the evil doings of one Darth Plagueis. Plagueis, who I think Disney tried to craft as Snoke in the culminating trilogy featuring Rey and Ben Solo from 2015 to 2019, was the Dark Lord who found or discovered and trained Palpatine, who evolved or devolved in Darth Sideous. Sideous is the Emperor, from the original films dating back to the 1970s, who tempted and then trained Anakin to become Darth Vader.
Tracking? Plagueis, or possibly his master, did really evil things with life and death and their constituent powers, which was kill and resurrect, kill and resurrect, sentient beings as experiments and playthings, over and over and over. Because he, as a very powerful evil Sith Lord learned how to do it, so he did it and overdid it ad nauseum, and this caused what is referred to a "disturbance in the Force", to such a great extent that something "good" to balance out the Force, had to happen. Hence, we have little baby Anakin born on far off, remote and forgotten, desert planet Tatooine. (Don't get me started on how George Lucas lifted most of his major ideas from Frank Herbert's Dune...)
So, some evil doings and occurrences, or at least some unfortunate events, predicated another thing. So, perhaps my error-full doings of my past have added up to another thing. Which in this case were negatives leading to the death of a former public icon.
And this is how Richard Simmons was summoned to the other world, where we hope to catch up with him in the afterlife. It can end well, like in Star Wars, but it can--in our world-- end up being the end of a notable life, by repeated failures by some low-level dude far, farther away. As in, me. C'est moi.
Really.
I was the one failing a U.S. Army test on June 12, for the second time that week, being tested on memorizing and executing 32 exercises in our military standard drills. I failed it, not really that close. I tried, but I was very lacking in precision and skill. Sadly, I was exposed to many of these exercise drills way back in March (or even before?) of 2007. I did them weekly for most of 2007, and all of 2008, and at least half of 2009. How many times did I do the warmup and cool down drills? Eight to begin and maybe five to end? Or more, even now the math is fuzzy. (July 14, the day after Mr. Simmons died.) I even failed on the forming up of the troops, forgetting the simple command, "Extend to the left, MARCH!" Gigged for that, gigged for goofing up other exercises, other movements where my feet were not together, my shoulder moved as it was not supposed to (even more points subtracted), my torso moved incorrectly as my legs and arms and body were stretched in other positions.
The mnemonics were hard enough to memorize, in order, and then: I substituted Marines for Rangers and missed that one! No soup for you, soldier!
This cost me an automatic promotion in rank, and likely the one above it, and got me kicked out of the course, as I had been removed from the similar course six years ago, for other violations. Twice. Twice in six months in 2018, when I was in my late 40s. Now I am in my 50s and I surpassed those former obstacles that tripped me up, regarding height and weight and push-ups, only to slip and trip and fumble this, as I depict it:
To be a ROBOT RICHARD SIMMONS.
I invoked his name, not aware of his status or condition. I did not know he was 76, three years senior to my mom when she left the earth. My travails and challenges in the month of June compelled me to utter the name of the man who symbolized the leading of others in physical exercise, a healthy and positive pursuit. I had passed this portion of the testing six years ago, both times, but the expectation of memorization, and perhaps execution, were significantly higher and harder this time. The bar was raised high, and I came up embarrassingly short.
When making notes or complaints at the end, when signing my defeat papers, my relinquishing my hopes of continuing, I was told I could not comment on this changing of the goal posts, a harder expectation of this portion of the class. Okay: not submitted, my superiors and comrades! (Is this Stalinist Russia?) No, just us. The ones I have worked on, for, and with for almost two decades. The ones who helped take over Iraq and Afghanistan quite successfully, but the one who also allowed so many stupid mistakes to occur. We won them and they lost them, not all the Army to blame. But how about learning some more Arabic, Dari, or Pashtun, instead of wrote memory of the work out Robot Richard Simmons routine? Yes, I have some gripes. We win stupid little games and lose the bigger picture. Forest through the trees much, U.S. military? Memorize a little culture of our allies, friends, and enemies instead of some robotic stretch and muscle movements. Yes, I had successfully passed all the physical strength and speed tests. A thing that failed me here six years ago because my push-ups were not "straight enough". I did at least 15 more than I needed to in 2018, but not counted by my grader. I could beat that man. Still. Give me a mat, let him choke me out, please.
The Lord commands me to forgive. I have forgiven myself a few times, which is hard.
We have low recruiting, low retention, problems with morale and suicide, and I get failed for these things. Robot Richard Simmons.
I had to recite and execute 32 stations, plus the opening formation. I biffed it, improving after the first terrible performance on Monday. Wednesday had me packing up my stuff, bidding my best farewells. Been there, done that. Used to it.
Robot Richard Simmons routine.
I could not do it; I did not do it. I summoned this exercise guru's name in shame and frsutration. He was the one that I thought of, when I could not meet the standard of the Army and its rudimentary course, and its standardized exercise regime. Developed sometime prior to my time in 2007, I had performed many of these wrote steps longer and perhaps more than most or all of the younger troops in my class. I ended being the only one who could not passed it. I was promptly dismissed after nine days of promising hopes to move on. Finally. But alas, no. No, no, no. It was not to be for me. I did feel grateful for still having my life and other tremendous blessings, but not this. Not this. A course and achievement I should have knocked out as far back as 2013 or 2014. No, no, and no.
So, the powers of fate and destiny combined, and July 13 it happened, a month and a day after my humiliation or humbling, or fall from hoped-for graces. Others had great hopes for me succeeding, too. My chagrin and disappointment was shared by many, this is not an Army of one.
My daughter wrecked our car (she and those she struck are okay), the exercise maven passed after a productive and lively life of inspiring and moving millions, to healthier lifestyles and motivations, and then capped off with Matthew Thomas Crooks shooting the former president Donald J. Trump.
The fates converged, combined, transmogrified; my continuous and persistent failures to reach this modicum of exercise utility within my long-time association and commitment to this august organization and conqueror and devastator of other countries and their forces.
Did I explain it all. Do you feel it? Do you understand I brought to pass such movements and passings?
ROBO Richard, Robot Richard Simmons.
Go, Army.
Goodbye, Mr. Simmons.
We loved you; you made me laugh quite a bit. Especially on David Letterman.
And then there is me. You gave us some laughs, too. And some tears.
But we're still alive. I have not tempted the fates of mortality that far.
July 13, a month and a day after the last derrota. Fall. Loss. Tropiezo. Non-completion, no-go.
12 of June, when my father turned older... And I left the base as I had before, packing my bags, signing the forms, calculating the next moves with the emptiness of a mission not fulfilled. Dignity bashed but not abandoned. Living to fight another day. Another battle, another war to come.
Good and evil in their balance, trying the Force for what it is. And what it is not.
