It would take too long and take up too much bandwidth to reply to each and every one of you who has reached out to me these past few days about my mom, so this rather impersonal post will have to suffice.
Her loss, while not unexpected nor unwelcome (and those of you who know me at all know this has been a relationship that's been stuck in my craw for a while), is still radioactive: it is something that affects us all in the family and circle of friends and infiltrates and penetrates into corners we can never anticipate.
Cleaning out an apartment, as a trivial example.
Your support and friendship has always lifted my spirits when things looked difficult, and once more, you friends have come through for me. I only hope that I have been as supportive and compassionate when you've needed me (and if I haven't, I'm sure I'll here about it now! :-) )
Again, on behalf of my family, me, and ThumbPer, thank you.
Showing posts with label carl. Show all posts
Showing posts with label carl. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 09, 2011
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Island Time
I think I'm finally into island time. I haven't shaved or changed clothes (except to dive, of course) since Sunday, and actually showered with soap once, last night.
Hey, protecting the environment! They have to pump out the septic tanks, process the merchandise and ship the residue off island. It costs money.
I shot some video yesterday, and tried to wrap my mind around the whole phenomenon of intrusive species. You see, Bonaire is the latest (and most remote) outpost of the dreaded lion fish. Its first prey is a species of really beautiful animal called the Spotted Drum, which likes to linger in the same nooks and crannies that lion fish prefer.
I finally saw a Spotted Drum yesterday, but it was huge, which means old, and I haven't seen any fry.
I'm hoping that, as heavily dived as the house reefs on the hotel strip on Bonaire are, this somehow keeps the lion fish at bay, that thru either fear of the bubble blowers or thru careful management practices (meaning capture, kill and eat) lion fish have been kept away from this part of the island.
Time and dives will tell.
But then the follow up thought occurred to me: if divers have managed to stress out the lion fish, how many other species of fish have we prevented from living a normal life on the reef?
It's not that divers are evil or anything. Most are very careful to respect the reef life and to even put the coral and fish ahead of their own safety. But accidents happen, and then there's the small percentage of yutzes who just have to ruin things for everyone by poking fingers into holes and carelessly dropping stuff, kicking fins willy-nilly and just being assholes.
But even careful divers, like me, how do we affect the reef ecosystem? After all, often I'll glide over a cleaning station where a grouper is having his teeth brushed, and he'll panic and swim off. What if some parasite takes the opportunity to cause an infection? And what if that one grouper who might have ended up spawning the line that finally takes out the lion fish, dies instead?
I can't worry about it much, but it's a nagging thought on the periphery of my consciousness.
Hey, protecting the environment! They have to pump out the septic tanks, process the merchandise and ship the residue off island. It costs money.
I shot some video yesterday, and tried to wrap my mind around the whole phenomenon of intrusive species. You see, Bonaire is the latest (and most remote) outpost of the dreaded lion fish. Its first prey is a species of really beautiful animal called the Spotted Drum, which likes to linger in the same nooks and crannies that lion fish prefer.
I finally saw a Spotted Drum yesterday, but it was huge, which means old, and I haven't seen any fry.
I'm hoping that, as heavily dived as the house reefs on the hotel strip on Bonaire are, this somehow keeps the lion fish at bay, that thru either fear of the bubble blowers or thru careful management practices (meaning capture, kill and eat) lion fish have been kept away from this part of the island.
Time and dives will tell.
But then the follow up thought occurred to me: if divers have managed to stress out the lion fish, how many other species of fish have we prevented from living a normal life on the reef?
It's not that divers are evil or anything. Most are very careful to respect the reef life and to even put the coral and fish ahead of their own safety. But accidents happen, and then there's the small percentage of yutzes who just have to ruin things for everyone by poking fingers into holes and carelessly dropping stuff, kicking fins willy-nilly and just being assholes.
But even careful divers, like me, how do we affect the reef ecosystem? After all, often I'll glide over a cleaning station where a grouper is having his teeth brushed, and he'll panic and swim off. What if some parasite takes the opportunity to cause an infection? And what if that one grouper who might have ended up spawning the line that finally takes out the lion fish, dies instead?
I can't worry about it much, but it's a nagging thought on the periphery of my consciousness.
Saturday, January 08, 2011
Te Aworo
By the time you read this, I will be wheels up on a two week vacation.
I'll be taking my iPad with me, so posting will continue sporadically. See, I'll be wet most of the time...
Anyway, enjoy the middle of winter. I'll be working, sort of, on my photography and videography portfolio. The best thing about visual arts is the rehearsals.
I'll be taking my iPad with me, so posting will continue sporadically. See, I'll be wet most of the time...
Anyway, enjoy the middle of winter. I'll be working, sort of, on my photography and videography portfolio. The best thing about visual arts is the rehearsals.
Friday, June 25, 2010
Day Three in Key West
The weather has been hot, muggy and threatening to storm each afternoon, but no relief.
This town is pretty awesome. Imagine Greenwich Village without the smug sophistication of enduring winters. Now add back in the inherent danger of running into the local rednecks while you're strolling around with your Noo Yawk walk and talk and political views.
I've felt more comfortable, at times, in the middle of Kingston, Jamaica, is what I'm saying. There are few places in the world where I've felt less local and more of an outsider. There's a hungry desperation in people's eyes, too. Concerns about the economy, no doubt, and to be sure there aren't as many people wandering Duval as I would have expected. The oil slick, the general economic malaise, and just people tired of being scared.
You wonder why Americans get so paranoid, and yet we do. This is still America, still a great nation. We can still come back and fashion a future.
I've managed to stay out of bar fights, and even tho soccer gets laughed at regularly when it's on the TeeVee, moments like the last American game prove a point: we simply don't know as much about the world as we would lie to. Underneath it all, underneath the braggadocio and bluster, America is still the baby brother who's trying to fit in with big brother's buddies.
One more full day to walk around. I promised ThumbPer I'd go to Hemingway House and visit his cousins, so that's on today's agenda. Plus, I need a dose of inspiration to get my books back on track.
This town is pretty awesome. Imagine Greenwich Village without the smug sophistication of enduring winters. Now add back in the inherent danger of running into the local rednecks while you're strolling around with your Noo Yawk walk and talk and political views.
I've felt more comfortable, at times, in the middle of Kingston, Jamaica, is what I'm saying. There are few places in the world where I've felt less local and more of an outsider. There's a hungry desperation in people's eyes, too. Concerns about the economy, no doubt, and to be sure there aren't as many people wandering Duval as I would have expected. The oil slick, the general economic malaise, and just people tired of being scared.
You wonder why Americans get so paranoid, and yet we do. This is still America, still a great nation. We can still come back and fashion a future.
I've managed to stay out of bar fights, and even tho soccer gets laughed at regularly when it's on the TeeVee, moments like the last American game prove a point: we simply don't know as much about the world as we would lie to. Underneath it all, underneath the braggadocio and bluster, America is still the baby brother who's trying to fit in with big brother's buddies.
One more full day to walk around. I promised ThumbPer I'd go to Hemingway House and visit his cousins, so that's on today's agenda. Plus, I need a dose of inspiration to get my books back on track.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Margaritaville
I'm heading to Key West to attend to some business over the next few days. I'll be back on Saturday.
And yes, the Duvall Crawl is part of my plan!
See...I got bad news this morning...
And yes, the Duvall Crawl is part of my plan!
See...I got bad news this morning...
Saturday, February 27, 2010
A New Look
Well, after ages of looking at the same retarded* template, and watching it gather kipple like the corners of a flat in Bexhill, I decided to upgrade my blog's look.
Hope you like it as much as I do. I'll be tweaking the settings as I go. The final straw was the fact that, for some strange reason, my sidebar ended up under my posts.
* Sorry, Sarah, I calls 'em like I sees 'em
Hope you like it as much as I do. I'll be tweaking the settings as I go. The final straw was the fact that, for some strange reason, my sidebar ended up under my posts.
* Sorry, Sarah, I calls 'em like I sees 'em
Friday, January 08, 2010
Te Aworo
I thought I'd have more time today to post something, and maybe even have the chance to write some things for next week.
I'll be on vacation. I'll see about posting stuff, but I ain't promising. I leave you in the capable hands of Kat, and if ThumbPer can work out the password on the computer, he might post some stuff too.
See you on the 18th!
I'll be on vacation. I'll see about posting stuff, but I ain't promising. I leave you in the capable hands of Kat, and if ThumbPer can work out the password on the computer, he might post some stuff too.
See you on the 18th!
Friday, December 25, 2009
Let Us Pray
Our Heavenly Father,
2,009 years ago, the Son of God was made incarnate. With this act, You renewed Your vow to mankind that You had grown up, that you had become a better God than He who destroyed mankind for being evil. That You had matured. That You had evolved. Thank you, Father.
In this holiday season, we ask You and Your Most Holy Gift to hear our prayers. At this time of the renewal of the vows of faith, we ask that You look down upon us, and help us in a critical time of need. Our planet is suffering degradations by the bucketful, and those who serve us forget that they are our servants; instead they serve mammon. We ask that You inspire them to higher goals.
We ask that you fill their hearts with the passion of position, that to do right is to do good and to do good is to do Your work here on earth.
We ask that You give us the patience to tolerate those who oppose our views with good humour and delicate persuasions. They are not many, but they are louder than they are large and in this nation, loud often substitutes for right.
We ask that You find it in his heart to fill our President with a reminder of where he came from and how hard it is, particularly now in this time of recession, for an individual to make his way thru the long cold nights and short brutal days.
We'll take care of the rest. We will feed the hungry, clothe the naked, help the poor, heal the sick. We can do that. We want to do this. We just need to move obstacles and inspire people and we know there is no rock so immovable that You cannot move it.
To Your cause, we re-dedicate ourselves. Amen.
2,009 years ago, the Son of God was made incarnate. With this act, You renewed Your vow to mankind that You had grown up, that you had become a better God than He who destroyed mankind for being evil. That You had matured. That You had evolved. Thank you, Father.
In this holiday season, we ask You and Your Most Holy Gift to hear our prayers. At this time of the renewal of the vows of faith, we ask that You look down upon us, and help us in a critical time of need. Our planet is suffering degradations by the bucketful, and those who serve us forget that they are our servants; instead they serve mammon. We ask that You inspire them to higher goals.
We ask that you fill their hearts with the passion of position, that to do right is to do good and to do good is to do Your work here on earth.
We ask that You give us the patience to tolerate those who oppose our views with good humour and delicate persuasions. They are not many, but they are louder than they are large and in this nation, loud often substitutes for right.
We ask that You find it in his heart to fill our President with a reminder of where he came from and how hard it is, particularly now in this time of recession, for an individual to make his way thru the long cold nights and short brutal days.
We'll take care of the rest. We will feed the hungry, clothe the naked, help the poor, heal the sick. We can do that. We want to do this. We just need to move obstacles and inspire people and we know there is no rock so immovable that You cannot move it.
To Your cause, we re-dedicate ourselves. Amen.
Monday, October 19, 2009
The Image Dilemma
Lately, I've been giving much thought to old friends and new ones.
Sometimes friendships work out, and sometimes they do not. Now, I'm the first to admit that, as a friend, I'm a handful. I can be irascible, pretty obnoxious, definitely outspoken while remaining reseved and introspective, but not one to keep the peace merely for the sake of keeping the peace.
But I can also be warm, giving to the point of generosity, compassionate and heartfelt once you've gained my trust.
In other words, human. You'll never know which parts of me you'll get, anymore than I'll know which bits of you you'll give me.
Which leads me to this bizarre column: I've been thinking about psychology and jigsaw puzzles.
Each of us has a self-image that is at once clear and muddled. Some of us are clearer than others, but we all have blindspots. Into those blindspots, we seek friends to help us interpret and understand them.
Some friends, a few, fit smoothly like the right jigaw piece. Pretty quickly, you come to the realization that this friend is one who can help nurture you, and help you comprehend yourself.
Some do not. Those friends you keep at arm's length, if you keep them at all. Like the jigsaw piece that is interlocking and you need a tessellating piece, you quickly come to the realization that this relationship is not as vaulable as you had hoped.
Most friends fall in between, on a spectrum of good friends who develop over time to friends you might run into from time to time.
Some of these friends, like some jigsaw pieces, look like they should fit easily, but you discover the puzzle is more complex than you thought. You rotate them around and still, they just don't fit easily where you thought they might.
You have two alternatives: you can put it aside, and hope it fits someplace else when the puzzle of your self-image is further along, or you can take a hammer and try to bang it into place.
Most people have tried the hammer at least once or twice in their lives. It never works.
See, the piece, the friend, looks like it should be a good fit. Maybe it has the right shape, but not exactly. Maybe it has some really bright colours that help offset a dark and dreary, lonely corner of the puzzle and you really really want that piece to fit.
Rather than perhaps admit the piece is wrong, you try to reshape the piece. Worse, maybe the admission you have to make is that the puzzle, your self-image, itself is wrong.
We hang dearly onto our images. We have illusions of who people are, and how they fit in with us. We believe things we have no business believing about someone, or worse, we don't believe in someone when maybe all it takes is a little adjustment of attitude on our part, and then suddenly, the piece fits.
After all, there was some reason we were attracted enough to that piece to even try to fit it in.
The old saw, about experience being the course in which the tests come before the lessons, holds particularly true when it comes to our self-image.
We all want to believe we are something more than we already are, and some of us actually are. For most of us, though, we are already enough to do the things we need to do to survive and thrive. Our self-image is neither complete or unfinished. It really just needs a little filling in.
Like any good puzzle strategy, most of us have laid the framework for filling in the spaces. We just need to hunt down the right pieces.
Sometimes friendships work out, and sometimes they do not. Now, I'm the first to admit that, as a friend, I'm a handful. I can be irascible, pretty obnoxious, definitely outspoken while remaining reseved and introspective, but not one to keep the peace merely for the sake of keeping the peace.
But I can also be warm, giving to the point of generosity, compassionate and heartfelt once you've gained my trust.
In other words, human. You'll never know which parts of me you'll get, anymore than I'll know which bits of you you'll give me.
Which leads me to this bizarre column: I've been thinking about psychology and jigsaw puzzles.
Each of us has a self-image that is at once clear and muddled. Some of us are clearer than others, but we all have blindspots. Into those blindspots, we seek friends to help us interpret and understand them.
Some friends, a few, fit smoothly like the right jigaw piece. Pretty quickly, you come to the realization that this friend is one who can help nurture you, and help you comprehend yourself.
Some do not. Those friends you keep at arm's length, if you keep them at all. Like the jigsaw piece that is interlocking and you need a tessellating piece, you quickly come to the realization that this relationship is not as vaulable as you had hoped.
Most friends fall in between, on a spectrum of good friends who develop over time to friends you might run into from time to time.
Some of these friends, like some jigsaw pieces, look like they should fit easily, but you discover the puzzle is more complex than you thought. You rotate them around and still, they just don't fit easily where you thought they might.
You have two alternatives: you can put it aside, and hope it fits someplace else when the puzzle of your self-image is further along, or you can take a hammer and try to bang it into place.
Most people have tried the hammer at least once or twice in their lives. It never works.
See, the piece, the friend, looks like it should be a good fit. Maybe it has the right shape, but not exactly. Maybe it has some really bright colours that help offset a dark and dreary, lonely corner of the puzzle and you really really want that piece to fit.
Rather than perhaps admit the piece is wrong, you try to reshape the piece. Worse, maybe the admission you have to make is that the puzzle, your self-image, itself is wrong.
We hang dearly onto our images. We have illusions of who people are, and how they fit in with us. We believe things we have no business believing about someone, or worse, we don't believe in someone when maybe all it takes is a little adjustment of attitude on our part, and then suddenly, the piece fits.
After all, there was some reason we were attracted enough to that piece to even try to fit it in.
The old saw, about experience being the course in which the tests come before the lessons, holds particularly true when it comes to our self-image.
We all want to believe we are something more than we already are, and some of us actually are. For most of us, though, we are already enough to do the things we need to do to survive and thrive. Our self-image is neither complete or unfinished. It really just needs a little filling in.
Like any good puzzle strategy, most of us have laid the framework for filling in the spaces. We just need to hunt down the right pieces.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Quick Admin Note
I know, it's been awfully quiet here on the ranch.
Mea culpa. I left for vacation in such a rush that I forgot to ask Katrina to come in and feed the cat (THUMBPER adds, "Dass riet! Ah had ta et howseplans awl wik!").
And I forgot to set up a bunch of posts to tide you guys over.
I'll figure some way to make it all up to you folks, even you, Stoopid!. Sorry about that.
I'll figure some way to make it all up to you folks, even you, Stoopid!. Sorry about that.
Monday, June 08, 2009
Escape To Which Mountain?
When life throws a curve, or when the world weighs heavily, we all seek an escape clause.
There's nothing wrong with that. Our primitive ancestors had to deal with problems that were right in front of them: Hungry. Need food. Cold. Need fur. Horny. Need sex.
Modern man, and in this case, anybody born after 1950, does not have it so easy. You and I are aware of the larger world around us.
OK, so maybe that includes mostly just the progressive liberal side of American society unless cheap political points can be scored by conservatives whining about children, but I digress.
We have retirement accounts. We have paychecks that we live off. We have homes to pay for and cars to maintain and children to raise.
In short, the North Korean government has a nuclear sneeze, and you and I pick up a Kleenex.
Humans aren't made for that kind of stress. We fight or flight, which implies we have to have an immediate stressor, a confrontation. We don't have strong tools that allow us to be under major stresses constantly for a long term.
Enter the concept of stress-relief.
Much like the concept of Daylight Savings Time, stress relief is an attempt to alleviate a situation that shouldn't occur in the first place: the feeling of being trapped by circumstance, of seeing no way out, of not being able to fight or flee.
Some people drink. Some take drugs. Some turn to religion. Some find a hobby. But we all of us have some way to cut the tension down a bit to at least almost-manageable proportions.
I'm about to admit a vice...ok, two vices...vice, in that they are escapes from reality.
This all sort of hit home yesterday afternoon. It was about 2:30 and I was sitting at home, restless and bored, and took a walk.
As I strolled through a local park, I found myself suddenly very depressed and sad. I couldn't shake the feeling, nor could I very easily understand what was going on in me.
In fact, just after I took that picture, I had this feeling of doom as I glanced at the sunbathers gathered on the small lawn under that bridge tower. And it hit me: I had to go back to work today.
And it pissed me off.
Why did it bug me so much? As I walked, the stiffness in my legs and the soreness of my back whispered loudly to me.
You see, I had ridden my bike for about 50 miles over this weekend. The weather was nice, and I had the energy, so for roughly four hours, I was free.
Free, as in free to deal with my situation as it occured. No thoughts about tomorrow. No insurance worries. No bank accounts. No work. Just me, my bike, and some small amounts of traffic and the occasional hill.
Life, the way it's supposed to be lived.
To give you an idea of what I was dealing with, here are some photos I shot this weekend. I made myself carry a point-and-shoot camera:
There's nothing wrong with that. Our primitive ancestors had to deal with problems that were right in front of them: Hungry. Need food. Cold. Need fur. Horny. Need sex.
Modern man, and in this case, anybody born after 1950, does not have it so easy. You and I are aware of the larger world around us.
OK, so maybe that includes mostly just the progressive liberal side of American society unless cheap political points can be scored by conservatives whining about children, but I digress.
We have retirement accounts. We have paychecks that we live off. We have homes to pay for and cars to maintain and children to raise.
In short, the North Korean government has a nuclear sneeze, and you and I pick up a Kleenex.
Humans aren't made for that kind of stress. We fight or flight, which implies we have to have an immediate stressor, a confrontation. We don't have strong tools that allow us to be under major stresses constantly for a long term.
Enter the concept of stress-relief.
Much like the concept of Daylight Savings Time, stress relief is an attempt to alleviate a situation that shouldn't occur in the first place: the feeling of being trapped by circumstance, of seeing no way out, of not being able to fight or flee.
Some people drink. Some take drugs. Some turn to religion. Some find a hobby. But we all of us have some way to cut the tension down a bit to at least almost-manageable proportions.
I'm about to admit a vice...ok, two vices...vice, in that they are escapes from reality.
This all sort of hit home yesterday afternoon. It was about 2:30 and I was sitting at home, restless and bored, and took a walk.
As I strolled through a local park, I found myself suddenly very depressed and sad. I couldn't shake the feeling, nor could I very easily understand what was going on in me.In fact, just after I took that picture, I had this feeling of doom as I glanced at the sunbathers gathered on the small lawn under that bridge tower. And it hit me: I had to go back to work today.
And it pissed me off.
Why did it bug me so much? As I walked, the stiffness in my legs and the soreness of my back whispered loudly to me.
You see, I had ridden my bike for about 50 miles over this weekend. The weather was nice, and I had the energy, so for roughly four hours, I was free.
Free, as in free to deal with my situation as it occured. No thoughts about tomorrow. No insurance worries. No bank accounts. No work. Just me, my bike, and some small amounts of traffic and the occasional hill.
Life, the way it's supposed to be lived.
To give you an idea of what I was dealing with, here are some photos I shot this weekend. I made myself carry a point-and-shoot camera:
Kinda sweet, huh? It would be fun to get on my bike and keep riding, carrying my camera and just shooting pictures.
But...
Yeah. It's the "but." A big "but."
We all need escapes. We all need the kind of vice that for a few moments, or hours, allows us to deal with life on our terms. Something that stops us from thinking, and starts us dealing with who we are and what we want to do.
Something that reminds us of our humanity. We are human beings, not human doings...
Monday, March 30, 2009
15 Books That Will Always Stick With Me
As tagged by Lance Mannion:
1) The Bible - Various authors, even tho One Guy claims sole authorship. Sort of like Mark Rothko's body of work.
2) The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy - Douglas Adams
3) Hamlet - William Shakespeare (I'm claiming book by dint of the edition I read, which was annotated)
4) A Brief History of Time - Stephen Hawking
5) Flatland: A Romance of Many Dimensions - A. Square (Edwin Abbott)
6) An Actor Prepares - Constantin Stanislavski
7) Lateral Thinking - Edward de Bono
8) The Drama of the Gifted Child/Alice Miller; Homecoming: Reclaiming and Championing Your Inner Child/John Bradshaw I just felt these two needed to be together.
9) Moby Dick - Herman Melville
10) Death Be Not Proud - John Gunther
11) The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
12) Bullfinch's Mythology - errrr....Bullfinch, I think. (Thomas. I knew that)
13) Le Morte d'Arthur - Sir Thomas Malory
14) Beowulf
15) The Foundation Trilogy - Isaac Asimov
1) The Bible - Various authors, even tho One Guy claims sole authorship. Sort of like Mark Rothko's body of work.
2) The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy - Douglas Adams
3) Hamlet - William Shakespeare (I'm claiming book by dint of the edition I read, which was annotated)
4) A Brief History of Time - Stephen Hawking
5) Flatland: A Romance of Many Dimensions - A. Square (Edwin Abbott)
6) An Actor Prepares - Constantin Stanislavski
7) Lateral Thinking - Edward de Bono
8) The Drama of the Gifted Child/Alice Miller; Homecoming: Reclaiming and Championing Your Inner Child/John Bradshaw I just felt these two needed to be together.
9) Moby Dick - Herman Melville
10) Death Be Not Proud - John Gunther
11) The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
12) Bullfinch's Mythology - errrr....Bullfinch, I think. (Thomas. I knew that)
13) Le Morte d'Arthur - Sir Thomas Malory
14) Beowulf
15) The Foundation Trilogy - Isaac Asimov
Monday, March 02, 2009
March Snowstorm
Yes. We had a significant snowfall for the first time this season.
No, I did not get a snow day.
Rat fucking bastards...
No, I did not get a snow day.
Rat fucking bastards...
Monday, January 19, 2009
On Sale Now!
For a donation of only $2.00, you can receive one of these lovely "Bush's Last Day" Bands, custom made for me by my good friends at...well, whatever the hell that company was...
Come celebrate America's NEW Independence Day!
Tuesday, January 06, 2009
The Sins Of Wages
Four weeks ago, I developed a really nasty sinus infection. The mother of all sinus infections, if you will.
For the past month or so, I've suffered from insomnia of the worst kind, the kind where you are fast and deeply asleep, only to be roused by a coughing jag. Kind of like electing a Bush after eight years of peace and prosperity.
I finally went to a doctor last week ahead of a trip I am taking at the end of this week (which is why I haven't been lobbying hard for the Weblog Awards for Simply Left Behind, but please do vote!), was given antibiotics and sent home to heal.
Heal I have, to a degree. And yet, here I am this morning, awake at 2:30 after three hours of sleep. My thoughts are racing, flitting like fireflies about me. This thought lights up, dims, and another flashes off in the corner of my other eye.
I hate nature.
I woke to a vague recollection of a dream about this contest. At first, I thought I was disturbed by my casual attitude towards it. I cannot deny there is a hypercompetitive part of me that simply will not allow me to fail. This being the slack time in between the election and the inauguration, I thought I'd explore this a little.
As I lay there in the dark, the cat watching me through one eyelid, I let my mind wander. This was not about the contest, to be sure, although I did manage to stroke that part of my id into relaxation.
There's something more. I'm disturbed by what I have allowed myself, and by extension this blog, to become.
Each morning, I sit at a PC, either in my office or at home, and I search for a story to write about. Recklessly disregarding the fact that I really don't care about half the stuff I read online, I choose a topic.
Usually, I search Memeorandum and see what other bloggers are talking about. I admit to a frisson of excitement and satisfaction when I see my name, with SLB attached to it, listed as commenting on a story. If an orgasm is la petite morte in French, then this is the cigarette afterwards.
Bollocks. That's what's pissing me off about life. I'm tying myself to what other people think and see. I'm letting the world set my agenda for me. I'm taking myself way too fucking seriously.
Now, the practice of writing a blog every day has its charm and its advantages. For one, by forcing myself to write daily, I'm forcing myself to be a better writer, to learn what mistakes I'm capable of and to prevent them. For another, it usually kills about 30 minutes at work, and probably stops me from playing FreeCell.
In 2008, it was too easy to write a blog, and I suspect that by the end of this year, an awful lot of blogs that popped up during the Bush administration will close down. And why not? People aren't as angry. Obama seems to be a decent sort who is committed to turning America around again. It's going to be hard to find something to take umbrage at and write a 3,000 word screed, mixing humour and anger, rage and fear.
Fear. Yes, that's what I want to talk about today. It's odd, but each year around this time, sins and emotions seem to be the backdrop to our lives.
Most sins can be understood in context of satisfying a need: envy, for example, keeps us up to date with what people around us have, and so we increase our odds of breeding by "keeping up with the Joneses," lust provides us with a motivation to collect genetic material from as many mates as possible, and so on.
Underlying all these, I think, is fear. Fear is the mind-killer, as Frank Herbert put it, by way of Huxley.
Fear is, I believe the yan to the yin of love, which I think is the underlying emotion behind all happiness. Blend fear and love, and you pretty cover the emotional gamut of humanity.
Anger, jealousy, hatred, all involve some element of love, even if that element is self-love and not the love for another person. We can delude and rationalize our anger at our spouse or child as "being good for them," but in reality, it's more about us taking care of ourselves than caring for someone else.
But notice also there's an element of fear to that love: by lashing out at those around you, you are warning them that they are scaring you, threatening you in some way. And it doesn't even have to manifest in rage: anger expressed in the most gentle way is still anger and still about fear.
On the flipside, you see joy, openess, and giving, which while all perfectly self-loving, involve far greater blends of love for someone else, and much less fear.
Even in these emotions, there's some fear involved. When you first tell someone you love them, there's always the chance they'll reject you.
Which brings me back to my original message, my original thought, my insomniatic stream of consciousness: what do I fear, by manipulating my energies and thoughts so they conform with what the rest of Blogtopia (© Skippy) is talking about?
Does it really matter to me that my hit counter is ringing every day? Does it make a difference in my life, apart from making me feel a little better about myself?
No, not really. So the question becomes, is that feeling worth it? Is the self-esteem tied up in that stupid little ticker worth the effort of being topical?
I'm not earning a single dime off this thing, yet I write more here in a week than I have in a month in the book I'm supposedly working on to sell.
I'm communicating and yes, that's important to me. I have thoughts and ideas and they need to be expressed, but not on the world's terms.
On my terms.
Vote for Simply Left Behind in the Weblog Awards
For the past month or so, I've suffered from insomnia of the worst kind, the kind where you are fast and deeply asleep, only to be roused by a coughing jag. Kind of like electing a Bush after eight years of peace and prosperity.
I finally went to a doctor last week ahead of a trip I am taking at the end of this week (which is why I haven't been lobbying hard for the Weblog Awards for Simply Left Behind, but please do vote!), was given antibiotics and sent home to heal.
Heal I have, to a degree. And yet, here I am this morning, awake at 2:30 after three hours of sleep. My thoughts are racing, flitting like fireflies about me. This thought lights up, dims, and another flashes off in the corner of my other eye.
I hate nature.
I woke to a vague recollection of a dream about this contest. At first, I thought I was disturbed by my casual attitude towards it. I cannot deny there is a hypercompetitive part of me that simply will not allow me to fail. This being the slack time in between the election and the inauguration, I thought I'd explore this a little.
As I lay there in the dark, the cat watching me through one eyelid, I let my mind wander. This was not about the contest, to be sure, although I did manage to stroke that part of my id into relaxation.
There's something more. I'm disturbed by what I have allowed myself, and by extension this blog, to become.
Each morning, I sit at a PC, either in my office or at home, and I search for a story to write about. Recklessly disregarding the fact that I really don't care about half the stuff I read online, I choose a topic.
Usually, I search Memeorandum and see what other bloggers are talking about. I admit to a frisson of excitement and satisfaction when I see my name, with SLB attached to it, listed as commenting on a story. If an orgasm is la petite morte in French, then this is the cigarette afterwards.
Bollocks. That's what's pissing me off about life. I'm tying myself to what other people think and see. I'm letting the world set my agenda for me. I'm taking myself way too fucking seriously.
Now, the practice of writing a blog every day has its charm and its advantages. For one, by forcing myself to write daily, I'm forcing myself to be a better writer, to learn what mistakes I'm capable of and to prevent them. For another, it usually kills about 30 minutes at work, and probably stops me from playing FreeCell.
In 2008, it was too easy to write a blog, and I suspect that by the end of this year, an awful lot of blogs that popped up during the Bush administration will close down. And why not? People aren't as angry. Obama seems to be a decent sort who is committed to turning America around again. It's going to be hard to find something to take umbrage at and write a 3,000 word screed, mixing humour and anger, rage and fear.
Fear. Yes, that's what I want to talk about today. It's odd, but each year around this time, sins and emotions seem to be the backdrop to our lives.
Most sins can be understood in context of satisfying a need: envy, for example, keeps us up to date with what people around us have, and so we increase our odds of breeding by "keeping up with the Joneses," lust provides us with a motivation to collect genetic material from as many mates as possible, and so on.
Underlying all these, I think, is fear. Fear is the mind-killer, as Frank Herbert put it, by way of Huxley.
Fear is, I believe the yan to the yin of love, which I think is the underlying emotion behind all happiness. Blend fear and love, and you pretty cover the emotional gamut of humanity.
Anger, jealousy, hatred, all involve some element of love, even if that element is self-love and not the love for another person. We can delude and rationalize our anger at our spouse or child as "being good for them," but in reality, it's more about us taking care of ourselves than caring for someone else.
But notice also there's an element of fear to that love: by lashing out at those around you, you are warning them that they are scaring you, threatening you in some way. And it doesn't even have to manifest in rage: anger expressed in the most gentle way is still anger and still about fear.
On the flipside, you see joy, openess, and giving, which while all perfectly self-loving, involve far greater blends of love for someone else, and much less fear.
Even in these emotions, there's some fear involved. When you first tell someone you love them, there's always the chance they'll reject you.
Which brings me back to my original message, my original thought, my insomniatic stream of consciousness: what do I fear, by manipulating my energies and thoughts so they conform with what the rest of Blogtopia (© Skippy) is talking about?
Does it really matter to me that my hit counter is ringing every day? Does it make a difference in my life, apart from making me feel a little better about myself?
No, not really. So the question becomes, is that feeling worth it? Is the self-esteem tied up in that stupid little ticker worth the effort of being topical?
I'm not earning a single dime off this thing, yet I write more here in a week than I have in a month in the book I'm supposedly working on to sell.
I'm communicating and yes, that's important to me. I have thoughts and ideas and they need to be expressed, but not on the world's terms.
On my terms.
Vote for Simply Left Behind in the Weblog Awards
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
In The Rearview Mirror
The year is ending today. Please accept my best and fondest wishes for a healthy, and happy New Year. May your best day of 2008 be your worst day of 2009.
I think I suffer from Bush Fatigue. Eight years of a good President is wearing. Eight years of a bad President is exhausting. Knowing full well that he's leaving at the end January, one is tempted to ask if there's anyway he can hurry along.
I have hopes for Obama's presidency. They used to be high hopes, until the markets melted away and the economy went in the pan. Now, I just hope he can stop the bleeding and sew up a few of the bigger wounds. He should win a second term (it's hard to unelect a President. Just look at 2004.), by which we will have been firmly on the road to recovery.
I think. I hope. It would be hard to imagine a crisis so severe that it would outlast a President's term but there you have it.
Barring a major outbreak of amazing news-- it could happen!-- I should end 2009 about as well as 2008 ends. 2008 saw the collapse of several things in my life, from my health to some family issues that really need to be taken care of. The shocks are over, the regrouping has begun. I figure it will take about a year to recover. This is my time to praise my Jesus for keeping an eye on me, and giving me good friends who have not been afraid to stand up to me and question what I'm all about.
I've made it hard on a lot of you this year, and for that, I am sorry. I've purposely distanced myself in order to give myself some breathing room to examine all that's gone on in the world and in my world. I hope you'll understand. If our friendships cannot survive that, then perhaps we were not meant to be friends in the first place.
I started the year with some goals, and I think I've achieved a few of them. One was to make this blog a voice in Blogtopia (© Skippy, the Bush Kangaroo). I've added fifty new names to the mailing list (you can click the little button in the upper right hand corner if you want to join).
More important, I won the Weblog Award. I'm nominated again (I'll link the pages and such later this week). I hope to work my magic one more time.
I guest-blogged at Crooks and Liars for a week.
More important to me is not to watch my hit counter rack up points every day, but to see my ideas echo along the corridors of Blogtopia and the blogosphere from time to time. Every so often, I'll see someone quote a piece of mine (I can see the incoming links) and read a discussion about the idea. This is good. This is why I blog. I got this massive brain, the size of a planet, and it would be a damned shame to keep all of the thoughts inside. And for convincing me to do this, I have to thank Katrina. Again.
I promise to work harder on this, to hone my writing and critical thinking (and to perfect my grammar and spelling) and make it easier to coalesce the way I see this world into things that can be talked about. I don't have the time, like a lot of the furry mammalian bloggers, to sit and think and read and edit. I write these posts sitting at my desk at work, and even MIS is getting antsy about that much time spent. It means I will have to work harder at making myself clear.
I want to do this without losing sight of something valuable to be: the transparent thought process. A careful reader of my work will notice every once in a while I'll post something disjointed. This simply means I haven't considered everything yet, but that I feel strongly one way already. I don't want to lose that, because in sharing my thoughts, I share a bit of myself with you.
Too, it gives my reader the opportunity to take his or her own journey with me. It's been fun sometimes to correspond, in comments or email, about a nugget of information and see where things go.
2009 projects to be a quiet year, from a blog standpoint. I don't see where Obama has many choices about what he can and cannot do, so I can't imagine he'll make any significantly controversial decisions. We've pretty much hashed out his policies for the first half ot the year, and I don't see him as having the courage to take a real risk with the economy as tattered as it is.
I hope I'm wrong, of course. I like watching my hit counter soar!
Thursday, December 04, 2008
Another Day Older And Deeper In Debt
It really does feel like toting sixteen tons, this past year.
My thanks to Katrina for noting that, indeed, today is my birthday. I got the greatest birthday present I could have imagined..well, almost but it was very close...precisely a month ago:
So thank you all for that.
It's been an odd year, to put it very mildly: skin cancer, plastic surgery, a crazed mother, MRSA, an economic collapse, an election, and 2009 has already thrown down its marker to try to top this past year.
It's not going to be pretty, not for all of us, not for the world, and not for me personally. That's not to say all news is bad, of course. We did elect Barack Obama, which tells me people across the country are waking up after the Bush years and realizing we just threw a party we could neither afford nor could keep away from the punch bowl. Now comes the hangover, but in hangovers can come some good, like making a note not to do that again.
And we won't. For a while. I hope the next time we do something this stupid, I will have shuffled off the mortal coil. It seems pretty certain that will be the case. I recall growing up with stories of the Depression, so the generation after mine probably skipped those stories and now they'll have their own to tell their children and grandchildren. Figure at least a half century before we allow human avarice to overcome our sense of mortality.
Most news, good or bad, is an illusion. As the saying goes, it's never as good or bad as it seems. In all good news, there are the seeds of its own demise, likewise in bad news the seeds of new hope. All births result in death. All deaths, in births.
Forgive me. I'm a bit melancholy at the moment, but as I face a few facts-- I have more days behind me than in front, we have elected a President who is younger than me for the first time-- I'm struck by how lingering and looming my mortality is, and how little I truly have accomplished.
I've not finished writing a book yet...started a dozen or so and even have one outlined to completion, but never finished one. I've not run for public office to truly try to help people who need it. I could, but I won't because I have too many skeletons.
I feel underappreciated.
Not by you guys, no way. Not even by the trolls who fester and pop up every so often here and in other places online. My "family" here is wonderful, and I love you all for that.
I feel underappreciated by myself. At my very core is this interior monologue that's saying to me "you can do better, so why won't you?"
Indeed, why not? To quote RFK: "Some people see things as they are and say why? I dream things that never were and say why not?"
I dream the dream. I ask the question. Yet I find myself lacking the strength to carry out the answer.
Funny thing about it is, I'm a hypercompetitive person. I was the kid on the other team you never wanted to play against, because I would find a way to beat you for my team's sake. I was the goalie who could lose his mask and glove and risk breaking his wrist to catch a puck, or the quarterback who limped out on a bad knee or broken toe, all of which I've done and all of which I'm paying the price for now. So why not for me?
Enough introspection. Where's my fucking cake????
Saturday, November 15, 2008
*AHEM*
Nominations begin November 3rd.
I don't expect to win, but I wouldn't mind making it to the finals to defend my title. Please click the link below and nominate me and then go check out the other categories and see who you can name.
Suggested nominating categories:
- Best Blog
- Best Political Blog
- Best Liberal Blog
- Best Blog 5000-7501 (no, I haven't grown much in the past year).
Oh, and I'd consider it a personal favor if you named Miss Cellania in the humour and best blog categories.
I don't expect to win, but I wouldn't mind making it to the finals to defend my title. Please click the link below and nominate me and then go check out the other categories and see who you can name.
Suggested nominating categories:
- Best Blog
- Best Political Blog
- Best Liberal Blog
- Best Blog 5000-7501 (no, I haven't grown much in the past year).
Oh, and I'd consider it a personal favor if you named Miss Cellania in the humour and best blog categories.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
A Personal Note
Happy birthday, Dad. You would have turned 90 today. I figure you're either looking down or up at this.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Snapping Back To Reality
I was all prepared to post a rant this morning, when I was stopped in my tracks by an e-mail:
It seems that this mortal coil is one that I would gladly give up if I knew two things: 1) that if I do, I will live life everlasting in some ethereal plane of existence (I'd settle for Hell, because could it really be worse than George Bush's America?) and 2) I was no longer responsible.
Since health issues have loomed large for me lately, I have been acutely aware of my responsibilities, and while not obsessing, have been pondering what to do going forward in the worst case "if" scenario.
Sadly, last night brought these concerns into sharp focus, and I'm rather angry today.
You see, my mom was checked into the emergency room last night by her cardiologist. I'm not sure why (I was too angry to visit her last night), but my suspicions are she is suffering from congestive heart disease. At any rate, the presenting symptoms was very badly swollen legs, possibly gangrenous.
Why am I angry? My mom has access to some of the finest medical care in the world, gratis, for all intents and purposes. She has an old-line union healthcare plan which will pay for nearly everything, as well as Medicare.
She is deliberately refusing treatment.
Now that is her choice, and from that perspective I cannot argue with her, but she also has a responsibility to her family, most notably to my brother, and she is abrogating that duty.
My brother, for reasons some of you know and reasons I won't get into here, lives with my mother. He's 60 years old and two years ago had open heart surgery to replace an aortic valve.
The running trope in my family is, when my mom goes, I will take care of my brother. Fair enough. He's capable of day to day living, holds down a job and lives a quiet life. Low maintenance, in other words. I can deal with that.
What I am angry about is this "suicide by neglect" course my mom has chosen. By putting her body in peril, she risks failing in her stated attempts to just let go of life, and thus becoming a vegetable or at the very least, bedridden and disabled.
As it stands now, my brother is her primary care giver, and so long as she is able to do some things for herself, that's a fair relationship. To burden him with this kind of nonsense is not only unfair to him, but borders on maltreatment.
I know the underlying reasons for her behavior, which I won't get into. Her motives are repugnant to me, and speak of a self-indulgent spoiled brat (and so now you know who I most resemble).
Thanks for reading this, I needed to get that off my chest.
United Nations Humanitarian Awards CenterI had to laugh, of course.
#28 Oxford Street
London United Kingdom
This is to inform you that you have won a prize money of Two Hundred And Forty Five Thousand Great Britain Pounds (GBP245,000) for the month of April, 2008 Prize Promotion which is Organized by United Nations Humanitarian Office.
PAYMENT OF PRIZE AND CLAIM
Winners shall be paid in accordance with his/her Settlement Center. United Nations Humanitarian Office.
Award must be claimed no later than 15 days from date of Draw Notification. Any prize not claimed within this period will be forfeited.
Stated below are your identification numbers:
BATCH NUMBER: YM 09102XN
REFERENCE NUMBER: YM35447XN
PIN: YM09788
These numbers fall within the England Location file, you are requested to contact our fiduciary agent in Liverpool and send your winning identification numbers to him;
Agent Name: Mr. Leeton L. Smith
E-Mail: leeton22@walla.com
Tel: +447024092941
You are advised to send the following information to your Claims Agent to facilitate the release your fund to you.
First name...............................
Last Name.............................
Country..................................
Contact Address.....................
Telephone Number.................
fax Number............................
Marital Status.........................
Occupation.............................
My Date of birth......................
Sex.................................
Congratulations!! once again.
Yours in service,
Dr. (Mrs.) Gladys Shawn
It seems that this mortal coil is one that I would gladly give up if I knew two things: 1) that if I do, I will live life everlasting in some ethereal plane of existence (I'd settle for Hell, because could it really be worse than George Bush's America?) and 2) I was no longer responsible.
Since health issues have loomed large for me lately, I have been acutely aware of my responsibilities, and while not obsessing, have been pondering what to do going forward in the worst case "if" scenario.
Sadly, last night brought these concerns into sharp focus, and I'm rather angry today.
You see, my mom was checked into the emergency room last night by her cardiologist. I'm not sure why (I was too angry to visit her last night), but my suspicions are she is suffering from congestive heart disease. At any rate, the presenting symptoms was very badly swollen legs, possibly gangrenous.
Why am I angry? My mom has access to some of the finest medical care in the world, gratis, for all intents and purposes. She has an old-line union healthcare plan which will pay for nearly everything, as well as Medicare.
She is deliberately refusing treatment.
Now that is her choice, and from that perspective I cannot argue with her, but she also has a responsibility to her family, most notably to my brother, and she is abrogating that duty.
My brother, for reasons some of you know and reasons I won't get into here, lives with my mother. He's 60 years old and two years ago had open heart surgery to replace an aortic valve.
The running trope in my family is, when my mom goes, I will take care of my brother. Fair enough. He's capable of day to day living, holds down a job and lives a quiet life. Low maintenance, in other words. I can deal with that.
What I am angry about is this "suicide by neglect" course my mom has chosen. By putting her body in peril, she risks failing in her stated attempts to just let go of life, and thus becoming a vegetable or at the very least, bedridden and disabled.
As it stands now, my brother is her primary care giver, and so long as she is able to do some things for herself, that's a fair relationship. To burden him with this kind of nonsense is not only unfair to him, but borders on maltreatment.
I know the underlying reasons for her behavior, which I won't get into. Her motives are repugnant to me, and speak of a self-indulgent spoiled brat (and so now you know who I most resemble).
Thanks for reading this, I needed to get that off my chest.
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