the end of playing

ive always enjoyed playing. as a kid i was rather creative and often came up with the wildest scenarios to play. i shimmied across a fence to escape a foreign prison. i was a wild west outlaw on my horse, keeping tally of the vast number of people i killed. i played with clay, i played with myself. tehe. i played i was a soldier, i played i was a playboy. probably the worst thing about being a grown up is the end of all this playing. some say it doesnt have to end and it probably doesnt when it comes right down to it. but as an adult youll always have that nagging voice in your head saying, "yeah, this is stupid and you know it."

When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me.

ear hair and the latent fear of death

for the last 4 or 5 years ive noticed hair growing in my ears. hahahahaha. stop! dont get me wrong! i dont let it grow there! no, no, no, i havent been cultivating ear hair for 4 to 5 years. in fact, the moment i see any hair in my ears i immediately pluck them out with tweezers! on occasion i'll have a wild hair with the audacity to try and grow on my tragus (see ear diagram for you laymen). it too is plucked in its youth so as to make an example to any other hairs who might get ideas.

i pluck them immediately because i despise seeing hair in my ears. i loathe and detest it. not only seeing it on myself but on others as well. i dont like seeing anyone with ear hair. it is the epitome of gross, unkemptness that goes along with the worst side of old age. it says, "im old , im dying and frankly i dont give a shit anymore." thats the crux of it really. it speaks to death. afterall, babies dont have ear hair like that. only the old or older do.

ive read the stoic's and samurai's take on facing death. however, despite my pondering the nobility of facing death, here is a place where death bothers.

finding homes for junk

my wife hates to throw things away. she feels that every little thing, however old or junky, has a home out there in this great big ole world and you just have to find it. thats the problem, finding it.

i know her perspective is probably better for the planet. if you find a home for junk that means less junk in the land-fill, but its not easy. anyone out there need a 2007 calendar or a broken flashlight? sometimes i feel like our home is a waystation for junk in transition.

wife: "oh we cant throw that away, daphne could use that when she finally gets a place of her own".

me: "yeah right. like thats going to happen".

ive learned to throw things away in secret. sometimes in the garbage, sometimes to a thrift store. i enjoy lightening the load. and i think i enjoy the secretive nature of it as well. i hate when the clutter accumulates and i cant find an empty surface in the house. thats when my dormant OCD symptoms kick in. my mind starts planning for how to secretly dispose of the waste.

running, motivation and creating an ambiance.

ran 5 miles today. take that prometheus33. it was brutal. i like to listen to inspiring music to help the motivating man that lives in my heart, or soul, or brain. wherever he lives. you know the one that digs coal as a metaphor for motivation. well hes been up to his waist in coal as of late so he hasnt had much umpph. when i listen to music it filters into his dungeon and provides ambiance for him to work in. however, ive recently realized i must let him work at the same pace and not work faster just because hole's violet is blaring in on the coal mines speaker. i tell him just keep the pace, dont go faster. hes getting old and making him go faster just wears him out. bless his heart, the little fella that lives in the motivational corner of my heart.

plane neighbors

on the ride to seattle, i sat next to an odd fellow. he stacked pillows on the seat then proceeded to stand in the aisle. people scooted around him and the stewardesses told him it was time to sit on 3 occasions. he sat but then as soon as he was legally able...he stood again. i expected a nice flight. i had an exit seat, which means more leg room. but this buffooon kept standing right in front of me, so im having to look slightly to the left or right to avoid staring at his crotch or ass. i hated this man. i hated him for f-ing up my flight. he then sat down and kept fidgeting with his back or pockets. i wasnt sure if he was scratching himself or what.

finally i said, "hey man are you alright? you seem like somethings wrong." he says, "its my syatic nerve in my back it makes sitting really uncomfortable." he continued, "in fact at some point during the flight im probably going to have to lay on the floor with my feet in the chair to get relief."

and about an hour into the 5 hour flight, he did just that. people would walk down the aisle and see him and then do a double take. people looked past me at him and looked shocked. 1 guy goes, "well thats unusual". most made a "what a weirdo" grimace. and here i am sitting next to him. some probably thought we were gay lovers.

after being in his floored position for an hour he taps my leg and motions with his head that i need to move so he can get up. i do and he returns to his seat. he then fiddles with the bottle of some pills and goes "oh no!".

then he says, "please, very, very gingerly move your right foot a smidge to the right...i dropped a pill that is very important to me and you almost stepped on it". i move my foot and sure enough theres a lil pink pill under it. i reach over pick it up and hand it to him.

the guy was weird to say the least. the lady who sat on the other side of him would shoot me a look from time to time that said she was thinking the same thing i was thinking. namely, "what the frig is wrong with this guy". on a couple of occasions we almost broke into laughter when he would go to the restroom.

when he came back i asked him what he did for a living. "im a high school teacher. i teach world religions." this opened up talk about religion and he tells me that he is a messianic jew. raised as a jew and converted to Christianity. he stated that there is a big movement to convert to Christianity in Israel. he told me about how his faith made sense to him and how he believed in a jewish jesus. he talked about the nuances of religion and how he understood the differences of the different religions.

the man transformed before my eyes from a buffoon, to an eccentric, to an ailing soul, to an intellectual, to a man of faith. dont judge a book by its cover or a man by his odd behavior.

antiques, pleasant surprises, and dashed dreams.

i like watching "the antiques roadshow". i dont know why exactly.

on the show normal folk (you know, normal like the normal santa clause looking guy in the picture above) bring their old wares and oddities to show to some expert. this supposed expert talks about how lovely the peice is and how hes only seen one other in such good shape.

and the person usually has some story about the peice, like, "my great grandfather brought this back from chiner and we were told it was from the ming dynasty".


i like seeing the antique peices and i like hearing their stories. but most of all, i like the drama.

the expert knows what its worth and he leads the person on asking questions and talking about the rarity. sometimes he'll challenge their story. "im sorry to inform you, this was probably not given to your great great grandmother by the king of persia, because its a fake made in boston at the middle of 20th century".

then after all this build-up, he eventually tells the poor soul what its worth.

then it happens.

you look at the persons face and you know, you just know whether it was more or less than they expected. you can see it in there eye...the joyous surprise or the painful dissappointment. but regardless of the look or their feeling, they always say the same thing..."oh my thats great", or "oh, well isnt that something".

they never say "shit-balls! i thought it was worth more than that" or "youre a forking liar!"

why is that?

Its like its socially acceptable to be pleasantly surprised, but youre an idiot if youre disappointedly surprised, so you supress it.

weird.

forcing the smile

this weekend i went to a family member's peewee soccer game. She's 4 and despite having a cold, seemed to have a blast kicking the ball around. this was the final game of the season and when it was over the kids all got a trophy for their hard work. by this time the lil kid was wiped out. shed just run her legs off, her nose was red from a cold, and her frown told you, she just wanted to go home.

but it wasnt over. mom wanted the perfect "end of the season and holding a trophy" photo. the little girl was crying because she had had enough and wanted to go home.

"smile arianne, smile, smile arianne, come on smile!...roy, tell her to smile!" mom said becoming increasingly agitated.

"come on honey, smile" dad says in a soft voice.

quickly she tilted her head and put on a broad and pained smile. the second the camera flashed her frown returned. it was completely false. she did not feel it one bit, but did it because it was expected.

just then, i experienced an epiphany.

it seemed wrong. training a kid to express emotion it didnt feel. training a child to be emotionally dishonest. training it to devalue the authenticity of its own emotions. its not what you feel little girl, its the way you present to others that truly matters.

i felt really sad when leaving this game. like i witnessed a painful aspect of growing up that happens to us all.

purposeful ignorance

i like this quote a lot...

Begin each day by telling yourself: Today I shall be meeting with interferences, ingratitude, insolence, disloyalty, ill-will, and selfishness...all of them due to the offenders' ignorance of what is good or evil.
- Marcus Aurelius

i dont believe it, but i like it. i mean i believe the part about all the crummy stuff (i originally said "shit" here but then thought better of it) people inevitably do to you on a day to day basis. and i believe its good to prep yourself for it. but i dont believe its out of ignorance of their evil, their misdeeds, at least not entirely.

at some level we are knowledgable. its painful to look at our misdeeds so people typically chose to simply avoid looking. self-absorbed, willful ignorance is not really ignorance. its like playing dumb. there is will in that avoidance.

think about apologies. theyre pretty rare. but its not because people dont know that they did wrong to the other, its often because they dont want to face what they did, and apologizing makes you face it.

sneaking a smoke

the step daughter smokes cigarettes. marlboro lights, hard pack to be specific. shell smoke one first thing in the morning. then later in the day if life provides one ounce of stress. then if she needs to make a private call to her boyfriend or father. then after dinner. honestly weve long since given up trying to stop her. she may croak of lung cancer one day. her choice.

anywho, theyre same brand i used to smoke back in the day. i would smoke em when i went to a bar or nightcliub. they seemed to go well with drinking beer and chasing women. the other day im on the porch and the step daughter had left her pack and lighter on the porch table.

i look at the cigarettes for a few seconds.

i go back to typing on my computer.

i look at them once again.

i go back to typing.

look again.

i type.

look.

i grab em, pop one in my mouth and light er up.


the first puff brought be back to those days, back in my twenties, hitting the clubs, getting drunk smoking, hitting on girls, going home alone. ahhhh the good ole days. it was interesting how it brought back memories. smoking a cigarette. maybe i'll start smoking a pipe. you know to embed some new memories in my olfactory part of the brain.

wake up...you have work to do!!!

thats what my brain has been telling me lately. sometimes at 2 or 3 or 4 in the morning. a few nights ago i woke up extremely worried that i hadnt done enough for my internship applications. it was true. i wrote my essays, tweaked my cv, but hadnt made specified coverletters for each of the sites i wanted to attend. so at about 3AM i snuck out of bed plugged in the computer and typed them up.

last night, i awoke in a panic that i hadnt done my session notes. i knew i hadnt, but figured id do them in the morning. so my 4AM morning brain insisted that i do them pronto. so i did. its like ive trained myself to have an alarm clock keeping me on task at all times. kinda cool & kinda sucks.

inpatient book-club

i was conducting group therapy at an inpatient psychiatric hospital. after wrapping up a session a patient says to me, "you ought to read blue like jazz, i think youd like it". i asked him what it was and he says, "its a book about Christianity, but not like a religious book." i thought it a little strange, since i never mentioned God or my religious beliefs. hmmm.

that stuck in my head. but i didnt rush out and buy it. rather about a year and a half later i sees it at the barnes and noble, and the memory flashes back to me, so i buys it.

i just finished reading it last night. it was in my opinion, amazing. the author, don miller, writes in a similar format to how i think. in a quirky, odd, and funny way, he basically writes about his life and relationship with God. several stories were similar to my own life. it is definitely one of my top 5 books that ive ever read.

so there i was a year and a half ago, studying patients, trying to show empathy and get into their perspective when one of said patients was somehow able to get into my perspective. i dont even remember the guys name and barely what he looked like.

"better than" tally

things my brother does better:

writing
throwing horseshoes
throwing darts
throwing a ball like a boy
spiraling a football
playing risk
playing clay warriors
outdoor grilling
camping
making salsa
teaching
running
small talking
being friendly
hackey sacking
throwing tree ears at human ears
forgiving
speaking in public
living the dream


things i do better:

drawing
painting
making clay warriors
holding a handfuls of fire-ants longer

shhh...be vewy quite...i'm texting wabbits!

people love their texting.

its kind of scary. the other day i observed this couple sitting across from each other in a restaurant; each was furiously texting rather than engaging each other in conversation. occasionally theyd pick up a morsel of food with one hand and put it in their mouth, never taking their eyes of their texting machine.

ive seen students texting with their one hand just behind the desk and out of view of the professor, who probably put hours into the lecture. i have friends who will text me rather than talking to me on the phone. people get into accidents and killed because they just had to text while driving. hell, theres probably people out there who text while love-making.

are we so afraid of isolation and quiet?...so afraid or disenchanted with the real world?

well maybe we are. or maybe it just feels right to our souls to be instantly connected to something other than ourselves. perhaps it just feels natural to voice our random thoughts to something we can't even see. to be heard.

4 deaths examined.

death one
i was about 3 or 4 years old and playing outside near a large tree. somehow i used a styro-foam cup to trap a grasshopper. later i was climbing in the tree and i saw the cup below. i remember thinking, "what if i jump on the cup?" the veiled answer was of course that it would kill the grasshopper. i jumped. when i pulled the crushed cup back, it indeed killed the grasshopper. i remember being appalled at the wicked thing i had just done and i ran into the house crying and confessed to my mom.

death two
as a teenager, we found a baby bird that fell from its nest. we put it in the yard in a brown paper bag (shaped like a nest) hoping the mama bird would come and take care of it. watching from the window we someone noticed a cat approaching the baby bird. i ran outside to chase it away from the bird. when returning from the chase i looked back at the window and noticed my mother looking at the ground behind me with an alarmed look on her face. I looked back. apparently i had stepped on the baby bird in its man-made nest and killed it. i was sick with my own stupidity. i dont recall if i cried or just felt like crying.

death three
recently, in a hotel i noticed a mouse stuck to a sticky tape trap. it was still alive squirming and trying to get off. there was feces there too so he must have been there for a while. i picked it up and went to the bathroom so my wife would not see. examining it closely, i noticed it was stuck hard to the tape. i tried to pull him lose but it appeared that any effort by me to remove him would tear him apart or at least skin him alive. i decided to kill the mouse to prevent its prolonged suffering. i decided to quickly drown him in the sink which i did. he heaved a couple of times bringing water into his lungs then he stopped moving.

death four
a few weeks ago, I looked in the garage noticed a black snake coiled up and resting just outside the door near our flip-flops. he was about 1 foot long. i decided to remove him rather than killing him. i put on a pair of leather work gloves and pinned him. unfortunately the thickness of the gloves prevented me from then picking him up as i adjusted my position to leverage picking him up, he was freed enough to strike which he tried to do. mouth open and fangs bared he went to latch on to my gloved thumb. before he could though i used the thumb to crush his head against the wall.

so which is the most contemptable killing and which is the least?

struggle versus comfort

the other day i was riding bikes with my wife. i directed our course to a more difficult, more harrowing path than what we normally take. immediately i could sense her frustration. it was an unknown path (to her) she did not fancy the uncertainty. it was also more dangerous, with intersection crossings, car traffic and twists and turns. eventually she says, "i dont like this path. its no fun. why would you go this way where its more dangerous and trafficy [sic] than the path we take around our neighborhood?" i thought about it and she is right. the neighborhood path is a breeze. very comfortable routine and safe.

i came to figure after this incident that women, by and large, prefer the comfortable, safe, routine path while men often prefer the struggle on the dangerous and unknown path. its like God put these opposing forces together to keep balance in the world. women keep us from reaching too far, while we pull them to reach further.

being the man

ive always hated the concept of leadership.

wait...wait...wait...come to think of it, that may not be true. in fact, when i was a kid i think i may have actually really liked it.

yeah, its coming back now, when i was about 10, i started a club or gang called the bandits we had t-shirts and we were always hazing ourselves through a variety of increasingly difficult tasks. wed earn rank by doing these daring feats. like climb to the top of a 30 ft tall baseball diamond fence, or run to the end of a be-jungled (sic) ditch and touch the fence at the end, or i forget what else. but anyways, i loved being the leader of this lil gang. i was the boss and i loved it.

the problem was it was too small. it consisted of my brother, a neighbor kid and me. i remember wanting to expand the group so as to expand the bounds of my leadership. my ego was hungry for more power. i asked a black kid, who was a couple of years older than me, if he wanted to join our gang. i'll never forget what he said, he said, "yeah, i'll join but only if i get to be the leader". i felt like the rich young ruler must have felt. i was like, "uh, but im the leader". he was like, "well thats the deal, i'll join but i get to be the leader". i dont think i even answered him, i just turned walked away, (again, you know, like the rich young ruler).

so, i guess back then, i must have really liked the concept of leadership. particularly the ego-feeding part of it. i think thats what attracts most people to it. in essence youre saying im in some way better than you, you, and you. and of course thats not really so. also theres all the work and heartache. you always feel like a dill-hole telling people what they should know. people will always challenge you and talk behind your back and think of ways to derail you and your plan. also people always want to think they could do better. its just a pain. the lure of getting your ego fed is usually replaced by the reality of getting your ego trounced.

its got to be a pain to be God sometimes, all the atheists (and theists sometimes) thinking they could do it better.

the dual self

i can be obnoxious, gregarious, funny, mean, and generally extroverted around family and old friends. around strangers and new friends im quiet, nice, awkward, gentle and generally introverted.

which is the real me?

am i really the obnoxious chap who puts on a nice face so as not to run new people away too quickly? or am i really the quiet chap who puts on a loud front around family so as to be something more than i really am?

aversion to pregnancy

ive never liked the concept of pregnancy. its just kind of alien and gross. sperm fertilizing the egg. the creature lives in a sack, feeding off its host. the hosts body gets all distorted and fat and has a variety of ailments and weirdness that takes place. afterwards the hosts body is often forever changed for the worse. morning sickness. vomitting because the creature is inside of you. then the creature comes out with much pain, torture, blood and screaming.

theres a number of disgusting words and phrases heard regarding this grotesque process...

"im (blank) centimeters dialated"

"my mucus plugs came out" (gag)

"the baby looked like it was covered in cheesecloth when it came out"

"placenta"

"my water broke"

"im spotting blood"


oh my God! i feel ill just typing this stuff up. ugg .


despite all this that i feel, i cant deny that people love it. they love it! they love the whole thing. the attention of walking around with a big belly. feeling the baby kick about inside them. feeling cravings spawned by the baby. people describe this time in their life with joy in their eyes and seem to genuinely enjoy being pregnant.

amazingly, many cant wait to do it all again after having already gone through the process once.

this is the miracle: despite the grossness and pain of it all, God inspires more joy in the parents during this period than perhaps any other period of their life. so much so, they dont see the grossness, dont see the pain, just the blinding love He intends.

hurts like brand-new shoes

Sade sings this tune about poverty, suffering and the human spirit called pearls.the poor woman in the song is doing all she can to survive, and in the end Sade likens this pain to the pain of brand-new shoes...(scroll past song for further drivel)

There is a woman in somalia
Scraping for pearls on the roadside
There's a force stronger than nature
Keeps her will alive
That's how she's dying
She's dying to survive
Don't know what she's made of
I would like to be that brave
She cries to the heaven above
There is a stone in my heart
She lives a life she didn't choose
And it hurts like brand-new shoes

Hurts like brand-new shoes

There is a woman in somalia
The sun gives her no mercy
The same sky we lay under
Burns her to the bone
Long as afternoon shaddows
It's gonna take her to get home
Each grain carefully wrapped up
Pearls for her little girl

Hallelujah
Hallelujah

She cries to the heaven above
There is a stone in my heart
She lives a life she didn't choose
And it hurts like brand-new shoes

sad song. i can relate to the pain of brand new shoes (though more literally than the tune). you see every 50 years or so i go out and purchase a brand-new pair of doc martins. i love them, but i use to hate them. when i bought my first pair they hurt like the dickens. dug into my heel, rubbed my foot all wrong. my achilles would blister and bleed. they were expensive too which only compounded my dashed expectations. i remember swearing (silently) to my haberdasher, "i'll never buy a pair of these again!".

but as time moved on, they grew on me. my feet callused in the appropriate places and they became bearable, even comfortable. before long they were my favorite shoes. i wore them all the time, much to my wifes chagrin. one might say that the pain that the docs and i shared, bonded us.

i have a new pair. but i still wear the old ones as much as i can. when i dont need to impress anyone. and when its not raining (water leaks up through a crack in the sole). i guess i couldnt bear to toss them. theyre like an old friend.

interesting. is there an inherent benefit in pain and suffering?
sure people say it can make us stronger (calluses) but i think
it can also draw us closer.

new and old doc martin's:

prayer warrior

ive never liked the term "prayer warrior". its often used by people who need an urgent miracle. like, "i need some prayer warriors to help me with such and such". i dont mean to minimize the efficacy of having people pray for you in a time of need, i just feel it should be viewed through a different lens.

besides sounding kind of corny, the term "prayer warrior" seems to be framed all wrong. it implies a conflict and hardship where there should be none. talking to God should not be an arduous task. it should be, in my book, good conversation. it should be a cathartic opening of ones soul to their maker. praying can be reverant, like praying with candles in a catholic church, or earthy like when you talk to God like you would your dad, but it should not be a battle or a fight or a struggle. im not fighting with God. im not trying to twist his arm behind his back to gain a favor.

i know some will point to jacobs wrestling with God as a counter to my logic (ric google jacob wrestles God). i think this was idiosyncratic though. God wanted to see that jacob was serious and God wanted to allow some redemptive insight for jacob. this was not intended as a model of how interactions with God should go.

i also dont like the term because it brings in a hierarchy, or system of rank. if i am a prayer warrior, one would assume that i am better at prayer than the typical prayer grunt, if you will. one can envision all sorts of rankings from prayer private to prayer general. man always wants to apply such hierarchies to compete to thrust oneself above their neighbor. i dont deny that some may be better at praying than others, but i dont think God intended us to label it such.

the prayer of a child or of a criminal takes the same path to God as the prayer of the pope.

stifled peeve

when i run, i get sweaty and this means sweaty clothes. my wife doesnt like me putting these wet sweaty clothes in the hamper. shes concerned about mildew, or mold or something. for some reason i often forget this and do it anyway. maybe after a run, im feeling like a warrior and im like "screw that rule" or maybe my minds on survival mode and i just forget. shell say something like, "theres wet clothes in the hamper". not yelling just a statement that lets me know she knows.

however, she does something that peeves me too.

she over-dips. let me explain. we go to carrabas and the waiter brings our fancy bread and fancy dish o' spices and oil. so we commence dipping and eating. the thing is she over dips. i mean 4 or 5 swipes with one small piece of bread is not uncommon. she doesnt double dip after eating but she dips and dips and swipes the one piece of bread prior to cosuming it. i dont infer gluttony; shes very conscious of what she eats and doesnt over indulge. no, its more her lack of planning that perturbs. at the rate she dips we will have tons of bread left over and no spicy oil. i use carrabas as an example but it occurs with chips and salsa or pita bread and hummus as well. inevitably we are left with more bread or chip product and no sauce.


heres the thing. while it peeves me, i dont complain. she likely has no idea it even bothers me. i figure its just too small and petty. the harm such a complaint would do would far outweigh the benefit of having a perfect chip/salsa correlation. plus i no doubt peeve her in numerous similar ways that she stiffles as well.

stifling peeves:
evidence of an over-controlled id or just love.

oh hell with it...a commentary on need and want

ok, need and want. sure, we all experience each at different times. but ive noticed that the good name of want is often sullied when compared to its more "noble" cousin need. but is need really more noble?

imagine i steal a loaf of bread because i need it.

ok.

now imagine i steal a brownie because i want it.

need here is necessary even pitied while want is greedy and reviled. damn you want! you go too far! think of it. stoics, ascetics, monks and what-not are always so down on want. were supposed to tame desire. we should want less. do without want. this all speaks to the ignoble nature of our good friend want.

but is he always so bad? are there times when in fact, it is better to want than to need?

ive had friendships based on need. sometimes i needed them, sometimes they needed me. someone, anyone to chase loneliness away. at first it feels right, symbiotic, necessary. but as circumstances change, and they always do then what? what happens when need is no longer there? i'll tell you: the relationship whithers. it dies. there is no root.

here is where i think want (at least sometimes) trumps need. if i want a friend. there is something in particular about them that i like. that i desire. i dont need them. i want them. i will not die without, but it would make life a bit better. there is a foundation in such a relationship based on a liking that is less likely to fade as it does when dire need changes. i may at times need this person, but when need fades, i still want. want has roots.

Plus when you think on it, need is so unconscious, so primitive, so non-cognitive, so common, so unsoulful. its want that makes the best art. its want that makes us each different. speaks to the soul, sets us each apart. desire, longing.

i suppose want speaks to the soul more because God prefers the want relationship to the need relationship. its what free will is about. if someone "loved" you just out of need, what would happen if the need faded. so would their love.

we all need air. nothing romantic or higher order there. but we want love.

need (ignorance) and want

for some strange reason i had it in my head that the two wretched children beneath the skirt of Christmas present were named "need and want". i had a whole post thought up about the differences and values between needing and wanting. it really was going to be a lovely post; full of light, insight and splendor. unfortunately i googled and discovered its not need and want, but ignorance and want. it turns out i was ignorant of ignorance.


'Forgive me if I am not justified in what I ask,' said
Scrooge, looking intently at the Spirit's robe,' but I see
something strange, and not belonging to yourself, protruding
from your skirts. Is it a foot or a claw.'

'It might be a claw, for the flesh there is upon it,' was
the Spirit's sorrowful reply. 'Look here.'

From the foldings of its robe, it brought two children;
wretched, abject, frightful, hideous, miserable. They knelt
down at its feet, and clung upon the outside of its garment.

'Oh, Man. look here. Look, look, down here.' exclaimed the Ghost.

They were a boy and a girl. Yellow, meagre, ragged, scowling,
wolfish; but prostrate, too, in their humility. Where
graceful youth should have filled their features out, and
touched them with its freshest tints, a stale and shrivelled
hand, like that of age, had pinched, and twisted them, and
pulled them into shreds. Where angels might have sat
enthroned, devils lurked, and glared out menacing. No
change, no degradation, no perversion of humanity, in any
grade, through all the mysteries of wonderful creation, has
monsters half so horrible and dread.

Scrooge started back, appalled. Having them shown to him
in this way, he tried to say they were fine children, but
the words choked themselves, rather than be parties to a lie
of such enormous magnitude.

'Spirit. are they yours.' Scrooge could say no more.

'They are Man's,' said the Spirit, looking down upon
them. 'And they cling to me, appealing from their fathers.
This boy is Ignorance. This girl is Want. Beware them both,
and all of their degree, but most of all beware this boy,
for on his brow I see that written which is Doom, unless the
writing be erased. Deny it.' cried the Spirit, stretching out
its hand towards the city. 'Slander those who tell it ye.
Admit it for your factious purposes, and make it worse.
And abide the end.'

the conundrum of curses

i cursed her. not a simple damn you curse. a real curse.

i wished that nothing good would ever happen to her. i prayed that she would lose all of her friends and that her life would be filled with sorrow. i wished that she would never find happiness, success, or love. i cursed her to a life of misery.

sure. a little dramatic. i mean i could practically hear the bram stoker's dracula soundtrack playing in the background as i made my curse.

i knew a little something about curses though. voduon culture dictates that only the lowest of the low should be cursed. by this they mean anyone who has done great evil against their family.

to me, she fit the bill. she caused great pain to the one i loved the most. unthinking, unconscious, unwarranted pain inflicted on her. the one who loved her the most. the one who was always there for her. the tears, the sleepless anxious nights. the heartache. yeah she fit the bill alright.

curiously the curse worked. she lost her friends. sorrow entered her life. jobless, homeless, in need. she lost the appeal she had on others. unwanted. she was saddled with a huge burden and nobody to help her. and to boot, she was inflicted with horrendous pain.

i watched this unfold with time. first i was delighted. then mildly satisfied; stoicly pleased at the nature and course of this justice. as it continued though, i felt my satisfaction replaced by meloncholy, then dull sadness. watching her suffer, i was able to forgive her, as best i could. i even tried to help her, weakly. nothing stopped the curse though. maybe nothing can. there is harsh rigidness in this curse.

old article on the influenza

Doctor Leopold Perriwinkle, noted influenza expert, ill-human anthropologist and snake oil salesman of the 1820's put forth the following influenza timeline. i keep a copy in my breastpocket so in the event that i am ill i will know precisely how it (or i) will transpire.


My Dearest Evelyn,

i write you from my make-shift office in the jungles of the darkest continent on earth. i fear this may be my last letter. my situation has taken a turn for the worse, but for science sake, perhaps for the better. i have the influenza. fates be damned! i have decided that in order to properly document how this dreadful illness transpires, i shant take medications which would only serve to disrupt the illness's ascent. my effort to document this influenza, is to serve posterity. a noble but deadly effort. a living record as this deadly sickness racks my body with pain. i will always love you. do kiss troy for me. i only wish we had him when we were younger. we would have had that much more time to enjoy the tyke. by i digress. i am ill, i must put away this pen, my hand trembles so.

day one: i awake in the middle of the night to find i have the queerest draining in my throat. it leaves my throat feeling raw. i get up and sip from my water vessel. the water tastes odd and i notice upon further inspection that there are not one but 3 dead flies floating in it. One is dead. belly up. and the second and third appear to be making love to one another (on top of the water) truly amazing.

day two: i am full of want and whoah as i wake and notice the pain in my throat was not some night time apparition but was in fact real and remains quite intact. it feels as though my throat is leaking as though somehow it has been scratched with a rusty fork.

day three: my african servant don-don gives me the most queer look when i pass him in the lieu. i rush to the kitchen to see my reflection on a broken piece of mirror which sets just above the shrunken head display on the shelf. my eyes look vacant. i have the distinct feeling that the draining of the previous days has diminished, but in its place i am left with the most painful pressure in my facial area. it feels as if the area behind my face has been pumped full of maggots.

day four: i feel somehow as if the pressure has increased to the point of unbearable pain. and yet, i feel strangely sublime. i lie in bed and wait for the mercy of sweet death.

day five: the pressure remains. i find myself either pacing the grounds wearing nothing but my night shirt and night cap or lying in a ball in the corner of my room.

day six: i rewrote my will today on a piece of parchment. don-don my african servant had me pierce my thumb then we sealed it with blood. i dont know what i wrote, feeling that i faded in and out of consciousness several times. in fact, i don't know if i even have a servant name don-don.

day eight: i might be surviving this cursed illness. i am beginning to cough which will hopefully purge myself of the vileness within. i nearly asked don-don to mix me a healing concoction, but decided against, remembering, as if a vision my oath to take this illness to what ever location it take me, whether it be the ganges or the sweet sawanee river, my soul is dedicated to take it where it may.

day ten: the cough is only now producing the mucus. it is yellow to yellow-green in hue. i feel maniacal as i try to cough up as much as possible. i am currently trying to fill a coconut shell with the fluid. when, nay if i recover, i shall be delighted to study this creamy and rather lumpy yellow green soup under a microscope.

day twelve: the phlegm has been reduced to little more than the occasional clear, yellow variety with occasional spots of blood. it is no longer worthy of my collecting as it lacks the robust color and substance of my previous days mucus.

day eighteen: thank be to the God and the heavens, I feel as though i have climbed out of the stinkikng stench hole of hades itself. i am again amongst the living.

romancing the disease

please, if you will, take a few moments to examine the following lyrics to "la grippe" by the squirrel nut zippers.

Theres a flu bug getting passed around
And its spreading like fire through the town
Theres a virus holing up inside us
Everyone that I know is coming down
Theres an asian influenza
Infecting us all by the score
And its turning into pneumonia
We must go out once more
Theres a fool moon howling at the night
And its bark is much worse than its bite
So we must go out and dance around
Yes we must go tonight
So the doctors came on the evening train
With their flasks and their caskets and vials
Mass psychosis was their diagnosis (yes)
So we all cashed our checks and went wild
Theres a fool moon howling at the night
And its bark is much worse than its bite
So we must go out and dance around
Yes we must go tonight
La grippe!, salsa!

in these lyrics the disease is romantized with a kind of devil may care attitude. we're all going to die so lets at least have some fun first. F-it all, lets party. i think of doc holiday. sickly bastard. tuberculosis. but Godblessit, he drank, gambled, screwed, and killed men who got in his way. hooray & hoorah!

when i fall ill with the flu, i too put on this air of "devil may care".

it lasts for about 2 minutes however, because when your sick, "fun" as it were, does not exist. if you normally fancy watching the hibachi man cook your food in front of you, well with the flu it becomes something of a nightmare with flames, grotesque foodstuffs, alcoholics, gorging fat people, and trailer trash trying to get cultured.

if you normally like playing outdoors sports, with the flu it becomes a survival of the fittest with your ego, family honor, and country at stake. well you get the picture.

now if you will excuse me, i need to try and cough up some phlegm.

self discovery in the midst of chaos

tifton, georgia.

we were refugees who fled the florida coast seeking safety from gail or some other old lady name. whatever. as the leader of this band i felt for moses. he lead a nation to the promised land. i couldnt lead this 6 out of the state in a timely fashion. the inactivity, the laziness, the dependence increased the rage in me. strike a stick against a rock? hell, there were a few heads i'd like to strike with a stick.


the players: me, 1 loved one, 1 sith lord, 1 hyper puppy, 1 emasculated-embryonic male persona, 2 intolerable, horrible, enabled, wicked, wretches.

in tifton, i needed to get away to do work.

i'd walk to starbucks daily and work there. it never felt so good to get away and work. at night we spotted a captain eds. i hadnt seen one since floridas closed. pleasant memories. ordering fish mine advised to try the malt vinegar. it was serendipity. fish and chips and malt vinegar.

addiction, tolerance, & demystification of wasabi

the title kind of says it all, but allow me to go into some depth. i started eating wasabi 12+ years ago when i started eating sushi. at first my date and i didnt know what to think. it was the first time either of us had tried sushi or wasabi. my date thought it was guacomole and almost started smearing it on her sushi. the waitress showed us the proper way to eat the curious green goo, by mixing ever so lil of it in with the soy sauce.

well thats how it all started, it was like scary strange things might happen if you ate too much of it. and the name, so foreign...wuz-aah-bee. i started slow, mixing a lil in, then a tolerance to the stuff began. not on purpose, but several occasions on accident, i'd overdosed on the stuff, mixing so much into my soy sauce that i would feel a intense sensation at the crown of my head. it was weird, it didnt burn my lips or mouth, just my top of my head, brain and soul. at some point i went from avoiding this occasional sensation error to actually trying to cultivate it. more wasabi, more wasabi. it would hit me so hard that sometimes id look down at the table with a queer expression on my face. something between delight and excruciating pain. when i would come out of this wasabi trance, i'd ask those at the table how long i was gone, feeling that i must have travelled to another space-time continuum and back. they would curiously tell me that i never left.

i started going to sushi restaurants not for the sushi, or atmosphere or conversation, but just for the WASABI. "yes and can I have a double order of wasabi with that?". the waitress would look at me askance, then id see her whisper to the sushi chef who looked frightened by her word.

it seemed like the more i ate the less mental buzzing it would provide. that elusive high. it was like i was chasing a dragon or something. it was always two steps ahead of me. i needed another way. i started buying wasabi almonds, wasabi peas, nothing did it. at the most id feel a weak twinge and my nose would run.

one day i looked at the ingredients of some wasabi peas, figuring that maybe it would tell me how much wasabi it had? maybe if i could then find something with more wasabi, then i could get my glorious friend back.

what? WHAT??? WHAAAAAAT!?!?!?

wasabi was not listed. the only ingredient listed was horseradish!

horseradish!

ive been pining away over some common foodstuff item like horseradish. thats not unique or special or anyting?

oh well.
at least i still have my beloved absinthe.

retarded empathy epiphany

day1: why does he keep scratching and biting himself. stupid dog.

day3: stop dog! stop biting your ass you sick beast!!

day5: look now he's bit himself to the point of bleeding. infuriating madness. i hate him.

day30: he's so stupid, why does he hurt himself life this?! worthless creature!

day48:ouch fleas are biting my ankles! oh God, this really sucks there must be over a dozen! oh sick perversion! aaahh!!! why me!!!

day49: red welts all over my ankles. itching me. i scratch. those bastards, i hate fleas, this is what my dog must go through {{{{{{{epiphany}}}}}}}}}

day49: come here boy, lets get those fleas off you.

help wanted.

Audioslave put this tune out several years ago:

Light my Way

In my hour of need
On the sea of gray
O on my knees I pray to you
Help me find the dawn
O f the dying day

(chorus)
Won't you light my way?
Won't you light my way?

A Bullet is a man
From time to time he strays
I compare my life to this
To this I relate
And I'm willing
To listen to your answers
And I'm not ashamed
You tell you I need you today

(chorus)
Won't you light my way?
Won't you light my way?

So when I'm lost
Or I'm tired and depraved
Or when my high bullet mind goes astray
Won't you light my way?


it is like the person who hits the proverbial rock bottom and realizes he cant do it alone. it being life.

this acknowledgement of ones inability to truly manage alone is quite moving. it would be one thing to have the epiphany that one is unable to manage alone, and consequently needing the help of a fellow human. that would leave one feeling rather anti-climatic.

like sure someone else will help you, but who will help that someone helping you?like a redistribution of garbage. here i'll put this garbage in a dump. ok its all gone now. well not really.

but to finally, after trying all else, realize a need to ask God for help, to finally realize a need for God...thats significant. within that framework one is not only acknowledging their inabilty, but they are also acknowledging humankind's inability.

i could give this problem to my brother, but that would be just re-distributing the waste. the problem doesnt go away, it just moves from point X to point Y. but to give up and ask for help from a Creator, is to require something more than simple re-distribution. it requires a execution.

alterations to desire

i used to hate harley davidsons. i thought looked stupid. especially those with the solo bicycle looking seats. worse still were those with the big buddy seats. old chopped harleys, ugh i thought. so corny and unsporty.

crotch rockets were the definition of cool. fast and furious.

then some year, month or day, it just switched. the uniqueness...the kind of simple quaint ugliness of harleys caught my eye. the cornier, uglier, and simpler, the better. now crotch rockets look like childrens toys to me. kind of cool still, but very un-unique. very dime a dozen.

so why the change? am i unique in this? no. current culture is on the same track. back in the day harleys were the derogatory hogs and crotch rockets were the new it. now its reversed. maybe im just a part of some collective unconscious. or maybe im just getting old and slower seems better. when were young we want to race to the end, as we get older we want it to slow down a bit.

a tale of cowadice

my brother and i were adolescents. we were going to visit our grandmother. she lived in some slummy apartment. i dont know were our parents were but they werent walking with us. it was dark and as we approached the apartment a doberman pincher came running out to us, barking, growling with teeth barred.

instantly and without hesitation, i grabbed my younger brother and positioned him between me and the dog.

thankfully the dog was called back by its owner and no damage was done. at least no physical damage. my brother looked at me and said something to the effect of, "you pushed me towards the dog". i laughed but deep down was pained by the whole event. this is not how i envisioned myself. this was not me. i was a hero, a defender of the weak, a family loyalist, not a coward who would throw family to the wolves to save his own skin. Jeez! For the love of...that memory has been right there on the backburner of my mind for a long time. courage requires higher functioning. at that moment i simply reacted with a cognitive-free reaction, like an animal. it is the inserted soul or underdeveloped soul that was over-ridden by survival instinct. with this awareness, i have tried to guard against allowing that terrible instinct to over-ride the soul. thought and cognition are the souls voice. reaction and survival instinct, just a protective feature of this continually dying body.

getting (dis) connected

sometimes i'll open up every tab which connects me to others over the net. theres this site where my alter-ego resides. theres my school e-mail. theres my personal e-mail. theres a facebook account. i find it a lonely endeavor when i do this and there's no responses from anyone. its like eagerly checking ones answering machine, only to hear "you have no new messages."

heres the odd thing. prior to being hooked up with all these new fangled sites i never cared whether or not any one was interested. internet loneliness was born out of trying to connect. out of existing on the net.

there is a parrallel to life here. stepping out and living also comes at a price. pain, suffering, and loneliness are inevitable. perhaps if we try hard not to exist, dope ourselves up, hide in our room with the shades closed and a pillow over our head we can avoid this pain, but are we really existing?

i'm glad someone finally said it...

http://www.newsweek.com/id/194640?GT1=43002

i-ddicted

i am addicted to my i-pod shuffle. lately i take it everywhere, to school, shopping, running, it doesnt matter. life is just a little bit better if my music provides a ready explanation of why im doing it. it gives me a continual soundtrack for my life. pumping me with motivation, or or love, or angst, or lust, or anger. whatever the situation demands, my soundtrack guides. smashing pumpkins while the wife tried on clothes at dillards. depeche mode while running. white stripes while making my way to the library for more research.

is it a crutch though?

the other day i was running and my i-pod stopped halfway through my run. out of charge. i panicked. i looked at it. shook it. for a second i questioned my ability to continue my run.

does the music allow my internal motivation to become obese and lazy. the soundwaves blare into the little room brushing the dust off the blue light, while mr. motivation sits in the corner eating tweenkies.

gray hairs

for the last couple of years i have been keenly aware that i have a couple of gray hairs. one on my left temple, one on my right. unlike many people i am actually quite fond of them. i view them kind of like scars. theres a certain pride in having a few. theyre like my lil friends who speak to my suffering on this here earth, and God knows i want others to know how ive suffered.

anywho, this morning i was looking at myself in the mirror (which by the way gets less and less fun the older i get) and i thought i should check in on my two gray friends. check, check. they were still there.

but lo and behold, there were about 5 additional lil gray hairs on my left temple. i guess they must have gone and had babies or somethin'.

maybe im not an immortal afterall?

no one (tune analysis)

Well I can't ever really believe
No one was sent to get me
And I feel like I'm being erased
No one got left here

I'm all alone
No one was sent to get me
I'm all alone
No one got left here

But I'm fine
No one got left here
Well I'm fine
No one got left here

I can't even breathe when I see
The pictures sent without you
I feel like i've been erased
No one got left here

I'm all alone
No one was sent to get me
I'm all alone
No one got left here

But I'm fine
No one got left here
Well I'm fine
No one got left here

But I'm fine
No one got left here
Well I'm fine
No one got left

I'm so sick of this terrible instinct
It's so hard now
Just to find you
I'm so sick of this terrible instinct
It's so hard now
Just to find you
So sick of the terrible instinct
I can only find you
So sick of the terrible instinct
I can only find you

But I'm fine
No one got left here
Well I'm fine
No one got left here

But I'm fine
No one got left here
Well I'm fine
Nobody got left


I really like this tune by cold. it is in my opinion a man crying out for God. not only that but is is an accurate analysis of man's state. we are creatures with instinct, sometimes terrible instinct as the song depicts. kill, screw, fight, flight, protect self at all costs. these instincts while at times fine in their place at other times run counter to our soul's calling.

do we follow our instinct or do we at times rise above it by actually running counter to it. to follow the instinct blindly, like an animal, we lose sight of our higher being, we lose sight of God.

Cold says it best with this line:

I'm so sick of this terrible instinct
It's so hard now
Just to find you
I'm so sick of this terrible instinct
It's so hard now
Just to find you

theres more than survival of the creature at stake, it is survival of the soul which trumps all.

the "easy" way (tune analysis)

Know it sounds funny
But I just cant stand the pain
Girl Im leaving you tomorrow
Seems to me girl
You know Ive done all I can
You see I begged, stole
And I borrowed
Ooh, thats why Im easy
Im easy like sunday morning
Thats why Im easy
Im easy like sunday morning
Why in the world
Would anyboddy put chains on me?
Ive paid my dues to make it
Everbody wants me to be
What they want me to be
Im not happy when I try to fake it!
No!
Ooh,thats why Im easy
Im easy like sunday morning
Thats why Im easy
Im easy like sunday morning
I wanna be high, so high
I wanna be free to know
The things I do are right
I wanna be free
Just me, babe!
Thats why Im easy
Im easy like sunday morning
Thats why Im easy
Im easy like sunday morning
Because Im easy
Easy like sunday morning
Because Im easy
Easy like sunday morning



i love this tune and i especially love the line "i want to be free to know the things i do are right". its the hideous nature of man at its lowest.

essentially the tune asks...
why i cant i do just whatever the F@#k i want to do? why must people constrain me in any way shape or form? and further, when i do whatever the F@#k i want to do, i want to feel that what im doing is right, and good. ok? is that too much to ask?


i think faith no more's gets it right in their rendition. halfway through lionel's version he lets out this sexy crooning groan which for FNM becomes a groan of utter disgust, and this of course is actually way more appropriate to the content of the tune.

the passing of time and the disbelief thereof...

good night! how did they get so old?

a while back on facebook i perused some old classmates from high school only to find with disappointment that they were all old. wrinkles. fat heads. fat necks, double chins, hair weaves and children in tow. i say dissapointment but really it was just disbelief, and in some cases maybe a bit of delight(sic). im starting to think i may be an immortal, because, i havent aged at all in the last 10-15 years. not at all. im young, sprite, tight-skinned, childless, and lovely.

well maybe not but i certainly am not as old as all of them, theyre old. what if i was really as old as they, but my bias or psychosis wont let me see it. a kind of self-preserving defense.

nah. theyre old and im not.

...makes us stronger

"I'm waiting for a mission - getting softer. Every minute I stay in this room, I get weaker. And every minute Charlie squats in the bush, he gets stronger." - Captain Benjamin Willard (from Apocalypse Now)

i love this quote. it reminds me that the difficulty, advesity and harshness of our environment...molds us. it makes us more adaptable, more capable.

that is of course if we navigate through the adversity rather than avoid it. running away can only make us weaker. like a soft spot on a tooth that the brush never touches. weaker and weaker and weaker until it breaks open, revealing the stench and decay of such avoidance.

it is also providing the difficulty or harshness doesnt kill us. however, even if it does kill the body perhaps the possibility exists, i believe it does, that the soul may be strengthened by it still.

conceptualization of motivation

a man covered in silt, dirt, and coal-dust, wearing overalls and a hard-hat lives in a corner of my soul. he is my age and his dwelling appears as a small cave-like room. The same murky coating that covers his face and body also covers the walls and floor of his surroundings.

whenever hes felt overwhelmed or down or doubtful a chute in the ceiling would open up and more filth and coal dust would rush in. at some point (or "one day" if you prefer) as pointless as it seemed he started digging around in this room. to his astonishment he discovered that in the floor, right there in the floor, covered with years of filth was a beautiful blue radiant light. it was small and cylindrical, but the light it gave was radiant and beautiful. it made him feel warm and useful to see this light so he started digging with a small shovel moving the dust and sludge away from it. this man began to notice something. the stagnant room he was in was moving. it was not just a stationary room but a vehicle or machine. it was now moving, he was moving, he was moving it!! he was controlling it by his efforts. this only made him dig more. sweat mixed with tears of joy streamed down his face revealing tracks of clean skin beneath.

before long he cleared all the dust from the light. the machine continued on. harshly cranking at first then rhythmically, it moved. the man could not describe what he felt. it was as though for the first time in his life. purpose. he realized he could make this great hunky sluggish machine move. he controlled his destiny. he was not stuck in a room, he was the pilot of an amazing machine.

today he still cleans the light, sometimes getting down on his hands and knees with a rag scrubbing off any remnants of coal-dust. and still, on occasion that chute opens up and dumps a heap of sludge into his room and onto his light. but its different now. now he has the knowledge of that light, and this keeps the machine going, keeps him going.

erykah and i

erykah badu and me both have the same birthday. not only the same date but the same year. within a 24 hour period we were both probably screaming to the top of our lungs as some menacing doctor extracted us from the safety of our mothers' wombs.

i did not know this until i googled my birthday yesterday. its surprising to learn someone has your exact birthday. i was especially surprised because years ago i bought a cd by her. her cd has a picture of an ankh. her website is sprinkled with eygptian hieroglyphs.

i do (did) oil painting and went through a time where i was somewhat obsessed with ancient eygptian mystique. i painted eygptian, decorated eygptian, and yes even walked like an eygptian.

well as far as i know thats where the creepy similarities end.

good day.

the curious case of...unnatural randomness

in batman dark knight, alfred informs bruce wayne that he doesnt understand the joker. the joker is about chaos, anarchy, random violence. there is no understanding, no predicting. the inability to comprehend the joker's violence makes him all the more terrifying. In the news "...random killing" strikes terror in our hearts. when someone kills their parents or their kids or a group of quaker children...we want to know why? why? when the twin towers and the pentagon are bombed by suicide terrorists...we want to know why? why?

why is chaos, anarchy and random violence questioned at all. isnt it all natural? if it is not natural and instead order, unity and meaning are natural what do we do with that?

random explosions, random massive balls of chemicals and rock flying about, random lightning strikes, random life giving goop, random accidents, random protozoa, random sperm meshing with random egg, random life, random death,...produces creatures who are repelled by randomness, repelled by a life without meaning.

why would that be? maybe its not so random afterall...maybe that inner voice repelled by the chaos, anarchy, and random violence is on to something. go on... listen to it. its talking to you.


"randomness is not natural"

losing things

i hate losing things. like, really, really, hate it. i'll say things to myself, like "why me God?" or "i wish i were dead!" or "why was i ever born", when i lose things.

but you know, typically, it seems like my imagination is what makes it so bad. i blow things way out of proportion. case in point, the other day i thought i lost my zip drive. i envisioned someone finding it plugged into a library computer and then they look and see all my private stuff. turns out it was under some paper on my desk.

or the time i thought i lost a book someone loaned me. i thought "what?! i must have lost it somehow someway, maybe i accidently gave it to charity or something crazy. this will be relationship damaging." turns out i stuck it in a drawer to remove the appearance of clutter.

or the time i thought i lost my monthly calender. i was sick about it for about an hour. i called places and asked if theyd seen it. i asked others if they accidently thought it was theirs and took it. again, it was under some paper, this time on my dining room table.


all the gut wrenching angst seems to usually be about nothing.

goose bumps explained...NOT!!!

i recently read this on msnbc or something...

"1. What causes goose bumps?

Goose bumps (scientific name: piloerection) pop up when you're cold or afraid. A tiny muscle at the base of each body hair contracts; together, they appear as naked bumps on the flesh. They made sense eons ago, when humans still had a natural "fur coat." Back then, fluffing your ruff would warm the body by trapping an insulating layer of air between the hairs. And standing your hair on end was intimidating to predators or enemies (picture a cat facing off with a dog). Evolution has since stripped humans of their pelts. Now goose bumps are, of course, no medical issue. If you're uncomfortable showing off your vestigial physiognomy, dress warmly, place yourself in calm environments, and avoid horror flicks."


rubbish, rubbish, rubbish and more rubbish. ok sure people may get goosebumps from fear or the cold, but that does not cover it.

you see, i have been moved to goose bumps when i see a touching commercial or hear epic music. why ive been moved to goose bumps watching a morbidly obese woman trying her damndest to drop the pounds on biggest loser. ive been moved to goosebumps watching a trailer for a batman movie. ive been moved to goosebumps watching a burned woman speak of forgiveness to the man who caused her disfigurement. to me these goose bumps speak something beyond the physical. it is like my soul is being moved. no sir, there is no fear and i am not cold. vestigail physiognomy, yeah right. keep trying.

the curious case of...hero worship

ive noticed a lot of hero-worship of late with the new president. from the throngs that wait to hear him speak, to the trinkets, bumper stickers, comic books, buttons, and magazines that highlight his glory. as he speaks of our failing economy, people weep. they weep not for fear of a failing economy; no they weep from rapturous joy to have a hero to worship yet again. you see, this happens somewhat infrequently in politics as politics is often at the psysiological core of our ills. however, it did happen with JFK. and now again with Obama. it seems the country is ready once again for a political savior to pull them up from their wretchedness (or at least up from the wretchedness of their neighbor).

while this level of hero-worship may be infrequent in politics, it happens all the time in sports. im always amazed at how fans know the facts and names of players. not just their favorite, but many many other players, even insignificant players and coaches. they know who got traded for who and how much. they know the latest gossip about the latest affair of their demi-god. these fans watch week to week, season to season, decade to decade, never tiring of the endless loop of victories and defeats played out again, and again, and again, and yes, freaking, again. it seems pointless to get caught up in this cycle, because nothing ever truly gets resolved; the winners and losers this season will do the whole damn thing next season as if this season meant nothing. millions are paid to these special individuals because we as a society demand that our gods stay.

its not only sports, take music. check out an ac/dc, coldplay, or rolling stones concert. people yell, scream, take off their clothes, wave their hands in the air (you know, like they just dont care), and for several hours they worship those magic bodies, fingers, and vocal chords of their rock-gods on stage. the truly dedicated disciples will follow their god on tour (roadies) or give them self sexually (groupies). but for most casual worshippers, its a part-time affair. they go once every few months or years to re-dedicate their lives to their gods then they go home and return to their normal, mundane lives. they feel good that they can hardly hear and their voices are hoarse, its a small penitence to pay for a god they so rarely get to see and worship

it seems all around that we're just hard-wired to desire and worship something bigger, mightier, and grander than ourselves. its the secular's way of coming (back) around to his religious roots. the secular thought himself removed from God, but that luring and cajoling continues, if not through a direct voice then through our very makeup.

whats that you say? you dont need a god? well actually, yeah...apparently you do.

and now a word from Jack Handy

To me, clowns aren't funny. In fact, they're kind of scary. I've wondered where this started and I think it goes back to the time I went to the circus, and a clown killed my dad. -Jack Handy

divine goal setting

if i strive for retirement, once i get there...then what?
if my goal is simply to get laid & do...then what?
if i want to run three miles & do...then what?

strive to live a good & productive life.
set as a goal to find & give love.
desire to run the marathon.

lofty goals are good. divine goals are good. goals, unattainable in this lifetime are good.
but don't just take my word for it:

We must not listen to those who advise us being mortal to think mortal thoughts, but must put on immortality as much as is possible and strain every nerve to live according to that best part of us, which being small in its power and honor surpasses all else. - Aristotle

Aim at heaven and you will get earth thrown in. Aim at earth and you get neither. - C. S. Lewis

following the herd

ive noticed a new verbiage used a lot lately. usually its young women that say it. you'll be talking to one of them and you say something emphatically and they agree with you but instead of saying, "oh i absolutely agree with you!" they say...

"i know, right??"

now, im ok with the "i know" part, but the "right??" part throws me.

what do you mean "right??", i said the goshdarned thing, of course i agree with what ive just said! its as though they have highjacked my emphatic idea and have claimed it as their own and now they want to know my opinion of their (really my) opinion.

its weird the way such things catch on. who started this absurdity anywho?

you know, right??

spellbound

i have friends who have this print in their bedroom. the first time i saw it i was spellbound. i couldnt stop looking at it. i wanted to have it...i wanted to ask if they would give me this mystery. i thought, "there is a story here and i need to know what it is!". i asked them about their print but they didnt know anything other than that they liked it. there didnt appear to be any signature on the painting, so no answers there either. its always bothered me. its like a mystery you want to know the answer to but you kind of dont too because it might spoil the enchantment...

yesterday i found out.

Andrew Wyeth, the painter of this work died yesterday. during a news piece on his life, they flashed this very picture. its called "Chritina's World" & it depicts a partially paralyzed girl (from polio) who lived on a farm with her family, near the painter. he was keen on this rural family and painted various members but this one stuck out. searching for more details i found that he technically used his wife for the pose, but it was inspired by watching this scene unfold with this neighbor girl.

ironically, my friends, the owners of the print, have a little girl who also has special needs. she will never be like other little girls shell always be behind intellectually and she'll always struggle physically; yet she too is beautiful. she brings great joy to her parents and is a delight to be around.

something about the print is just so painful and at the same time, lovely. broken yet beautiful. pained yet strong. it leaves me with a weird hybrid feeling consisting of hope & despair.

the curious case of...thankfulness

you know, not your garden-variety "thank you" when some one opens the door for you. thats an obvious exchange. a tangible act of kindness is rewarded by a kind word. it makes sense. its natural. from an evolutionary perspective, my gratefulness keeps people liking me as opposed to killing me and ruining my chance at spreading my seed. its just like sooo obvious (in a valley-girl voice).

but what is curious is the more obscure kind of thankfulness. take thanksgiving day. people of all shapes and sizes and religions and lack thereof get together and proclaim a certain gratitude for things. i once asked such a mixed group about what they were thankful for. mostly they listed non-materialistic and noble things like health, family, children, freedom, love, friends, etc.

but then i asked them to whom were they thankful for all of this. at this the atheists began to feel as though they had been tricked. most declined to answer. a few stated "their lucky stars" or "good fortune" or "good luck"...

whats funny here is their answers now seem highly irrational. they are thankful to randomness or the odds or luck for their situation. does one feel "thankful" for randomness, i dont think so. i mean one day its heads the next its tails. thats how randomness is...i doesnt make sense to be grateful to it. it is like having gratitude to a non-entity.

here we can see that it actually seems more rational to be thankful to an entity or person or God than to some randomness. so here theists are behaving in a more rational way than their atheistic counterparts.

another point. why are people so readily able to detail things of which they are thankful? ask anyone and most will list something. is it natural to feel grateful for our state of being? to what benefit?

maybe its just the way we were created.

george and i

during the Christmas holidays i made an effort to catch "its a wonderful life". to see it every year would lessen the impact of the film, but i hadnt in several years so i set out to reexperience its glory. i was a bit worried that time might have faded its glory. you know, how like when "knight rider" with david hasselhoff seemed all cool at the time but today you watch it and its like "this socks deek".

anyways, "its a wonderful life" didnt fade for me. this year more than ever i really related to it, especially the lead...george bailey. hes the eldest of two brothers...me too! his brother appears to be a couple years younger than he is, check! hes forever wanting to leave the crummy town he lives in, check! despite this desire he seems forever stuck, check! heres where the similarities get downright creepy...hes deaf in his left ear, CHECK!!! its like I'm george bailey!!!

beyond these striking similarities, his internal struggle also hit home. his angst resonated as his dreams and desires slip away with his youth. God & life seem to bring him cruelly to the precipice of success only to have it slip from his grasp at the last moment, all while witnessing his lessers surpass him.

thankfully george's awakening was also congealed in me brain. when he gets angelic insight and perspective on what and who matters in this life. its family. its friends. its people. its life. he learns his life has purpose and is not just a series of meaningless mistakes and strokes of luck. this purpose dwarfs the unfullfilled desires that previously drove him to the bridge.

with strings attached

on occasion ive heard people say things like, "sam can be generous, but watch out because his gifts always have strings attached." you know, like your gran'mama buys you a coupon for movie tickets, but now she expects you to take her and then you have to massage her toe-bunions after the show.

i bought into the notion that such gifts are essentially poisoned, and that it also says something about the manipulating nature of the gift-giver. however, i have recently changed this view (for self-serving purposes, of course). mainly ive discovered that when i give gifts...i too have strings attached.

i did a painting and gave it to someone a year ago. when i would go to their house, i would as inconspicuously as possible (more like "wheres the painting i gave you?"), look for it. it started out being prominently displayed in their living room above their tv. then, the next time it wasnt there, i peeked around the house until i saw it in the corner of their bedroom. then...the next time i went to see if it was still in the bedroom. it wasnt. it didnt appear to be anywhere. needless to say this bothered me some. either they didnt like it or didnt get that it took over 20 hours to complete. "this is not right" i thought "they should have displayed it in a prominent place for all to see my wonderful masterpiece". and those, of course, were my particular set of strings. in the end, its hard to say how much of the gift was about me and my talent and how much was truly about giving.

the whole thing got me thinking though...dont all gifts have strings attached? we want the person to like it, use it, and maybe even thank us for it...well those are the strings. if we gave a gift to someone for Christmas only to have it re-gifted to us the following year for our birthday, we would see our strings appear. a man gives and engagement ring to a woman...expectations (strings) are attached.

this may not be as bad as it sounds. i think God's gifts have strings attached too. afterall, arent blessings meant to be noticed, appreciated, and used to good benefit; not ignored, discarded or returned?