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.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
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"
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
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.
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.
Friday, February 13, 2009
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.
"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.
Monday, February 09, 2009
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.
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.
Monday, February 02, 2009
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
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