What is beauty? A word. An idea. Mixing Debussy and Grand Master Flash over one another, a dove on a branch outside more concerned about keeping warm than keeping the beat. Does it ever seem odd to you that we'd give atmospheric phenomena personal names?
Young people today, with relatively high unemployment, have a world of possibilities ahead of them. Someone coined the phrase that it's easier to get into Harvard than to get a job. Yet, what's a job? Painting eyes on a plastic doll to be shipped to the other side of the world for holiday gift-giving? Cooking and mashing beans to put inside a rolled-up tortilla? Looking at photos and deciding how to set the fashion industry abuzz with your new accessory arrangement? Designing software applications for people to socialise online?
Friends of mine, from Frances to Estelle, from Charline to Gary, use their waking hours for socialising, being productive the way they want to be known, some in conventional jobs and some not.
We are beautiful. We have jobs: we are ourselves. We define ourselves by how we act and react.
When we are raised to believe that working and consuming are our primary purposes for being, we set ourselves up for disappointment when those tasks are nearly impossible to achieve. A new friend of mine, Earle B., has lived a long, happy life not by defining who he is by what he consumes but by being there to support others who search for who they are to be.
Of course, we want to eat. We want to have safety and shelter. We are fascinated by new colours and sounds. We are driven to increase our self-worth by comparing ourselves to others in a social environment.
A whole generation experiencing unemployment levels of the Great Depression. An experiment at the ready. A chance to redefine the goals of our ecumenopolis. Someone said we can't just start over, we have too much invested in the current system. I wonder...
I fall in love with everyone I meet. I see the life within every person just wanting to scream and shout and enjoy life to the fullest, life a definition with no clear definition. In viewing that reaching out for life, I see what life has been for every person. History that will rarely find its way into the history books.
I know that life is not fair. Life rarely gives us a treat for very long, with pits inside peaches and sunburns in tropical paradises. But we know that already, unless we get carried away from our balanced view of life. Perspective makes us speculate and listen to speculators selling spectacular spectacles. Placebo pills that'll cure every ill. Instant gratification consumables that'll last forever. Blah, blah, blah. Blah. Bland when consumed over and over for too long, right?
Can we reset our pace to enjoy the pastoral life? Can the pastoral life give food, safety, shelter and sufficient enjoyment to seven billion of us?
In this moment, this break from the recent past of increased consumption, can we think outside this box, this internetworked world, and find viable solutions that cut off the tops and bottoms of the highs and lows of economic boom and bust cycles? Okay, look, I know we don't live in a fantasy world where leprechauns have pots of golds hidden at the end of every passing thunderstorm that'll get us out of this economic slump, international stimulus fund efforts to the contrary. But we can reset our expectations, can we not?
I am the children of migrants. My family has migrated from one place to another for generations, never settling down on one plot of land for very long. I have read about, researched and watched the effects of migration on our ecumenopolis. We call it world history, do we not? We are a wandering people, our species producing too many offspring to take care of the same place over and over so we tend to spread out.
Our numbers increase. Our population grows bigger. Older people live longer and younger people die less frequently. Prosperity has brought us medical marvels and clean drinking water in many places.
In our grasp is the definition of what success means to the generation that's coming into its own, just behind mine. My generation, the Me generation, the backside of the baby boomers, holds the key to the secret to life hidden in a box. We unlocked and have looked inside the box, slowly comprehending the meaning of life, our views vastly transformed by the discovery of success that transcends material wealth. We know we are the keepers of ourselves a thousand generations from now. We want to hold the key a bit longer because the power of knowledge is too vast, we think, to give to others. But time marches on. We will give the key to the keepers of ourselves 999 generations from now.
My sister and I talked on the phone last night. We tried to recall our views of life in the early 1980s when we were stepping out from our protected secondary school years into the world of relatively high unemployment in a prosperous capitalist-market based society. My sister worked at McDonald's. I worked at Montgomery Ward. We both attended university. We remember being told that we should be thankful we had jobs in the 1981/1982 economic slump, with teachers having to work at McDonald's and PhDs pumping gas once again.
What is beauty? It's Rihanna and Taylor Swift singing a duet in a movie starring Aishwarya Rai Bachchan. Beauty is musical, its rhythm set to our heartbeats and our thought patterns. We don't need jobs to be beautiful. We let our beauty shine and our lives unfold as if by magic, revealing ways to prosper we'd never imagined.
How do we emulate the pastoral life of balance with the land on which we live, seasonal, cyclical, sprinkling manure to grow food, fallowing one field while increasing the productivity of another, sharing the harvest effectively and fairly, migrants feeding migrants, taking turns tending the soil, generation-to-generation and intergenerational, knowing we'll always have those who think they live in a novel like Animal Farm or Lord of the Flies, greed a matter of degrees, sometimes too hot and sometimes too cold, and yes, can you believe it, sometimes just right?
We listen to ourselves. We see the beauty within and let it out. We let ourselves fall in love with each other's beauty. We see we live on the only planet we've got right now, a giant pastoral farm, if you will. We can't trade it in for a new model, or move wholescale to a new one. We see our imperfections and lean on each other during lean times. We share our flats with friends out of work, and when we're out of work we help clean and cook for our friends whose flats we share. We redefine prosperity and remember that truth is beauty. And then we go from there.
11 November 2009
10 November 2009
A Platform for Enhancing Performance
Part of me will always be part of me. I will always carry the tearer-apart, the see-what's-inside, the test-until-it-breaks geek in me. Thus, when I buy a new high-tech toy, I try it with something not originally made for it, such as open source software in closed hardware architecture. Link O' The Day for those who like to experiment.
Time for a lunch of home-delivered dinner, a Monday Night Football favourite filler, a rainy Tuesday leftover. Today's a good day for rugby, a real romp in the muddy rough.
Time for a lunch of home-delivered dinner, a Monday Night Football favourite filler, a rainy Tuesday leftover. Today's a good day for rugby, a real romp in the muddy rough.
A Nod to Motivation
I am not a motivational speaker. I live a life of the moment, which may or may not motivate others. However, I understand the need to hear the voice(s) of those who want to enhance the thoughts of their listeners. A facebook friend of mine, Johnny Roberts, is such a person.
I missed adding a reference to the last blog post, the list of sovereign states. Here is one such list from multiple websites:
I missed adding a reference to the last blog post, the list of sovereign states. Here is one such list from multiple websites:
Foursome
Of course, you're familiar with the exercise of hitting a round object with a stick so I needn't smack my knee 'gainst your funny bone or tickle your nose hairs 'bout golf. Like asking a blonde/blond if s/he's heard a joke about hair colour or asking a duck in the rain if the sound of a tree falling in a forest rolls off its back.
Four titles: "Henry V," "Falling Down," "Stranded," "Survival Under Atomic Attack"
Can you imagine a group of people perpetually maintaining the illusion of a superiour group that is outside time and not subject to any one subject except that its subjects take turns subjecting subjects to subjective analysis and rule? Yeah, then there's all the parts about them creating enmity for enemies to justify the enemy-fighting forces. Why be Don King when you can be donned king? Or chained to Cheney's LBJ-like rise to master Chen style tai chi chuan, Jack Ryan minus the Hollywood hairstyle.
A mask is still a mask. A Department of the Army pamphlet, No. 20-111, dated February 1951, is still just as informational:
When I was a small boy, my parents took me to visit my grandparents down in south Florida. We'd spend part of the time with them going to an amusement park up the road. I remember the amusement park for its packet of tickets with an alphabetic order my parents'd use in conjunction with our good behaviour, rewarding us with E-ticket rides. My favourite ride was the Haunted Mansion. I was fascinated by the special effects and the thoughts of hidden passages and ways to make things that go bump in the night.
We visited the park many times in my youth and we kids'd collect souvenirs during our trips. My alltime favourite souvenir was a secret panel chest with parquet-style inlaid wood. Because of that souvenir, I collect small wooden boxes with sliding drawers visibly hidden by woodgrain cuts. I had lost the WDW chest long ago and guess I've collected the boxes in a way we all try to relive our youth, Rosebud-style.
Outside, the atmospheric turbulence of HRH Ida plays one of my favourite rusted gutter tunes. You've heard me play it once - drip, plop, pour, drop - since I'm not a musician, I won't repeat myself. I trust your imagination for recreating a cool rain, leftover yellow leaves and bare redbud limbs.
I immersed myself in the local culture to see the effect of global-level decisionmaking. I wanted to hold a multicultural plan for the people in one hand and shake the hand of someone I know who's not able to put food on the table with the other. I admit it's a matter of trust. It's the tale of "pass the whisper" at a children's party that teaches me the distrust I hold for being at the top of an ivory tower or inside a warroom and knowing what's going on.
We all come from somewhere. We're all going somewhere. We can't count to seven billion fast enough to capture all the people alive in a single moment. Death and birth crashing onto the sandy shore too fast too see the reshaped sand grain and the shifting sand dunes in one eye.
Despite what we believe, we are an ecumenopolis. We always have been. We always will be here on this planet. We effect one another and affect one another all the time. We'll continue to be who we are because we don't change overnight. Not very easily. We're social creatures who don't always socialise well enough to be socially acceptable or responsible socially.
Fear of the unknown and the thrill of danger make haunted mansions popular and titles like "Henry V," "Falling Down," "Stranded," and "Survival Under Atomic Attack" possible. Every member of our species practices life uniquely although within macrosystem categories.
We want those who can translate one style of life into subcategories without blinking an eye or revealing why. Those who practice their subcategory to perfection do not want or need to know the existence of their subcategory's translation to other lifestyles, unless we want to prevent detrimental behaviours between two subgroups (which can be within the same subcategory, two different subcategories or crossed between major categories, etc., and so on, with more complex-sounding gobbledygook/claptrap here to sound official. [insert smiley face]).
How does one take life seriously and laugh at life at the same time? One laughs at life and takes death seriously at the same time. Comedy and Tragedy. Life and Death. Friend and Enemy. Yin and Yang. Positive and negative. Health and sickness. Opposites with no opposites because opposites attract.
I hold the universe on one flake of skin on the end of my last finger. On the next finger, the Milky Way galaxy. On the next finger, the solar system. On the forefinger, the planet Earth. On my thumb, my thumbprint. I hold my hand up and make the universal sign of nonthreatening peace. I roll my fingers up and make a fist. Power. Strength. The universe connected to my oily thumbprint.
What's the old saying about it's hard to make a fist when you're shaking someone's hand? If Iran wants to try three hikers as spies, then I can find ways to retaliate without bringing the news media into the picture. If you really want to trade the lives of three people for what I have to give you, then I won't stop you. But it's a path I don't want to take. Reality is only seven letters. The truth is whatever we want to write about. I want my easy-to-transport, cheap grapes from Chile available at the local market in winter for those on a limited budget. I don't care about nuclear capabilities in part of Persia because I trust that those I trust will take care of that responsibility well while recognizing the complexities of an ecumenopolis that treats all members of our species as members of our species.
If you teach hate or practice hatred you get what you want on a personal level you never imagined. I won't tolerate your homemade megalomania. I'm not after your family or your colleagues. They have their own chance for species' preservation talk/response. One person suggested we take all those who teach hate, give them lobotomies and put them on display like the old days of empires that put their enemies' head on pikes. I'm not an eye-for-an-eye practitioner. I'm willing to see you change your ways toward getting us to other planets and galaxies as good citizens of the universe.
My goal is not specific to one subculture. My goal is specific to our species. Our species is dependent on this planet. I'll tolerate a lot to see us see the same thing. But I'm not immortal. I'm impatient even though I know my goal is relatively eternal. I trust those who'll live after I'm gone to keep us moving on. I may not reach my goal in my lifetime but my goal is not my goal. It's really yours that I'm taking care of while I'm here.
A nuclear weapon is the result of concentrated juice in the form of engineering and science. We have tested nuclear weaponry and we have put nuclear weaponry to use in times of war. Nuclear power is a diplomatic tool used wisely. How many of us are wise enough to put the power of a nuclear bomb in our thumbprint? Answer: not a single one of us. We ALL own the nuclear weaponry of our species. The responsibility belongs to the person scraping a dry desert for seeds or water. The responsibility belongs to the leader loved by billions all over the world.
And then there's those persons or that group with hundreds of millions of dollars to spend on nuclear weaponry but no land-based political entity to hold them to responsibility or fear of reprisal. The barrier to market entry is a curious phenomenon. The "too big to fail" organizations want high artificial barriers to protect their turf. We've argued and made fun of the barrier to enter the nuclear arms race.
I'm not worried about weapons of mass destruction. We've had them in one form or another all our lives. Masses of archers and flamethrowers, to name a two. I concern myself with the trigger finger owner(s).
Do you know how to play golf? Do you know anyone who's hit a hole in one? Can you figure out the percentage of hooks and slices you've made versus perfect shots down the middle of the fairway? Can you now imagine every ball you hit was the intended aim of the diplomatic policy of owning a nuclear weapon arsenal? Increasing ground troop numbers because you can't just drop an H-bomb on Afghanistan and call it a day. Sacrificing three people because you don't want to use alleged spies as playing cards in the game of who gets to claim the status of a nuclear weapon class country. Willing to play along with North Korea because China's making more profits in the commercial world.
It's okay to lose sleep playing video games because someone else is losing sleep playing simultaneous games of Life, Monopoly, poker and chess, the special "football" and security codes nearby.
We're a young species only once. We have thousands of generations to go to grow up. Sure, we have one life to live on this planet, but when you look at what we've dug up and built out of the origins of our species and truly understand that your life only matters when your species does, your importance to yourself and others grows in leaps and bounds. I'm just beginning to understand and I'm amazed at the immense difference it's made in my life. My life in one hand, including aches and pains and mistakes and triumphs, the rearrangement of a piece of the universe. The rest of the universe in the other hand, with a universe-wide, nearly-infinite time of history to be seen. I'm glad to say I've been a part of it with you.
Four titles: "Henry V," "Falling Down," "Stranded," "Survival Under Atomic Attack"
Can you imagine a group of people perpetually maintaining the illusion of a superiour group that is outside time and not subject to any one subject except that its subjects take turns subjecting subjects to subjective analysis and rule? Yeah, then there's all the parts about them creating enmity for enemies to justify the enemy-fighting forces. Why be Don King when you can be donned king? Or chained to Cheney's LBJ-like rise to master Chen style tai chi chuan, Jack Ryan minus the Hollywood hairstyle.
A mask is still a mask. A Department of the Army pamphlet, No. 20-111, dated February 1951, is still just as informational:
"To be more specific, a modern atomic bomb can do heavy damage to houses and buildings roughly 2 miles away. But doubling its power will extend the range of damage to only about 2-1/2 miles. In the same way, if there were a bomb 100 times as powerful, it would reach out only a little more than 4-1/2, not 100 times as far.Some people call golf a good walk spoiled. Well, you can see many a situation that'll spoil a good walk. A person with a personal agenda that's unfriendly. A leader who wants to throw bodies into a bottomless pit of a firefight. A leaking spacesuit on Mars.
"And remember: All these calculations of your chances of survival assume that you have absolutely no advance warning of the attack.
"Just like fire bombs and ordinary high explosives, atomic weapons cause most of their death and damage by blast and heat. So first let's look at a few things you can do to escape these two dangers."
When I was a small boy, my parents took me to visit my grandparents down in south Florida. We'd spend part of the time with them going to an amusement park up the road. I remember the amusement park for its packet of tickets with an alphabetic order my parents'd use in conjunction with our good behaviour, rewarding us with E-ticket rides. My favourite ride was the Haunted Mansion. I was fascinated by the special effects and the thoughts of hidden passages and ways to make things that go bump in the night.
We visited the park many times in my youth and we kids'd collect souvenirs during our trips. My alltime favourite souvenir was a secret panel chest with parquet-style inlaid wood. Because of that souvenir, I collect small wooden boxes with sliding drawers visibly hidden by woodgrain cuts. I had lost the WDW chest long ago and guess I've collected the boxes in a way we all try to relive our youth, Rosebud-style.
Outside, the atmospheric turbulence of HRH Ida plays one of my favourite rusted gutter tunes. You've heard me play it once - drip, plop, pour, drop - since I'm not a musician, I won't repeat myself. I trust your imagination for recreating a cool rain, leftover yellow leaves and bare redbud limbs.
I immersed myself in the local culture to see the effect of global-level decisionmaking. I wanted to hold a multicultural plan for the people in one hand and shake the hand of someone I know who's not able to put food on the table with the other. I admit it's a matter of trust. It's the tale of "pass the whisper" at a children's party that teaches me the distrust I hold for being at the top of an ivory tower or inside a warroom and knowing what's going on.
We all come from somewhere. We're all going somewhere. We can't count to seven billion fast enough to capture all the people alive in a single moment. Death and birth crashing onto the sandy shore too fast too see the reshaped sand grain and the shifting sand dunes in one eye.
Despite what we believe, we are an ecumenopolis. We always have been. We always will be here on this planet. We effect one another and affect one another all the time. We'll continue to be who we are because we don't change overnight. Not very easily. We're social creatures who don't always socialise well enough to be socially acceptable or responsible socially.
Fear of the unknown and the thrill of danger make haunted mansions popular and titles like "Henry V," "Falling Down," "Stranded," and "Survival Under Atomic Attack" possible. Every member of our species practices life uniquely although within macrosystem categories.
We want those who can translate one style of life into subcategories without blinking an eye or revealing why. Those who practice their subcategory to perfection do not want or need to know the existence of their subcategory's translation to other lifestyles, unless we want to prevent detrimental behaviours between two subgroups (which can be within the same subcategory, two different subcategories or crossed between major categories, etc., and so on, with more complex-sounding gobbledygook/claptrap here to sound official. [insert smiley face]).
How does one take life seriously and laugh at life at the same time? One laughs at life and takes death seriously at the same time. Comedy and Tragedy. Life and Death. Friend and Enemy. Yin and Yang. Positive and negative. Health and sickness. Opposites with no opposites because opposites attract.
I hold the universe on one flake of skin on the end of my last finger. On the next finger, the Milky Way galaxy. On the next finger, the solar system. On the forefinger, the planet Earth. On my thumb, my thumbprint. I hold my hand up and make the universal sign of nonthreatening peace. I roll my fingers up and make a fist. Power. Strength. The universe connected to my oily thumbprint.
What's the old saying about it's hard to make a fist when you're shaking someone's hand? If Iran wants to try three hikers as spies, then I can find ways to retaliate without bringing the news media into the picture. If you really want to trade the lives of three people for what I have to give you, then I won't stop you. But it's a path I don't want to take. Reality is only seven letters. The truth is whatever we want to write about. I want my easy-to-transport, cheap grapes from Chile available at the local market in winter for those on a limited budget. I don't care about nuclear capabilities in part of Persia because I trust that those I trust will take care of that responsibility well while recognizing the complexities of an ecumenopolis that treats all members of our species as members of our species.
If you teach hate or practice hatred you get what you want on a personal level you never imagined. I won't tolerate your homemade megalomania. I'm not after your family or your colleagues. They have their own chance for species' preservation talk/response. One person suggested we take all those who teach hate, give them lobotomies and put them on display like the old days of empires that put their enemies' head on pikes. I'm not an eye-for-an-eye practitioner. I'm willing to see you change your ways toward getting us to other planets and galaxies as good citizens of the universe.
My goal is not specific to one subculture. My goal is specific to our species. Our species is dependent on this planet. I'll tolerate a lot to see us see the same thing. But I'm not immortal. I'm impatient even though I know my goal is relatively eternal. I trust those who'll live after I'm gone to keep us moving on. I may not reach my goal in my lifetime but my goal is not my goal. It's really yours that I'm taking care of while I'm here.
A nuclear weapon is the result of concentrated juice in the form of engineering and science. We have tested nuclear weaponry and we have put nuclear weaponry to use in times of war. Nuclear power is a diplomatic tool used wisely. How many of us are wise enough to put the power of a nuclear bomb in our thumbprint? Answer: not a single one of us. We ALL own the nuclear weaponry of our species. The responsibility belongs to the person scraping a dry desert for seeds or water. The responsibility belongs to the leader loved by billions all over the world.
And then there's those persons or that group with hundreds of millions of dollars to spend on nuclear weaponry but no land-based political entity to hold them to responsibility or fear of reprisal. The barrier to market entry is a curious phenomenon. The "too big to fail" organizations want high artificial barriers to protect their turf. We've argued and made fun of the barrier to enter the nuclear arms race.
I'm not worried about weapons of mass destruction. We've had them in one form or another all our lives. Masses of archers and flamethrowers, to name a two. I concern myself with the trigger finger owner(s).
Do you know how to play golf? Do you know anyone who's hit a hole in one? Can you figure out the percentage of hooks and slices you've made versus perfect shots down the middle of the fairway? Can you now imagine every ball you hit was the intended aim of the diplomatic policy of owning a nuclear weapon arsenal? Increasing ground troop numbers because you can't just drop an H-bomb on Afghanistan and call it a day. Sacrificing three people because you don't want to use alleged spies as playing cards in the game of who gets to claim the status of a nuclear weapon class country. Willing to play along with North Korea because China's making more profits in the commercial world.
It's okay to lose sleep playing video games because someone else is losing sleep playing simultaneous games of Life, Monopoly, poker and chess, the special "football" and security codes nearby.
We're a young species only once. We have thousands of generations to go to grow up. Sure, we have one life to live on this planet, but when you look at what we've dug up and built out of the origins of our species and truly understand that your life only matters when your species does, your importance to yourself and others grows in leaps and bounds. I'm just beginning to understand and I'm amazed at the immense difference it's made in my life. My life in one hand, including aches and pains and mistakes and triumphs, the rearrangement of a piece of the universe. The rest of the universe in the other hand, with a universe-wide, nearly-infinite time of history to be seen. I'm glad to say I've been a part of it with you.
09 November 2009
Warm Weather Wren
Maple leaves the colour of bananas. A wren a few feet from my head building a nest in the garage. Tree limbs trimmed to a uniform height as if by deer.
Linear thinking. Imagining a product design while walking to the other side of the box, hidden in the box walls' shadows. Feature creep. Perfecting the design.
Sweeping the driveway of dry leaves, fingers of a hurricane not too far away. Not too far? As opposed to what? Compared to whom?
An unknown bird, like a large black swallow, a few trees away from a redheaded woodpecker. My version of twitter much more appealing - titmouse tweets.
Sitting in Big River last night, using a beer coaster to play with their logo - "Rib Giver, Grilling and Brewing Workers Since 1994" - Vanessa and her CV in play. Five years to settle a car smashup lawsuit. Had to repeat her ten-grand vacation (i.e., finishing her college degree in the second round). More of a college veteran than a college alumna. Decided life in the cubicle next to those having heart attacks was not the last view of life she wanted to have. I'm there with you, sister. You've got what it takes to see life outside the box. But more on that later...
Overheard conversations on the weekend:
Sentences outside of metronomic rhythms. Inside the box. Thinking... nonalliteratively. Iteratively.
We know the politics of dancing. We see the slate of our dance cards. We scan the dance floor for partners even if we don't dance. Chickadees and finches sharing the same trees. Us sharing the same roads.
Creative thinking is not thinking creatively. Discovering fire is not inventing the fireplace.
Leaves falling in bunches like bananas. Leaves the colour of...what? Not red. Not orange. Not peach. Not salmon. Not, not, not! The opposite of not what? Burnt orange? Close. Light rust? Maybe. A colour repeated over and over, fall to fall to fall.
How many times have I been "bitten" by a mosquito, tick or spider and turned into an agar-filled petri dish for bloody parasites?
How many times have I seen the solution to one problem while contemplating a problem somewhere else? Why do people not write poems and odes to poison ivy leaves in fall?
Business consultants should work, at least partly, on commission, their "guaranteed solutions" dependent on their customers' success. Politicians should not be financially rewarded for seeking or achieving election, their income dependent on society's success, success a matter of public whim.
The sound of squirrels chasing each other through the leaves. The click of a mimosa leaf falling apart when it hits the ground. My belly sticking out from typing too much and not exercising enough.
Holding a chunk of agate and seeing the volcanic history of our land. Knowing at once what you see through your eyes as I see what you see with my thoughts. History is not the formation and the reformation of political entities. History is outside our time. Being a millionaire or billionaire (by dollar standards) is nothing. Being a potentate or president is temporary and forgotten in another era. Knowing, in full conscious action, that what you do is all you've got, robber baron, monopoly winner or factory worker.
A chipmunk at my feet, being chased by another. More unknown birds migrating nearby. If you aren't successful right now in this very moment, you're never successful, no matter what you say or what or who you say you own.
Vanessa got my business attention because she sees life with no box. She is alive in the moment. She sells without selling because she gives without receiving and gets back more than she can repay. A provincial life is providential when one moves in deliberate steps unknowingly. Monica taught me that. Ann-Marie is reteaching me. Babli is teaching me anew. Julia and Jennifer use poetry and thankfulness to express the same thought. JJ keeps my moral compass pointed at a right angle because solutions are rarely straight ahead.
What is the wasp digging into the leaves beside me for?
I just gave you the solution to a problem. It's not a riddle. There's no rhyme or reason. You hold it in your hand when you hold out your palm. The squirrel and the chipmunk and the wasp and woodpecker already know what's going on.
We want the housecat to think inside the box within the box. How many of us are housecats thinking we're mustangs? A maverick with a saddle or tethered to a carriage? How many of us are headed to the glue factory before we ever started our lives?
We don't live in a box. We live on the outside of a teetering sphere. Teetotaling and totaling tees. I'm successful because of you. I'm successful in this moment because we can think outside of the realm of influence that ties us down. Providing solutions rather than adding to problems.
Of course, we do whatever we want to do, comfort zone or demilitarised zone. Freedom is what the moment is all about. Freedom to be and free to be with others as we please. I freely choose to spend my free time with you. Wanna be free with me? You already are. You're you. See you when you see me.
Linear thinking. Imagining a product design while walking to the other side of the box, hidden in the box walls' shadows. Feature creep. Perfecting the design.
Sweeping the driveway of dry leaves, fingers of a hurricane not too far away. Not too far? As opposed to what? Compared to whom?
An unknown bird, like a large black swallow, a few trees away from a redheaded woodpecker. My version of twitter much more appealing - titmouse tweets.
Sitting in Big River last night, using a beer coaster to play with their logo - "Rib Giver, Grilling and Brewing Workers Since 1994" - Vanessa and her CV in play. Five years to settle a car smashup lawsuit. Had to repeat her ten-grand vacation (i.e., finishing her college degree in the second round). More of a college veteran than a college alumna. Decided life in the cubicle next to those having heart attacks was not the last view of life she wanted to have. I'm there with you, sister. You've got what it takes to see life outside the box. But more on that later...
Overheard conversations on the weekend:
- A group of folks faking a conversation about who had spent more time in jail
- A young woman deciding to completely change her MySpace page
- A young man who eats Krispy Kreme doughnuts in two big bites
- A homeless man bumming money from bar patrons in order to buy a beer but refused service because of his patron-bugging habits
- A set of Firestones and nice rims in hell instead of hellfire and brimstone - a comic street preacher
Sentences outside of metronomic rhythms. Inside the box. Thinking... nonalliteratively. Iteratively.
We know the politics of dancing. We see the slate of our dance cards. We scan the dance floor for partners even if we don't dance. Chickadees and finches sharing the same trees. Us sharing the same roads.
Creative thinking is not thinking creatively. Discovering fire is not inventing the fireplace.
Leaves falling in bunches like bananas. Leaves the colour of...what? Not red. Not orange. Not peach. Not salmon. Not, not, not! The opposite of not what? Burnt orange? Close. Light rust? Maybe. A colour repeated over and over, fall to fall to fall.
How many times have I been "bitten" by a mosquito, tick or spider and turned into an agar-filled petri dish for bloody parasites?
How many times have I seen the solution to one problem while contemplating a problem somewhere else? Why do people not write poems and odes to poison ivy leaves in fall?
Business consultants should work, at least partly, on commission, their "guaranteed solutions" dependent on their customers' success. Politicians should not be financially rewarded for seeking or achieving election, their income dependent on society's success, success a matter of public whim.
The sound of squirrels chasing each other through the leaves. The click of a mimosa leaf falling apart when it hits the ground. My belly sticking out from typing too much and not exercising enough.
Holding a chunk of agate and seeing the volcanic history of our land. Knowing at once what you see through your eyes as I see what you see with my thoughts. History is not the formation and the reformation of political entities. History is outside our time. Being a millionaire or billionaire (by dollar standards) is nothing. Being a potentate or president is temporary and forgotten in another era. Knowing, in full conscious action, that what you do is all you've got, robber baron, monopoly winner or factory worker.
A chipmunk at my feet, being chased by another. More unknown birds migrating nearby. If you aren't successful right now in this very moment, you're never successful, no matter what you say or what or who you say you own.
Vanessa got my business attention because she sees life with no box. She is alive in the moment. She sells without selling because she gives without receiving and gets back more than she can repay. A provincial life is providential when one moves in deliberate steps unknowingly. Monica taught me that. Ann-Marie is reteaching me. Babli is teaching me anew. Julia and Jennifer use poetry and thankfulness to express the same thought. JJ keeps my moral compass pointed at a right angle because solutions are rarely straight ahead.
What is the wasp digging into the leaves beside me for?
I just gave you the solution to a problem. It's not a riddle. There's no rhyme or reason. You hold it in your hand when you hold out your palm. The squirrel and the chipmunk and the wasp and woodpecker already know what's going on.
We want the housecat to think inside the box within the box. How many of us are housecats thinking we're mustangs? A maverick with a saddle or tethered to a carriage? How many of us are headed to the glue factory before we ever started our lives?
We don't live in a box. We live on the outside of a teetering sphere. Teetotaling and totaling tees. I'm successful because of you. I'm successful in this moment because we can think outside of the realm of influence that ties us down. Providing solutions rather than adding to problems.
Of course, we do whatever we want to do, comfort zone or demilitarised zone. Freedom is what the moment is all about. Freedom to be and free to be with others as we please. I freely choose to spend my free time with you. Wanna be free with me? You already are. You're you. See you when you see me.
08 November 2009
Ceremonial Ceramic
Sitting on the concrete futon. Watching accelerators. Feeling the crowd. Back in my hometown, cigars and cigarettes, trucks and SUVs, racecars and teenage drivers.
There's much to be said about not saying much. Avoiding versions of "to be." Asking what got me here and made me me. Who made me? Who's been made?
Hot dogs and hamburgers. Stadium seats and caramel-coloured sodas. 3/8ths of a mile in 15 seconds or so, around and around, bumping and scraping, pushing and smashing. Yellow light. Caution. Restarts and passes.
I was born not far from the smell of accelerant. Intoxicating. Invigorating. Inhabiting my bones. My DNA an engine for engines.
Joyce's "Dubliners" and Agee's scruffy little city. Me and the Model City. Infinitely shaken and shook, chasing the tail of Moebius, that side of Reedy Creek, men and women and their flying machines storming barns and looping reservoirs, flights by the pound long before Pal's made people LEAN in their business machinations.
Faces covered with soot and rubber marbles. Seven years of silence giving us the itch. Vines and bird droppings. Parking spaces and spaces for parking.
Two spots, two arenas. Local and international. FBS winners and UARA stars. Up in smoke and up in the air.
Fly from one to the other, one a parade of cars, another a band on parade T-ing up for the team, topping the rocky start for the season with a tiger-whipping.
J.C. (no, not that one), nearly perfect, whose mother thinks he IS a saint, hitting on all cylinders, like they say (but not like Larry's son setting records in the other K-town), putting up numbers that'll soon have agents calling secretly and offering their services. Stack the line and the missives and missiles permissively fly.
G.J. and other scout hunters grab the fruit flies, turf-tapping their way 'round the West-pressed bodies in disarray.
All's quiet on the front. A far-off refrain of "Mr.Grinch" frets the frets, $200 big ones riding hopes of fading, flickering images on the wall, grainy, grim tidings of humming bugs past Stewart's patrician, Shakespearean, Dickensian tale, or Scott's Georgian performance a farthing too pinched.
How do you stop protests? You feed the hungry. No, take that back. You stuff their mouths until their plump pusses purr with content of feline ferocity. Catnip and scratching posts and balls of yarn to keep them occupied, while you stuff your pockets with their debtors' credit card interest rates. Get them all in houses with mortgages not too heavy to break their backs but heavy enough to strap them to job-seeking occupations for office occupiers, manufacturing offshored and labored laws loosely-fitting the clothesmaking clothesless. Equalising capitalism for the masses. Those who hold a bag of coins in their hands rarely hold protest signs.
Don't ask for much and you don't get mulch. Words are not ovens and text not a scythe.
Joke about dying and die about joking. Laugh at prosperity and prosper at posterity. Give away all you've got so you can give away more. The more you give, the more you receive. The more you live in the moment, the more the moment lives in you.
The race to the moon is on but the Moon's not racing to you. In the meantime, plenty of races hold my attention while I hold yours - racecars and football and basketball - on track for winners all around. All aboard!
There's much to be said about not saying much. Avoiding versions of "to be." Asking what got me here and made me me. Who made me? Who's been made?
Hot dogs and hamburgers. Stadium seats and caramel-coloured sodas. 3/8ths of a mile in 15 seconds or so, around and around, bumping and scraping, pushing and smashing. Yellow light. Caution. Restarts and passes.
I was born not far from the smell of accelerant. Intoxicating. Invigorating. Inhabiting my bones. My DNA an engine for engines.
Joyce's "Dubliners" and Agee's scruffy little city. Me and the Model City. Infinitely shaken and shook, chasing the tail of Moebius, that side of Reedy Creek, men and women and their flying machines storming barns and looping reservoirs, flights by the pound long before Pal's made people LEAN in their business machinations.
Faces covered with soot and rubber marbles. Seven years of silence giving us the itch. Vines and bird droppings. Parking spaces and spaces for parking.
Two spots, two arenas. Local and international. FBS winners and UARA stars. Up in smoke and up in the air.
Fly from one to the other, one a parade of cars, another a band on parade T-ing up for the team, topping the rocky start for the season with a tiger-whipping.
J.C. (no, not that one), nearly perfect, whose mother thinks he IS a saint, hitting on all cylinders, like they say (but not like Larry's son setting records in the other K-town), putting up numbers that'll soon have agents calling secretly and offering their services. Stack the line and the missives and missiles permissively fly.
G.J. and other scout hunters grab the fruit flies, turf-tapping their way 'round the West-pressed bodies in disarray.
All's quiet on the front. A far-off refrain of "Mr.Grinch" frets the frets, $200 big ones riding hopes of fading, flickering images on the wall, grainy, grim tidings of humming bugs past Stewart's patrician, Shakespearean, Dickensian tale, or Scott's Georgian performance a farthing too pinched.
How do you stop protests? You feed the hungry. No, take that back. You stuff their mouths until their plump pusses purr with content of feline ferocity. Catnip and scratching posts and balls of yarn to keep them occupied, while you stuff your pockets with their debtors' credit card interest rates. Get them all in houses with mortgages not too heavy to break their backs but heavy enough to strap them to job-seeking occupations for office occupiers, manufacturing offshored and labored laws loosely-fitting the clothesmaking clothesless. Equalising capitalism for the masses. Those who hold a bag of coins in their hands rarely hold protest signs.
Don't ask for much and you don't get mulch. Words are not ovens and text not a scythe.
Joke about dying and die about joking. Laugh at prosperity and prosper at posterity. Give away all you've got so you can give away more. The more you give, the more you receive. The more you live in the moment, the more the moment lives in you.
The race to the moon is on but the Moon's not racing to you. In the meantime, plenty of races hold my attention while I hold yours - racecars and football and basketball - on track for winners all around. All aboard!
06 November 2009
C'est, what have you heard?
Mais oui. Mais non. Je ne sais pas.
I've been reading a text by Victor Hugo, the account, fictionalised, of the events of the period after the French Revolution. Names, names, and mo' names.
A simple account with many ledger entries. Guillotin and Robespierre closer friends than one would have imagined. Marat. Many others. Louis XVI a head of his time.
When one has given one's life, one has no debt to pay. Others may rummage through one's chest for more, or pull pages from one's family tree. Pourquoi? Or a pourquoi story?
Emptiness. Empty nest. Elliott Ness. Just a pile of sounds. Maintenant. Maintenance. Not even close. Paris and Moscow on better terms than Estonia and Leningrad?
You can't tell the people that their rising unemployment is part of the numbers racket called economic cycles. They can't buy theories when they want gas for their guzzler to go buy bread with their bread. If you rob Peter to pay Paul, Mary won't be around to sing harmony.
But these are superficial observations. I'm looking at what you're not. I'm seeing what I can't hear.
Sashimi at noon? Maybe later, the sushi orders backing up. Mo' tea. I'm floating. While my miso so settling, I talk to a pardner about rustling up some business on the range.
I see Putin hold a tank of natural gas in his hand and ask what can I do to help get that on a tanker truck or shooting down a pipe when really I need to ask what's the alternative. Sleight of hand. Look at a data center and see an orange grove in Brasil. Look at an asphalt paving crew and see a sewing factory in Malaysia. Je m'appelle Rick. Et vous?
The desert, an island and a deck of cards. Eurovision. A watch. A ceramic cup.
My goal is getting people on board an orbiting hotel. Their goal is getting tickets for a revolution.
I write because I have words that sprout from the end of my fingers. I make no cents so I make no sense. I value Babli even though I don't know if she's real. We take the virtual for granite and don't have our marbles.
Blow sand in people's eyes and see what they do. Put up a smoke screen and watch from around the screen door. There's where you find what you ought to do with what they automatically do first.
I'm just an observer, giving words a thrill ride for the sake of the species I call our own. I detour off the bypass to find the entrance to the exit for the shortcut. Then, the destination is behind me and I know where I'm going. It's what the Book of the Future told me to do yesterday when I was still looking for tomorrow. Every moment is the history of the past and the future. Only when you live only in the moment will you only know only. Be providential. Be colloquial. Be wrong. Be right.
Scatter, collect and then read the I Ching. You are the fable of you. You are the untruth, the fib, the lie of what you were. We live in the moment. There is no past. There is no future. There is what we do. I am doing this right now but not what I did a sentence ago.
I enjoy being here because I believe I am the only one writing this although facts to the contrary tell me otherwise in the past. Right now, I am the only one reading this. Is there a line that separates my writing this from my reading this in the moment? Where in my thoughts does the writing take place? Where in my time does the reading take place?
Why do I write a lot of nonsense when there's work to be done to move our species to the next moment? I write nonsense to scatter the wind, to tear down the walls of previously painted moments, to shred the fabric of time which does not exist. Then, I live in the moment.
Therefore, my moments are tearing down the past and building up the future and living as if the moment is all I have. I am not who I was so I don't need to feed the thoughts of a previous self or selves or ancestors or descendants or debts/credits on a ledger. This moment is all I've got. And now this next moment is all I've got. We see moments like "Memento" or other savage chicken jokes and almost see what we're supposed to not see that we're looking at. I almost get what I'm saying but the blinders haven't completely fallen off and I'm still chomping at the bit.
I am the only one who has to get me and live in my moment. I live in our moment so I'm trying to get you while I live with the rest of us for our species. Escher and Marquez, Suzuki and Porsche. Sentimental sentiment sentimentality sediment. Stretch your thoughts and Silly Putty laughs back.
When I can write sonic nonsense in more than a dozen languages that uses phonics and memes and inside jokes that read backwards and forwards and sideways and all about, I will have found the person I'm looking into the past at my mirror image for. And then our species will be the Book of the Future's Book of the Future in the moment. Humour is serious business. That's what I just figured out. And now I'm in the next moment, free of the past.
I've been reading a text by Victor Hugo, the account, fictionalised, of the events of the period after the French Revolution. Names, names, and mo' names.
A simple account with many ledger entries. Guillotin and Robespierre closer friends than one would have imagined. Marat. Many others. Louis XVI a head of his time.
When one has given one's life, one has no debt to pay. Others may rummage through one's chest for more, or pull pages from one's family tree. Pourquoi? Or a pourquoi story?
Emptiness. Empty nest. Elliott Ness. Just a pile of sounds. Maintenant. Maintenance. Not even close. Paris and Moscow on better terms than Estonia and Leningrad?
You can't tell the people that their rising unemployment is part of the numbers racket called economic cycles. They can't buy theories when they want gas for their guzzler to go buy bread with their bread. If you rob Peter to pay Paul, Mary won't be around to sing harmony.
But these are superficial observations. I'm looking at what you're not. I'm seeing what I can't hear.
Sashimi at noon? Maybe later, the sushi orders backing up. Mo' tea. I'm floating. While my miso so settling, I talk to a pardner about rustling up some business on the range.
I see Putin hold a tank of natural gas in his hand and ask what can I do to help get that on a tanker truck or shooting down a pipe when really I need to ask what's the alternative. Sleight of hand. Look at a data center and see an orange grove in Brasil. Look at an asphalt paving crew and see a sewing factory in Malaysia. Je m'appelle Rick. Et vous?
The desert, an island and a deck of cards. Eurovision. A watch. A ceramic cup.
My goal is getting people on board an orbiting hotel. Their goal is getting tickets for a revolution.
I write because I have words that sprout from the end of my fingers. I make no cents so I make no sense. I value Babli even though I don't know if she's real. We take the virtual for granite and don't have our marbles.
Blow sand in people's eyes and see what they do. Put up a smoke screen and watch from around the screen door. There's where you find what you ought to do with what they automatically do first.
I'm just an observer, giving words a thrill ride for the sake of the species I call our own. I detour off the bypass to find the entrance to the exit for the shortcut. Then, the destination is behind me and I know where I'm going. It's what the Book of the Future told me to do yesterday when I was still looking for tomorrow. Every moment is the history of the past and the future. Only when you live only in the moment will you only know only. Be providential. Be colloquial. Be wrong. Be right.
Scatter, collect and then read the I Ching. You are the fable of you. You are the untruth, the fib, the lie of what you were. We live in the moment. There is no past. There is no future. There is what we do. I am doing this right now but not what I did a sentence ago.
I enjoy being here because I believe I am the only one writing this although facts to the contrary tell me otherwise in the past. Right now, I am the only one reading this. Is there a line that separates my writing this from my reading this in the moment? Where in my thoughts does the writing take place? Where in my time does the reading take place?
Why do I write a lot of nonsense when there's work to be done to move our species to the next moment? I write nonsense to scatter the wind, to tear down the walls of previously painted moments, to shred the fabric of time which does not exist. Then, I live in the moment.
Therefore, my moments are tearing down the past and building up the future and living as if the moment is all I have. I am not who I was so I don't need to feed the thoughts of a previous self or selves or ancestors or descendants or debts/credits on a ledger. This moment is all I've got. And now this next moment is all I've got. We see moments like "Memento" or other savage chicken jokes and almost see what we're supposed to not see that we're looking at. I almost get what I'm saying but the blinders haven't completely fallen off and I'm still chomping at the bit.
I am the only one who has to get me and live in my moment. I live in our moment so I'm trying to get you while I live with the rest of us for our species. Escher and Marquez, Suzuki and Porsche. Sentimental sentiment sentimentality sediment. Stretch your thoughts and Silly Putty laughs back.
When I can write sonic nonsense in more than a dozen languages that uses phonics and memes and inside jokes that read backwards and forwards and sideways and all about, I will have found the person I'm looking into the past at my mirror image for. And then our species will be the Book of the Future's Book of the Future in the moment. Humour is serious business. That's what I just figured out. And now I'm in the next moment, free of the past.
05 November 2009
Inspiro and Furry Lease
How do you get from hear to they're? Do you synonymise your weigh around? Maybe your antonym, your mother's sister, has an answer, two?
I have used a variety of keyboards to make myself heard. 88 ivory keys. Three-octave plastic keys. Matias half-keyboard. The basic rows of QWERTY chicklets. Do you find yourself drawn to a particular type? Have you fallen in love with your thumbing so much that you bought a thumbing keyboard for your PC or laptop?
I don't think outside the box. I riff on the tissue box called my head. The landscape thinks for me and I write down its rhythms. Spiro Agnew. Wynton Marsalis. Lorca. Mao. Paine. Nancy. Soros. Beethoven. L'il Abner. Little Orphan Annie. Oprah. McNamara. Drew.
The web of life has no filaments, no silk threads. Plants don't see the breeze that spreads their pollen.
What if the Pope and the Dalai Lama toured China together? What if Warren Buffett and Mahmoud Ahmadinejad toured Israel together?
The magnifying glass of these "modern" times focuses a beam of light on a dry leaf. I can't stay on one spot for too long or else the leaf will smolder and burn. The pages of history are tinder to the touch.
Language-specific jokes don't translate well. Thus, I wander in and out of these hieroglyph remnants, posing questions, posing and posturing. Suppose. Support hose.
Denying doesn't stop the past from existing. Recording doesn't stop the past from being distorted. Thus, I wander in and out of time, history no placeholder for this ambulatory book.
In business, I see connections in "Working Girl," WSJ, FT, Pollution Engineering, T. Ferriss, Atatürk, Tata, Slim, Dubai and Shanghai. Rely on devoted hobbyists to tell the true story. Not experts expert in retaining their titles, no matter who confers them.
The web between my thumb and forefinger. The web between my eyes and keyboard. The web blowing in the breeze, building vacuums under the eaves. Invisible. In plain sight.
We connect because we want to connect. We run into each other because we're running.
I don't buy because you sell. I try because I want to see what it does. Is what it does what it is? Is a working stiff stiff from working or dead on its feet? Will Marsalis premiere a piece like John Adams' Chamber Symphony or George Gershwin's Rhapsody In Blue? Will rail traffic transform because of Buffett's interest or will Buffett's fortunes change because of commercial transportation transformations?
I have a new box of pencils. Time to read more adventures in the Book of the Future!
I have used a variety of keyboards to make myself heard. 88 ivory keys. Three-octave plastic keys. Matias half-keyboard. The basic rows of QWERTY chicklets. Do you find yourself drawn to a particular type? Have you fallen in love with your thumbing so much that you bought a thumbing keyboard for your PC or laptop?
I don't think outside the box. I riff on the tissue box called my head. The landscape thinks for me and I write down its rhythms. Spiro Agnew. Wynton Marsalis. Lorca. Mao. Paine. Nancy. Soros. Beethoven. L'il Abner. Little Orphan Annie. Oprah. McNamara. Drew.
The web of life has no filaments, no silk threads. Plants don't see the breeze that spreads their pollen.
What if the Pope and the Dalai Lama toured China together? What if Warren Buffett and Mahmoud Ahmadinejad toured Israel together?
The magnifying glass of these "modern" times focuses a beam of light on a dry leaf. I can't stay on one spot for too long or else the leaf will smolder and burn. The pages of history are tinder to the touch.
Language-specific jokes don't translate well. Thus, I wander in and out of these hieroglyph remnants, posing questions, posing and posturing. Suppose. Support hose.
Denying doesn't stop the past from existing. Recording doesn't stop the past from being distorted. Thus, I wander in and out of time, history no placeholder for this ambulatory book.
In business, I see connections in "Working Girl," WSJ, FT, Pollution Engineering, T. Ferriss, Atatürk, Tata, Slim, Dubai and Shanghai. Rely on devoted hobbyists to tell the true story. Not experts expert in retaining their titles, no matter who confers them.
The web between my thumb and forefinger. The web between my eyes and keyboard. The web blowing in the breeze, building vacuums under the eaves. Invisible. In plain sight.
We connect because we want to connect. We run into each other because we're running.
I don't buy because you sell. I try because I want to see what it does. Is what it does what it is? Is a working stiff stiff from working or dead on its feet? Will Marsalis premiere a piece like John Adams' Chamber Symphony or George Gershwin's Rhapsody In Blue? Will rail traffic transform because of Buffett's interest or will Buffett's fortunes change because of commercial transportation transformations?
I have a new box of pencils. Time to read more adventures in the Book of the Future!
04 November 2009
Herniated Innards
"Pa, why come we ain't taking no visitors?"
"Son, we got here, didn't we?"
"Ma, what's Pa talking about?"
"Boy, you better not be sassing your Pa."
"No'm. I'm just mighty confused, that's all."
"Son, some things ain't meant for us to know. We got here and now we ain't taking no visitors on account of there ain't no visitors for us to take in."
"Pa, that make no sense. We seen plenty of folks on the way here."
"Brother, them folks was being et by feller eaters. Remember?"
"I know, but if there's some folks being eaten, there's plenty of folks like us who ain't. Right, Pa?"
"Mama, you got an answer for them boys? I's tired of talking."
"Boys, your Pa knows plenty of things. But some things ain't worth saying. We is here and that's what counts. Now I know you want to play and all but we's got to spend some time sorting through this mess we're all in."
"What mess is that, Ma?"
"Young man, I knows you is a smart boy. I have been learning you a long time on what I knows and you have outdone me plenty of times, from shooting to sewing. We ain't got the education of some of them others but you seen what that got most of them."
"What's that, Ma?"
"A session with them feller eaters. Learning is what turns your brain into a machine, just like our wagon. Only them well-learned machines forgets how to run regular-like. They spends too much time computing and not enough time doing. By the time they put they's wheels in motion, they done been et."
"Ma, I don't wanna be et by no feller eaters."
"Boy, it ain't going to happen when I'm around."
"'At's right, Mama. You boys is lucky I married your Ma. She's more learned than most folks who made fun of us on account of us not worrying about what words you supposed to say when. We put you boys first and foremost in our thoughts and that put food and clothing and learning on the top of our list."
"Your Pa is right. You is our moral compass and we is your moral compass."
"Ma, what is a moral compass?"
"It's one of them things that points you down the straight and narrow, son. You can see the whole wide world of things that you can and cannot do but the moral compass straightens out what you is supposed to do with who you is."
"Who I is?"
"'At's right, son."
"Who is I?"
"Well, son, you is who you is."
"I know that, Pa."
"And that's on account of us telling you."
"Yessir. I love you, Ma and Pa. And I love you, brother."
"We love you, too, son."
"But I still wants somebody else besides my brother to play with."
"Son, we caint hep you there. It's out of our hands."
"Is it in the hands of the moral compass what's going to point me to who's going to play with me?"
"Son, it sure is. That's why we don't know."
"So if I have this moral compass up here in my head, then I knows what I's supposed to do."
"'At's right, son."
"In that case, I's going to go out and find us some new friends to play with. I knows how to handle them feller eaters and I knows how to avoid them."
"Well, son, we's opposed to your idea but we believe in you. If you's set on this, we'll support you."
"Brother, you stay here with Pa and Ma. Your moral compass ain't rightly formed yet."
"But, brother, who will I play with when you's gone?"
"Pa and Ma will give you more regular learning like they did me."
"If you say so, brother."
"Young man, we is proud of you. We ain't never told you but your moral compass has been ready a long time. We hoped you'd stay with us here in Ma's old stomping grounds but we knows you knows when you's got to go."
"Yes'm. Well, I best be going while there's sun in the sky."
"Son, we have many things we ain't told you. You will see folks who don't know who or what you is. Remember, you is you. They don't know nothing about who you is. You stay who you are and you is going to be just fine."
"Yessir. Goodbye, Ma and Pa. Goodbye, brother."
"Goodbye, son."
"Goodbye, brother."
"Mama, is that the last we seen of our first son?"
"Ez, you know it ain't. We have the gift of sight."
"I know that, Mama. I just don't like what we see."
"Ez, it's our second son who we got to concentrate on now."
"Mama, it's our second son what's got me worried. He's got in him all of us combined."
"But, Ez, he don't know that yet and we caint tell him, neither."
"A shame, ain't it? All that knowledge of the world in his head and he don't know it yet."
"When he do, we'll be ready."
"Won't we ever?! And all this death and destruction on account of him?! Hoo boy, I never figured we'd be the ones who'd..."
"Shush up, Ez. The boy's not out of earshot."
"Yes'm. I's quiet as a honeybee, just buzzing in the midst of them pretty flowers of yours."
"You quit tickling me, Ez. The boy can see you."
"'Bout time that he did, Mama. He's gonna learn soon enough."
"Son, we got here, didn't we?"
"Ma, what's Pa talking about?"
"Boy, you better not be sassing your Pa."
"No'm. I'm just mighty confused, that's all."
"Son, some things ain't meant for us to know. We got here and now we ain't taking no visitors on account of there ain't no visitors for us to take in."
"Pa, that make no sense. We seen plenty of folks on the way here."
"Brother, them folks was being et by feller eaters. Remember?"
"I know, but if there's some folks being eaten, there's plenty of folks like us who ain't. Right, Pa?"
"Mama, you got an answer for them boys? I's tired of talking."
"Boys, your Pa knows plenty of things. But some things ain't worth saying. We is here and that's what counts. Now I know you want to play and all but we's got to spend some time sorting through this mess we're all in."
"What mess is that, Ma?"
"Young man, I knows you is a smart boy. I have been learning you a long time on what I knows and you have outdone me plenty of times, from shooting to sewing. We ain't got the education of some of them others but you seen what that got most of them."
"What's that, Ma?"
"A session with them feller eaters. Learning is what turns your brain into a machine, just like our wagon. Only them well-learned machines forgets how to run regular-like. They spends too much time computing and not enough time doing. By the time they put they's wheels in motion, they done been et."
"Ma, I don't wanna be et by no feller eaters."
"Boy, it ain't going to happen when I'm around."
"'At's right, Mama. You boys is lucky I married your Ma. She's more learned than most folks who made fun of us on account of us not worrying about what words you supposed to say when. We put you boys first and foremost in our thoughts and that put food and clothing and learning on the top of our list."
"Your Pa is right. You is our moral compass and we is your moral compass."
"Ma, what is a moral compass?"
"It's one of them things that points you down the straight and narrow, son. You can see the whole wide world of things that you can and cannot do but the moral compass straightens out what you is supposed to do with who you is."
"Who I is?"
"'At's right, son."
"Who is I?"
"Well, son, you is who you is."
"I know that, Pa."
"And that's on account of us telling you."
"Yessir. I love you, Ma and Pa. And I love you, brother."
"We love you, too, son."
"But I still wants somebody else besides my brother to play with."
"Son, we caint hep you there. It's out of our hands."
"Is it in the hands of the moral compass what's going to point me to who's going to play with me?"
"Son, it sure is. That's why we don't know."
"So if I have this moral compass up here in my head, then I knows what I's supposed to do."
"'At's right, son."
"In that case, I's going to go out and find us some new friends to play with. I knows how to handle them feller eaters and I knows how to avoid them."
"Well, son, we's opposed to your idea but we believe in you. If you's set on this, we'll support you."
"Brother, you stay here with Pa and Ma. Your moral compass ain't rightly formed yet."
"But, brother, who will I play with when you's gone?"
"Pa and Ma will give you more regular learning like they did me."
"If you say so, brother."
"Young man, we is proud of you. We ain't never told you but your moral compass has been ready a long time. We hoped you'd stay with us here in Ma's old stomping grounds but we knows you knows when you's got to go."
"Yes'm. Well, I best be going while there's sun in the sky."
"Son, we have many things we ain't told you. You will see folks who don't know who or what you is. Remember, you is you. They don't know nothing about who you is. You stay who you are and you is going to be just fine."
"Yessir. Goodbye, Ma and Pa. Goodbye, brother."
"Goodbye, son."
"Goodbye, brother."
"Mama, is that the last we seen of our first son?"
"Ez, you know it ain't. We have the gift of sight."
"I know that, Mama. I just don't like what we see."
"Ez, it's our second son who we got to concentrate on now."
"Mama, it's our second son what's got me worried. He's got in him all of us combined."
"But, Ez, he don't know that yet and we caint tell him, neither."
"A shame, ain't it? All that knowledge of the world in his head and he don't know it yet."
"When he do, we'll be ready."
"Won't we ever?! And all this death and destruction on account of him?! Hoo boy, I never figured we'd be the ones who'd..."
"Shush up, Ez. The boy's not out of earshot."
"Yes'm. I's quiet as a honeybee, just buzzing in the midst of them pretty flowers of yours."
"You quit tickling me, Ez. The boy can see you."
"'Bout time that he did, Mama. He's gonna learn soon enough."
Do or Do Not
The... There it is again. That word. Starting a new sentence. Nebulae and dark matter surrounding us and stuck on one word. A rift in an African continent, a million years away from forming a new sea, and one word blocks progress.
The...
Usual start. Breath exhaled. Word typed. Oxygen and nerve impulses putting thoughts in motion.
The...
Like a tired stutter, repeating a sound that skips and falls back on itself.
The...
One more time, hoping another start will jump off a curb, join racing bodies charging toward any finish line.
The...
Not again! Again, why? More to this than meets the eye. Would a handwritten note flow more freely?
The...
Sigh...slow down. Take a step back. Set hands on armrest and relax. Meditation and inspiration will provide another word.
The glance from a buffet line, a look of expectation, a moment of searching, hoping, seeking, waiting, nodding, smiling. Is he/she the one? Two sets of eyes, colour unimportant from a distance, facial expression and body posture the thing. One sitting and one standing. Chopsticks in one hand and plate in another. Thought bubbles floating to the ceiling. Food labels signposts for keeping one in line.
The story. Forgetfulness. Conversations off track nearby. Confusing one type of hernia for another. BIST versus POST versus software versus hardware versus who determines its specs and when will they get written, how versus what.
Another look. Another millisecond wondering. Which one? Is there one here? Who wrote what when and how come?
Post-haste. Pre-haste. Verb. Noun. Adjective. Consult Emily Brewster, lexicographer and bar owner, co-. Consult Emily Post. Heloise's hints. Abby's descendant. John Qwerty...strike that, John Dvorak. Not sure Bill France can still get it done.
Reach inside, pull out a thumb with a plum eating a blackbird eating crow with its foot in its mouth.
Happiness is having it all and knowing you can get more. Another railroad, boardwalk or park place, letting others worry about jail or passing Go. Playing Go, if need be. Mahjong or jai alai, depending on your stance. Happiness is your infrastructure. Electric two-seater or jetset timezone jumper.
The... I said the once, where are thee now? The. Thee. These. Same word. Same thought. Deer versus deer. Wordplay. Taking a break. Looking around. Rolling thoughts like baoding iron spheres, a jingle and a jangle, a bangle and the...
Hands clasped in meditative prayer, absent of idols and symbols. When you're there, you know you are. When you aren't, you don't. Do or do not. The moment's all we've got. The moment is all. We have got the...? These words are neither symbols nor idols.
I found one moment in Cat's Lowe Mill. Another in Soos' nature center. In the words of Ann Marie's writing in 1979. The latest in Babli's poetry. Yin and yang. Gender balance. Prakriti and Purusha. Neutrality and happiness through the view of both. From that symmetry, I find the next step to take in the world of commerce. Humour in a subtle key, syncopated and written in bars. Tune in and listen. David C. may be playing your song or John A. turning it into a show tune. We are who we are and what we do. Those who don't, aren't.
The...
Usual start. Breath exhaled. Word typed. Oxygen and nerve impulses putting thoughts in motion.
The...
Like a tired stutter, repeating a sound that skips and falls back on itself.
The...
One more time, hoping another start will jump off a curb, join racing bodies charging toward any finish line.
The...
Not again! Again, why? More to this than meets the eye. Would a handwritten note flow more freely?
The...
Sigh...slow down. Take a step back. Set hands on armrest and relax. Meditation and inspiration will provide another word.
The glance from a buffet line, a look of expectation, a moment of searching, hoping, seeking, waiting, nodding, smiling. Is he/she the one? Two sets of eyes, colour unimportant from a distance, facial expression and body posture the thing. One sitting and one standing. Chopsticks in one hand and plate in another. Thought bubbles floating to the ceiling. Food labels signposts for keeping one in line.
The story. Forgetfulness. Conversations off track nearby. Confusing one type of hernia for another. BIST versus POST versus software versus hardware versus who determines its specs and when will they get written, how versus what.
Another look. Another millisecond wondering. Which one? Is there one here? Who wrote what when and how come?
Post-haste. Pre-haste. Verb. Noun. Adjective. Consult Emily Brewster, lexicographer and bar owner, co-. Consult Emily Post. Heloise's hints. Abby's descendant. John Qwerty...strike that, John Dvorak. Not sure Bill France can still get it done.
Reach inside, pull out a thumb with a plum eating a blackbird eating crow with its foot in its mouth.
Happiness is having it all and knowing you can get more. Another railroad, boardwalk or park place, letting others worry about jail or passing Go. Playing Go, if need be. Mahjong or jai alai, depending on your stance. Happiness is your infrastructure. Electric two-seater or jetset timezone jumper.
The... I said the once, where are thee now? The. Thee. These. Same word. Same thought. Deer versus deer. Wordplay. Taking a break. Looking around. Rolling thoughts like baoding iron spheres, a jingle and a jangle, a bangle and the...
Hands clasped in meditative prayer, absent of idols and symbols. When you're there, you know you are. When you aren't, you don't. Do or do not. The moment's all we've got. The moment is all. We have got the...? These words are neither symbols nor idols.
I found one moment in Cat's Lowe Mill. Another in Soos' nature center. In the words of Ann Marie's writing in 1979. The latest in Babli's poetry. Yin and yang. Gender balance. Prakriti and Purusha. Neutrality and happiness through the view of both. From that symmetry, I find the next step to take in the world of commerce. Humour in a subtle key, syncopated and written in bars. Tune in and listen. David C. may be playing your song or John A. turning it into a show tune. We are who we are and what we do. Those who don't, aren't.
Thirty Minutes
Have you ever watched a tree limb lose its weight in leaves, rising higher to the sky as winter approaches? Sunlight in the yard warms brighter than yesterday and brighter than a month ago, the canopy of summer leaves sewing fall quilts on the ground.
Why do I think of tulips at a time like this? Every step is like...?
Twenty-seven minutes to look out the window.
The initials HHI written by tree trunks and horizontal limbs.
Vehicles passing the house, the drivers in a hurry, their motivations left to my imagination.
A smiling face beside a credit card machine.
A, an article, like the, statements that more will follow. Le. El.
And...? Twenty-three minutes to look out the window.
Gender. Pollen. Bees. Seedpods. Ram's horns. Finch feathers.
Sixteen minutes to go.
Time dripping off the trees. Time in a passing wasp.
A moment measured by a digital clock, LED seven-segment displays wired for time. Hexadecimal not available, except through imaginary letters seen right-side up and upside-down.
Ten minutes and time to pack up this entry. Time to enjoy a few breaths of fresh air before the world of time takes over.
Time to join the imaginary lives of hurried drivers. Time to see the world behind the steering wheel of an automobile. It's time.
Why do I think of tulips at a time like this? Every step is like...?
Twenty-seven minutes to look out the window.
The initials HHI written by tree trunks and horizontal limbs.
Vehicles passing the house, the drivers in a hurry, their motivations left to my imagination.
A smiling face beside a credit card machine.
A, an article, like the, statements that more will follow. Le. El.
And...? Twenty-three minutes to look out the window.
Gender. Pollen. Bees. Seedpods. Ram's horns. Finch feathers.
Sixteen minutes to go.
Time dripping off the trees. Time in a passing wasp.
A moment measured by a digital clock, LED seven-segment displays wired for time. Hexadecimal not available, except through imaginary letters seen right-side up and upside-down.
Ten minutes and time to pack up this entry. Time to enjoy a few breaths of fresh air before the world of time takes over.
Time to join the imaginary lives of hurried drivers. Time to see the world behind the steering wheel of an automobile. It's time.
03 November 2009
C-ring
Freedom from the moment. The chemical smell of prêt-à -porter clothing. The slow crunch of plate tectonics. A friend's wishful kiss from 30 years ago. The kiss of a great-grandchild 30 years from now. Liver spots. Acne. Bald infant. Bald elder. The paunch of middle age. The pounce of an infant.
Love. Romance. A lingering look. A flirtatious glance. A flower petal. A secret note. A dance in moonlight. A sunlight stroll.
Fixing gutters. Inflating tyres. Reinstalling laptop software. Washing dirty clothes.
Everyday. Ordinary. Love hidden in the mundane. The ironed shirt. The polished minivan.
Exciting. Thrilling.
Burning. Passion.
Dinner for six. Party of one.
Brevity. Bravery. Bright. Brought. Breathless.
Soft. Velvet. Light touch.
The shape of a mouth by the turn of the teeth. Natural. Luminescent.
Serene. Quaint. Whispers.
A sentence of spaces. A plethora of periods.
Dot. Dot. Dot. Dote.
Zanzibar. Excalibur. Shangri La. Atlantis.
Insomnia. Ammonia. Onomatopoeia.
Those eyes. Those eyes. Those eyes. That smile. Those eyes.
Muscles. Tissue. Cells. The whole is more than the sum of the parts. That face. That look.
Your persona.
The equational linguistical equatorial linguiniful questionunfull believable. Sounds you hear.
One. Two. Two. One. One life. Two. Count. Days filled. Thoughts filled. Sepia toned. Dusty road. City. Country. Name a century. Set the mood. You and him. You and her. You and you. Her and him. You. Him. Her.
Waltz. Iambic pentameter. Carol of the Bells.
Flip-flop. OR. NOT. AND. Clock. UNIX epoch. Belle Époque.
And. Still. Only. Words.
Words are not the same as emotions. A wrinkle speaks louder than words.
Madame Curie. A. G. Bell. H. G. Wells. Chiang Kai-shek.
Can you remember your piano recital from fifth grade? Your best friend's favorite music at the time? Your favorite shirt? Your mother's favorite birthday present? Your father's shaving preference? The eye colour of the boy or girl who had a crush on you?
Do you see the future of transportation? Do you see the next stock you'll sell? The next deal you'll close? The average growth of your investment portfolio?
Do you preach what you practice? Do you sow what you reap? Do you take care of your combine? Do you safely store your seeds? Do you drink rice or eat it? Do you bake wheat or ferment it?
Do you count off for misspelled words or credit the student for creative sentence structure?
Do you swallow your food or take the bus? Do you find freedom from the moment?
Do you?
If a ring implies a circle, what is a C-ring?
An imagined, unfulfilled romance lasts longer than this poem. More elegant. More elastic. More elegiac. More mores. A perfect endless line drawn by a radius. A PNP transistor that never fails. Free of words. Free of the moment. Everlasting. Infinite.
Love. Romance. A lingering look. A flirtatious glance. A flower petal. A secret note. A dance in moonlight. A sunlight stroll.
Fixing gutters. Inflating tyres. Reinstalling laptop software. Washing dirty clothes.
Everyday. Ordinary. Love hidden in the mundane. The ironed shirt. The polished minivan.
Exciting. Thrilling.
Burning. Passion.
Dinner for six. Party of one.
Brevity. Bravery. Bright. Brought. Breathless.
Soft. Velvet. Light touch.
The shape of a mouth by the turn of the teeth. Natural. Luminescent.
Serene. Quaint. Whispers.
A sentence of spaces. A plethora of periods.
Dot. Dot. Dot. Dote.
Zanzibar. Excalibur. Shangri La. Atlantis.
Insomnia. Ammonia. Onomatopoeia.
Those eyes. Those eyes. Those eyes. That smile. Those eyes.
Muscles. Tissue. Cells. The whole is more than the sum of the parts. That face. That look.
Your persona.
The equational linguistical equatorial linguiniful questionunfull believable. Sounds you hear.
One. Two. Two. One. One life. Two. Count. Days filled. Thoughts filled. Sepia toned. Dusty road. City. Country. Name a century. Set the mood. You and him. You and her. You and you. Her and him. You. Him. Her.
Waltz. Iambic pentameter. Carol of the Bells.
Flip-flop. OR. NOT. AND. Clock. UNIX epoch. Belle Époque.
And. Still. Only. Words.
Words are not the same as emotions. A wrinkle speaks louder than words.
Madame Curie. A. G. Bell. H. G. Wells. Chiang Kai-shek.
Can you remember your piano recital from fifth grade? Your best friend's favorite music at the time? Your favorite shirt? Your mother's favorite birthday present? Your father's shaving preference? The eye colour of the boy or girl who had a crush on you?
Do you see the future of transportation? Do you see the next stock you'll sell? The next deal you'll close? The average growth of your investment portfolio?
Do you preach what you practice? Do you sow what you reap? Do you take care of your combine? Do you safely store your seeds? Do you drink rice or eat it? Do you bake wheat or ferment it?
Do you count off for misspelled words or credit the student for creative sentence structure?
Do you swallow your food or take the bus? Do you find freedom from the moment?
Do you?
If a ring implies a circle, what is a C-ring?
An imagined, unfulfilled romance lasts longer than this poem. More elegant. More elastic. More elegiac. More mores. A perfect endless line drawn by a radius. A PNP transistor that never fails. Free of words. Free of the moment. Everlasting. Infinite.
A Pause for Refreshment - Sain De La Peau
Have you ever held a catalpa leaf, a paulownia leaf and a redbud leaf in your hand? Have you ever watched a moving comet, asteroid or meteor in a telescope? Have you ever sat for a single day and watched the shadow of a sundial count the hours?
One student of mine told me his boss is paying him, since real work is limited right now, to help build a house for Habitat for Humanity, wanting to keep the work crew together and employed, their skills finely tuned to what the boss needs when the economy picks back up. Great news! Because of that, a friend of mine wants to employ those folks in house construction to do work around his house in recognition of another entrepreneur's actions to put people in the right place during an economic downturn.
Another student of mine has started her own company and should be overwhelmed by all that's going on in her life - selling her home, buying a new home, moving her house furnishings and her business, taking care of a grandchild and going to school - but she is happily tired. Her desire to run her own business drives her to joy.
Other students look forward to better employment days ahead. How do I inspire them to see they have the knowledge and skills to start their own businesses and be successful, even in these times? They can use many available laws and opportunities in the medical, education and government sectors at this very moment.
Is Ralph Hood the Flying Humourist still around? Folks like him have poked holes in my funny bone through the years. Just like ol' Jerry Clower and his tales of the Ledbetter family. Finding the universal in the local. Seemingly simple humour that makes you think and smile. Intellectual satire is not the only audible, suborbital oracle in town.
The tufted titmouse birds are upset with me today. They really expect me to go out and fill the feeders in the backyard. The woodpeckers had tapped their Morsel code to me earlier today. I still haven't gotten in my head that investment profits can be used for consumables. Instead, I find salary to buy my celery and tasty treats for pillorying aviary chatterboxes.
Smiles at lunch today on the faces of Tai Pan employees/owners. I feel like the whole world is smiling back. Smiles lead to conversation and laughter, new memories to talk about again next time. Circles and spirals. Fall leaves and meteorites. Woodpeckers instead of turkeys. Nature's tale, no storyline or punchline needed.
The older I get, more pieces of the blinders fall away from my eyes, revealing the world, the universe around me. Above. Behind. Below. Beside. The more I see and sense, the more I see and sense I am not separate from any of it. We all see and sense we are the same but somehow, for some reason, we tell ourselves and others we are separate.
I do not change the world solely by telling you we are the same. I change the world by treating myself and others the same, active in the social connections around us, honest in expressing my emotions and thoughts so we can see and hear we all have happiness, joys, fears and doubts we think are our own.
We can celebrate our heritage, our history, our past while others do the same and have love, happiness and fun for everyone to enjoy. Find the real reason to give special thanks for political and/or military victories and leave behind the momentary buildup of hatred of the enemy of the time. Will we rewrite history in the process? Absolutely. Is that a bad thing? No. Our ancestors are still our ancestors and worth remembering now and forever more, realising they were just like us, with emotions and thoughts that contradicted those of their neighbours but they loved their neighbours anyway. So can we.
Time to enjoy the outdoors free of this electronic tether for a while. Have a thoughtful day!
One student of mine told me his boss is paying him, since real work is limited right now, to help build a house for Habitat for Humanity, wanting to keep the work crew together and employed, their skills finely tuned to what the boss needs when the economy picks back up. Great news! Because of that, a friend of mine wants to employ those folks in house construction to do work around his house in recognition of another entrepreneur's actions to put people in the right place during an economic downturn.
Another student of mine has started her own company and should be overwhelmed by all that's going on in her life - selling her home, buying a new home, moving her house furnishings and her business, taking care of a grandchild and going to school - but she is happily tired. Her desire to run her own business drives her to joy.
Other students look forward to better employment days ahead. How do I inspire them to see they have the knowledge and skills to start their own businesses and be successful, even in these times? They can use many available laws and opportunities in the medical, education and government sectors at this very moment.
Is Ralph Hood the Flying Humourist still around? Folks like him have poked holes in my funny bone through the years. Just like ol' Jerry Clower and his tales of the Ledbetter family. Finding the universal in the local. Seemingly simple humour that makes you think and smile. Intellectual satire is not the only audible, suborbital oracle in town.
The tufted titmouse birds are upset with me today. They really expect me to go out and fill the feeders in the backyard. The woodpeckers had tapped their Morsel code to me earlier today. I still haven't gotten in my head that investment profits can be used for consumables. Instead, I find salary to buy my celery and tasty treats for pillorying aviary chatterboxes.
Smiles at lunch today on the faces of Tai Pan employees/owners. I feel like the whole world is smiling back. Smiles lead to conversation and laughter, new memories to talk about again next time. Circles and spirals. Fall leaves and meteorites. Woodpeckers instead of turkeys. Nature's tale, no storyline or punchline needed.
The older I get, more pieces of the blinders fall away from my eyes, revealing the world, the universe around me. Above. Behind. Below. Beside. The more I see and sense, the more I see and sense I am not separate from any of it. We all see and sense we are the same but somehow, for some reason, we tell ourselves and others we are separate.
I do not change the world solely by telling you we are the same. I change the world by treating myself and others the same, active in the social connections around us, honest in expressing my emotions and thoughts so we can see and hear we all have happiness, joys, fears and doubts we think are our own.
We can celebrate our heritage, our history, our past while others do the same and have love, happiness and fun for everyone to enjoy. Find the real reason to give special thanks for political and/or military victories and leave behind the momentary buildup of hatred of the enemy of the time. Will we rewrite history in the process? Absolutely. Is that a bad thing? No. Our ancestors are still our ancestors and worth remembering now and forever more, realising they were just like us, with emotions and thoughts that contradicted those of their neighbours but they loved their neighbours anyway. So can we.
Time to enjoy the outdoors free of this electronic tether for a while. Have a thoughtful day!
Melbourne Toast
Have you ever seen "The Dish"? The movie pokes fun at two societies engaged in the outer space business. I have met people from those Apollo-era days, humour a side effect, not a cause. I've worked with people Up Top and Down Under, almost moving to Melbourne for a sewer flow monitoring contract by ADS Environmental Services. Folks from the sticks outside Sydney traveled to the U.S. for training, marveling at the choices of salad dressing, like French, Italian, Russian; wondering about the types of animals the U.S. has, with Australia having its own share of unusual creatures, looking at a U.S. restaurant menu offering chicken fingers and Buffalo wings.
A friend of mine, Ganesh S., is a big fan of a U.S. university football team. He grew up in Mobile, Alabama, so some of you will know his team. If not, I'll tell you a quick story.
Ganesh and I were working in an office outside Seattle, Washington. My wife and I had bought Ganesh and his wife a collection of items covered with logos of his favorite college team that I brought with me to Seattle just for Ganesh. Another colleague, Ann P., stepped up and asked if this was more of the stuff from his Red Tide team.
Ganesh replied. "It is not the Red Tide. It is the Cr-r-rimson Tide. Red tide kills fish. Cr-r-rimson Tide wins football games."
We have laughed about that over and over. Ann is not a football fan. She has hiked many mountains, one of her favorites being Mt. Kilimanjaro while there was still ice on top, with 40 porters carrying gear and singing songs along the trail.
Of course, Ganesh's team is doing better than usual these days. Were it not for a big boy acting like a snow plough in winter pushing through a glacier, my team would have beaten Ganesh's over a week ago. We'll remedy that situation next year.
Meanwhile, a 15-year old ficus tree grows in our living room, a 1990s-era gift from a work colleague in Sydney, a thank you for the late-night technical support calls I gave, being half a world away and willing to give up some sleep to diagnose problems related to the software we designed in-house.
We forget how small this world is, I think. In my country, isolationists want to segregate people again. My wife and I ask where are the moderate integrationists like us going to go? We have conservative fiscal beliefs but progressive social beliefs, too. It's good to remember parts of the past and celebrate the good parts, as long as we remember how much history pastes over the bad parts. The last time I looked, the words united and union are inclusive, not restrictive. Sure, we can stretch the term "politically correct" to ludicrous lengths but there's value in rationally discussing fixes to any ridiculous looking solution.
Time to focus my thoughts on two startup companies, one with a product for sale and one with a product under development. A tale of two reciprocities. A place to employ those with talents but no income?
A nod to an Internet friend, Babli, who writes a blog from Australia. Your poetry is more than music to the ears, more like sweet curry to one's thoughts, the taste delightful and the after-taste insightful. I don't know everything about your life but friends like Ganesh, Rajen and Beena have shown me part of your world, both ancient and new.
A friend of mine, Ganesh S., is a big fan of a U.S. university football team. He grew up in Mobile, Alabama, so some of you will know his team. If not, I'll tell you a quick story.
Ganesh and I were working in an office outside Seattle, Washington. My wife and I had bought Ganesh and his wife a collection of items covered with logos of his favorite college team that I brought with me to Seattle just for Ganesh. Another colleague, Ann P., stepped up and asked if this was more of the stuff from his Red Tide team.
Ganesh replied. "It is not the Red Tide. It is the Cr-r-rimson Tide. Red tide kills fish. Cr-r-rimson Tide wins football games."
We have laughed about that over and over. Ann is not a football fan. She has hiked many mountains, one of her favorites being Mt. Kilimanjaro while there was still ice on top, with 40 porters carrying gear and singing songs along the trail.
Of course, Ganesh's team is doing better than usual these days. Were it not for a big boy acting like a snow plough in winter pushing through a glacier, my team would have beaten Ganesh's over a week ago. We'll remedy that situation next year.
Meanwhile, a 15-year old ficus tree grows in our living room, a 1990s-era gift from a work colleague in Sydney, a thank you for the late-night technical support calls I gave, being half a world away and willing to give up some sleep to diagnose problems related to the software we designed in-house.
We forget how small this world is, I think. In my country, isolationists want to segregate people again. My wife and I ask where are the moderate integrationists like us going to go? We have conservative fiscal beliefs but progressive social beliefs, too. It's good to remember parts of the past and celebrate the good parts, as long as we remember how much history pastes over the bad parts. The last time I looked, the words united and union are inclusive, not restrictive. Sure, we can stretch the term "politically correct" to ludicrous lengths but there's value in rationally discussing fixes to any ridiculous looking solution.
Time to focus my thoughts on two startup companies, one with a product for sale and one with a product under development. A tale of two reciprocities. A place to employ those with talents but no income?
A nod to an Internet friend, Babli, who writes a blog from Australia. Your poetry is more than music to the ears, more like sweet curry to one's thoughts, the taste delightful and the after-taste insightful. I don't know everything about your life but friends like Ganesh, Rajen and Beena have shown me part of your world, both ancient and new.
02 November 2009
...And You Know It, Clap Your Hands
A nod to Rachael for the big T-Day dinner offering. One meal's a fish. Let's hope someone sees your offering and can hand out a rod and reel or start a new fishing industry for a lifeline of meals.
Triangle
Yesterday, gulped down a pint of Shakespeare Stout at the bar in Aubrey's (thanks goes out to Lana, who looks like Lea Thompson from "Back To The Future"), joined me wife at the table and then spent the afternoon chatting with my wife, cousin and cousin's granddaughter* while eating lunch. During the conversation, we watched the Talledega NASCAR race and the Colts NFL win. Our server, Amy, filled our tea glasses - great dimply smile and blue eyes!
*My first cousin, second removed, showed me mobile phone pics of her fellow 12-year old friend's deer kills - a 10-pointer and a 7-point buck. She talked about being a member of the bass fishing club in seventh grade and her preparation for the SAT test because of her invitation from the Duke Talent Identification Program to take either the SAT or ACT early. She recited pi to 30 decimal places, despite her blonde hair.
Drove home with wife beside me, listening to Patricia Cornwell's "Book of the Dead" on audio CD. Ate dinner at Shoney's in the shadow of the Tennessee-Alabama fireworks megasign. Tammy, the server, very efficient. Talked with the manager afterward about the types of messes that customers leave in the bathroom - makes me question what's the definition of adult behaviour.
Someone asked me about my last blog entry and the types of behaviour I exhibit at ballgames. In other words, what's the definition of an angry fan?
Good question. An angry fan feels the hurt from the last loss, ready to gear up excitement and cheer for the team. An angry fan is a person who gets frustrated about bonehead plays. An angry fan is different than a rabid fanatic, who foams at the mouth and screams like a dying banshee, wanting to go down on the field and show the players what the burning desire to win means. An angry fan asks what the coaches were thinking calling a play that seemed so obvious to the other team and went nowhere. An angry fan high-fives all those in the vicinity when a play goes the way you want to see a play go - interception, fumble recovery, first down, long pass/run, touchdown and the elusive, nonblocked field goal. Most importantly, an angry fan remembers to kiss his spouse after every score by the favorite team - in that case, the angry fan becomes the happy enthusiast, despite clothes soaked by a steady, cold rain in the dark.
Like the guy beside me, another angry fan, said, you don't have to worry about making field goals if the team scores touchdowns. You can keep your frustration to a minimum if you're outscoring your opponents that way.
Anger on the field of play is easy because your opponent is standing in front of you wearing a uniform that is easy to distinguish from yours. You outcompete your opponent in every moment. In the stands, anger is usually directed at the field but when a nearby fan wears the opponent's colours, you lightheartedly outcompete the fan in shouting for your team. Some people get the humour in shouting funny comebacks. Some don't. Thank goodness, the kids below us and above us had fun in such a shouting contest Saturday night. They're regular angry fans, not drunk or belligerent like some we've encountered at opponents' venues I won't name here. An angry fan is not a hooligan. It's all right to be a hooligan with your pals but leave alone the fighting and weapons (sticks, cups, stadium seats) when having a go at others in the arena. The fight's on the field, not in the stands.
I'm an old fellow now but when I was young, back in the early 1980s, I hung out with some real punks. Shaved heads. I wore a big can opener as an earring. Skateboard to a dark alley - we carried brass knuckles, socks full of lead and rocks - have a fist fight, no guns or knives allowed (knives and guns were for sissies who didn't have the courage or charisma (machismo - nix the alliteration!) to face a mano e mano fight between two unpadded bodies). None of us were much into the university sports fan scene at the time, although we fought within blocks of the university's stadium. We were our own fight club (long before fight clubs were cool, maybe somewhere between Rumble Fish and Boys and the Hood), based loosely around rival punk rock bands. Groupies were the cheerleaders/fans. Shoving and punching each other.
In those days, my smiling face was disconcerting to my opponents. Why did I smile when they were grimacing? Why did I laugh when they landed a good punch? Why? Because I had played organized football as a younger kid and had taken hits a lot harder on the football field. I had run at my football opponents from 50 yards away and rammed into them at full speed. A fist fight in the alley was like powder puff football to me.
I'm not condoning my behaviour one way or the other, alleyway hooligan or hollering stadium fan. I'm just stating facts, describing what it was like to be an example of someone like me, at peace with the world because I'm alive every moment to enjoy whatever happens, happy, sad, good, bad, up, down, turned around.
In this economic downturn, when many people are unemployed and looking for workable solutions, anger can get out of hand. Perspective is difficult to change. I begin and end my moments feeling what it is like to be alive in the moment, happy to be aware of myself being aware in the moment, regardless of emotional state. I change as I get older, tolerating incompetence less and less, time becoming a longer measuring stick but also more precious as my time on Earth winds down (14795 days, plus or minus).
Yesterday, I enjoyed spending time with extended family, knowing that every one of us is important, no matter our age or station in life. Every person has a lesson to teach us and every moment is an opportunity to learn. One day, I hope to completely understand the idea that if to me, I feel I'm not important because everyone around me is more important than me, then everyone else feels the same way; therefore, we are more important than we can possibly know and should never take advantage of the key links of you/me/us that form the triangle of life.
Ever seen an ant bridge, bodies of ants holding each other up over a crevice so the rest of the ants can cross over and forage for the colony? Inherent trust in the strength of the whole. You may have that trust already. I have a mix of that trust and a bit of skepticism thrown in for double-checking purposes. It's not that I don't trust you. It's just that I don't know the person who trusts the person who trusts the person that you trust. We may have motivations at cross-purposes. Recently, right now, in the near future, I'm figuring out if I should just go with the trust and not worry about cross-purposes. From another galaxy, a few cross-purposes within one species seem irrelevant. Time will tell the teller.
*My first cousin, second removed, showed me mobile phone pics of her fellow 12-year old friend's deer kills - a 10-pointer and a 7-point buck. She talked about being a member of the bass fishing club in seventh grade and her preparation for the SAT test because of her invitation from the Duke Talent Identification Program to take either the SAT or ACT early. She recited pi to 30 decimal places, despite her blonde hair.
Drove home with wife beside me, listening to Patricia Cornwell's "Book of the Dead" on audio CD. Ate dinner at Shoney's in the shadow of the Tennessee-Alabama fireworks megasign. Tammy, the server, very efficient. Talked with the manager afterward about the types of messes that customers leave in the bathroom - makes me question what's the definition of adult behaviour.
Someone asked me about my last blog entry and the types of behaviour I exhibit at ballgames. In other words, what's the definition of an angry fan?
Good question. An angry fan feels the hurt from the last loss, ready to gear up excitement and cheer for the team. An angry fan is a person who gets frustrated about bonehead plays. An angry fan is different than a rabid fanatic, who foams at the mouth and screams like a dying banshee, wanting to go down on the field and show the players what the burning desire to win means. An angry fan asks what the coaches were thinking calling a play that seemed so obvious to the other team and went nowhere. An angry fan high-fives all those in the vicinity when a play goes the way you want to see a play go - interception, fumble recovery, first down, long pass/run, touchdown and the elusive, nonblocked field goal. Most importantly, an angry fan remembers to kiss his spouse after every score by the favorite team - in that case, the angry fan becomes the happy enthusiast, despite clothes soaked by a steady, cold rain in the dark.
Like the guy beside me, another angry fan, said, you don't have to worry about making field goals if the team scores touchdowns. You can keep your frustration to a minimum if you're outscoring your opponents that way.
Anger on the field of play is easy because your opponent is standing in front of you wearing a uniform that is easy to distinguish from yours. You outcompete your opponent in every moment. In the stands, anger is usually directed at the field but when a nearby fan wears the opponent's colours, you lightheartedly outcompete the fan in shouting for your team. Some people get the humour in shouting funny comebacks. Some don't. Thank goodness, the kids below us and above us had fun in such a shouting contest Saturday night. They're regular angry fans, not drunk or belligerent like some we've encountered at opponents' venues I won't name here. An angry fan is not a hooligan. It's all right to be a hooligan with your pals but leave alone the fighting and weapons (sticks, cups, stadium seats) when having a go at others in the arena. The fight's on the field, not in the stands.
I'm an old fellow now but when I was young, back in the early 1980s, I hung out with some real punks. Shaved heads. I wore a big can opener as an earring. Skateboard to a dark alley - we carried brass knuckles, socks full of lead and rocks - have a fist fight, no guns or knives allowed (knives and guns were for sissies who didn't have the courage or charisma (machismo - nix the alliteration!) to face a mano e mano fight between two unpadded bodies). None of us were much into the university sports fan scene at the time, although we fought within blocks of the university's stadium. We were our own fight club (long before fight clubs were cool, maybe somewhere between Rumble Fish and Boys and the Hood), based loosely around rival punk rock bands. Groupies were the cheerleaders/fans. Shoving and punching each other.
In those days, my smiling face was disconcerting to my opponents. Why did I smile when they were grimacing? Why did I laugh when they landed a good punch? Why? Because I had played organized football as a younger kid and had taken hits a lot harder on the football field. I had run at my football opponents from 50 yards away and rammed into them at full speed. A fist fight in the alley was like powder puff football to me.
I'm not condoning my behaviour one way or the other, alleyway hooligan or hollering stadium fan. I'm just stating facts, describing what it was like to be an example of someone like me, at peace with the world because I'm alive every moment to enjoy whatever happens, happy, sad, good, bad, up, down, turned around.
In this economic downturn, when many people are unemployed and looking for workable solutions, anger can get out of hand. Perspective is difficult to change. I begin and end my moments feeling what it is like to be alive in the moment, happy to be aware of myself being aware in the moment, regardless of emotional state. I change as I get older, tolerating incompetence less and less, time becoming a longer measuring stick but also more precious as my time on Earth winds down (14795 days, plus or minus).
Yesterday, I enjoyed spending time with extended family, knowing that every one of us is important, no matter our age or station in life. Every person has a lesson to teach us and every moment is an opportunity to learn. One day, I hope to completely understand the idea that if to me, I feel I'm not important because everyone around me is more important than me, then everyone else feels the same way; therefore, we are more important than we can possibly know and should never take advantage of the key links of you/me/us that form the triangle of life.
Ever seen an ant bridge, bodies of ants holding each other up over a crevice so the rest of the ants can cross over and forage for the colony? Inherent trust in the strength of the whole. You may have that trust already. I have a mix of that trust and a bit of skepticism thrown in for double-checking purposes. It's not that I don't trust you. It's just that I don't know the person who trusts the person who trusts the person that you trust. We may have motivations at cross-purposes. Recently, right now, in the near future, I'm figuring out if I should just go with the trust and not worry about cross-purposes. From another galaxy, a few cross-purposes within one species seem irrelevant. Time will tell the teller.
01 November 2009
Poor Agincourt
History repeats itself. We're revising the victory at Agincourt to reflect the more likely number of assailants. Pretty soon, we'll realize that rarely do the facts line up with the facts. All victories were strength and power over poor planning rather than the bravery of the few against the massive size of the complacent.
So that's the answer to all my problems? Gather an army of like-minded folks and take on the status quo? C'est vrai! Mais oui!
Yesterday, while munching on a salmon sandwich at the 50s diner in Lamar Alexander's hometown (our server, Ashley A, with eyes the colour of a full bottle of Lea&Perrins worcestershire sauce), where you're liable to seeing Scots fighting in the field on a fall day, I looked at the wall coverings. Old vehicle licence plates and other memorandumabilia. Thought about the song on the jukebox, "The Lion Sleeps Tonight."
Victory in the Lion's Den. A soft jazz quintet at the Donors' club BBQ luncheon. Cheerleaders with names like Bruce Pearl jazzing up the crowd. Rain, drizzle, rain, memories of Bill Murray in Caddyshack, "I believe the worst is over." When was the last time two fullbacks scored TDs in the General's house? High-fiving new fans around us during the 31-13 shellacking of the Evil Genius on the 31st.
And finally, hungry for more, we stopped at Shoney's midnight breakfast bar and enjoyed Kristen's hot chocolate, glad that she's been with the company for ten years, ever since she was 16, having enjoyed the days of an employee-owned franchise before selling out to the Nashville group, her loyalty higher than stock value, her dedication to us tired fans more than we can ask for, assisted by T. Boudre with the post-game rush of folks wanting some way to celebrate taking the Gamecocks down a notch.
The universe is bigger than I can imagine, my being able to write the word light-year but have no clue how many tanks of gas it takes to drive that distance, assuming an infinity of life to drive it. Thus, for me, Kiffin and his crew put life in perspective, sharing the ups and downs of a first year college-level football coach's career, proving that Agincourt was no fluke. It might not have been David and Goliath but it was a giant of a win, anyway. If we can conquer our fears, we can conquer the distance between here and wherever we want to go, spooky halftime Southland thriller shows, included.
Glad that Peyton, Dallas and Jeff can joke about their complete ignorance when it comes to Sunday football. Glad that fans of all makes and models can enjoy el fútbol americano / अमेरिकी फुटबॉल / 아메리칸 í’‹ë³¼ together, overlooking Shields-Watkins Field. I am always surprised by those who congregate for sports and glad to be surprised. Hope my new friends around me at the game didn't mind meeting the other side of me, who turns on his aggressive, angry fan mode for a few hours a week, now that I'm too old to body-slam opponents during industrial league football games, coed softball games, or church league volleyball games.
[No time for proofreading/editing this entry. 'Tis what what what iiit is. Real life interrupts with other plans.]
So that's the answer to all my problems? Gather an army of like-minded folks and take on the status quo? C'est vrai! Mais oui!
Yesterday, while munching on a salmon sandwich at the 50s diner in Lamar Alexander's hometown (our server, Ashley A, with eyes the colour of a full bottle of Lea&Perrins worcestershire sauce), where you're liable to seeing Scots fighting in the field on a fall day, I looked at the wall coverings. Old vehicle licence plates and other memorandumabilia. Thought about the song on the jukebox, "The Lion Sleeps Tonight."
Victory in the Lion's Den. A soft jazz quintet at the Donors' club BBQ luncheon. Cheerleaders with names like Bruce Pearl jazzing up the crowd. Rain, drizzle, rain, memories of Bill Murray in Caddyshack, "I believe the worst is over." When was the last time two fullbacks scored TDs in the General's house? High-fiving new fans around us during the 31-13 shellacking of the Evil Genius on the 31st.
And finally, hungry for more, we stopped at Shoney's midnight breakfast bar and enjoyed Kristen's hot chocolate, glad that she's been with the company for ten years, ever since she was 16, having enjoyed the days of an employee-owned franchise before selling out to the Nashville group, her loyalty higher than stock value, her dedication to us tired fans more than we can ask for, assisted by T. Boudre with the post-game rush of folks wanting some way to celebrate taking the Gamecocks down a notch.
The universe is bigger than I can imagine, my being able to write the word light-year but have no clue how many tanks of gas it takes to drive that distance, assuming an infinity of life to drive it. Thus, for me, Kiffin and his crew put life in perspective, sharing the ups and downs of a first year college-level football coach's career, proving that Agincourt was no fluke. It might not have been David and Goliath but it was a giant of a win, anyway. If we can conquer our fears, we can conquer the distance between here and wherever we want to go, spooky halftime Southland thriller shows, included.
Glad that Peyton, Dallas and Jeff can joke about their complete ignorance when it comes to Sunday football. Glad that fans of all makes and models can enjoy el fútbol americano / अमेरिकी फुटबॉल / 아메리칸 í’‹ë³¼ together, overlooking Shields-Watkins Field. I am always surprised by those who congregate for sports and glad to be surprised. Hope my new friends around me at the game didn't mind meeting the other side of me, who turns on his aggressive, angry fan mode for a few hours a week, now that I'm too old to body-slam opponents during industrial league football games, coed softball games, or church league volleyball games.
[No time for proofreading/editing this entry. 'Tis what what what iiit is. Real life interrupts with other plans.]
31 October 2009
When Latin Ruled The World
A blimp of a change, the inclusion of other language character sets for addresses/destinations in virtual space on electronic computing systems. Can you convert your keyboard quickly enough to jump between domains? Can you read what you're typing? Can we stay connected with one another despite language barriers?
I watched the blades of a ceiling fan for hours in the dark hours of the early morning, patterns emerging and disappearing, looking at tangents, seeing the near perfect circle drawn in the air, rapidly blinking my eyelids to see snapshots of the fan in motion. I heard the pattern, the pitter-patter, of words in my thoughts. I couldn't believe I used the phrase "inner being" in a recent blog post.
I got up and wrote in my pocket moleskine:
We separate ourselves into age categories for many reasons. Pediatrics. Geriatrics. However, learning is a lifelong process. Should we have mandatory mass education for people of a certain age anymore? Should we develop a new system of learning, where the student and the teacher are the same, on the job and in the classroom at the same time, solving problems and managing projects with others regardless of age?
Alternative education is a hot topic right now as many public schools face the issues of failing to provide sustainable skills to youth. As a person who grew up in the public school system, whose family was/is/will be intimately involved in the public education process, I wonder what increased value I would have received had society used a different model to turn me into a useful interdependent being.
I look at the teachers who meant the most to me and remember them for their encouragement to see life outside the textbook and classroom.
I look at the friends with whom I congregated and realize we tend to gather in herds of like personalities. The teachers/administrators/coaches who encouraged us to socialize outside our herds were the ones who impressed me most.
I recently decided to leave my role as an instructor in the adult education system as exemplified by the for-profit model I worked for because I believe that education is integral to the workplace. I always paid my employees to learn on the job, using cross-training to encourage my employees to learn what their coworkers were doing. People shouldn't pay to get an education. We should pay people to solve problems and guide them, education being part of the solution, not part of their problem repaying debt.
I ought to know. I learned just as much, if not more, spending time with my friends experimenting with breadboards and diodes and homemade power supplies in our basements and bedrooms than I did in formal education settings. I learned more about my physical capabilities playing street ball and backyard football than in little leagues. I was a Vikings, Dolphins, Redskins, Falcons, Cubs, Reds, Braves, Hawks and Volunteers fan long before I knew about dangling modifiers or differential equations. I read Mad magazine as much as I read classical literature. I fought with my friends and verbally sparred with adults.
I have more to think about this education situation as faced by developed nations and developing nations. I believe it's tied to healthcare. Essentially any universal service, those which we consider the rights of our species, should be integral to what we do everyday. Physical and mental training is who we are.
No solution is perfect. The solutions we have do good jobs. I know that business concepts like process improvement are no panacea but they provide examples with which to soak in a pot of spaghetti noodles, pull out and throw at the dartboard to see if they stick to the bullseye. Mixed metaphors are useful sometimes, too.
More as the film develops color distortions in the rusting canister. I want to stew on what matters to me most, building a team of people who thrive on constant learning, no matter what their innate capabilities may be. Nothing in life is guaranteed. I want people around me who want more than an insurance policy to protect them from catastrophe - I want people who find solutions to problems before they exist.
I watched the blades of a ceiling fan for hours in the dark hours of the early morning, patterns emerging and disappearing, looking at tangents, seeing the near perfect circle drawn in the air, rapidly blinking my eyelids to see snapshots of the fan in motion. I heard the pattern, the pitter-patter, of words in my thoughts. I couldn't believe I used the phrase "inner being" in a recent blog post.
I got up and wrote in my pocket moleskine:
What bothers me about the business of education, the business of healthcare, the business of business, for that matter, and our seeing life in terms of economic conditions like democratic capitalism or communist socialism (or is it socialist communism? I can never remember) is this:I happily stared at the ceiling fan thinking about this. I have thought about this issue for many years, especially as a person managing others in an office work environment or as a worker in the sewer business. As a person making lunch at Taco Bell, looking at the adults beside me and asking, "Is this what 12 years of public education gives back to society?"
Life is not working for a living. Life is getting paid to learn, to earn our way to self-actualisation, market viability of our inviolable right to live.
Are we looking at the wrong paradigm for educating ourselves? Should children be taught problem solving skills from the very beginning, encouraging them to seek out alphabets and number systems through cooperation with each other to figure out how to give/get food, clothing, shelter and other social goods/services?
We separate ourselves into age categories for many reasons. Pediatrics. Geriatrics. However, learning is a lifelong process. Should we have mandatory mass education for people of a certain age anymore? Should we develop a new system of learning, where the student and the teacher are the same, on the job and in the classroom at the same time, solving problems and managing projects with others regardless of age?
Alternative education is a hot topic right now as many public schools face the issues of failing to provide sustainable skills to youth. As a person who grew up in the public school system, whose family was/is/will be intimately involved in the public education process, I wonder what increased value I would have received had society used a different model to turn me into a useful interdependent being.
I look at the teachers who meant the most to me and remember them for their encouragement to see life outside the textbook and classroom.
I look at the friends with whom I congregated and realize we tend to gather in herds of like personalities. The teachers/administrators/coaches who encouraged us to socialize outside our herds were the ones who impressed me most.
I recently decided to leave my role as an instructor in the adult education system as exemplified by the for-profit model I worked for because I believe that education is integral to the workplace. I always paid my employees to learn on the job, using cross-training to encourage my employees to learn what their coworkers were doing. People shouldn't pay to get an education. We should pay people to solve problems and guide them, education being part of the solution, not part of their problem repaying debt.
I ought to know. I learned just as much, if not more, spending time with my friends experimenting with breadboards and diodes and homemade power supplies in our basements and bedrooms than I did in formal education settings. I learned more about my physical capabilities playing street ball and backyard football than in little leagues. I was a Vikings, Dolphins, Redskins, Falcons, Cubs, Reds, Braves, Hawks and Volunteers fan long before I knew about dangling modifiers or differential equations. I read Mad magazine as much as I read classical literature. I fought with my friends and verbally sparred with adults.
I have more to think about this education situation as faced by developed nations and developing nations. I believe it's tied to healthcare. Essentially any universal service, those which we consider the rights of our species, should be integral to what we do everyday. Physical and mental training is who we are.
No solution is perfect. The solutions we have do good jobs. I know that business concepts like process improvement are no panacea but they provide examples with which to soak in a pot of spaghetti noodles, pull out and throw at the dartboard to see if they stick to the bullseye. Mixed metaphors are useful sometimes, too.
More as the film develops color distortions in the rusting canister. I want to stew on what matters to me most, building a team of people who thrive on constant learning, no matter what their innate capabilities may be. Nothing in life is guaranteed. I want people around me who want more than an insurance policy to protect them from catastrophe - I want people who find solutions to problems before they exist.
30 October 2009
Going Pains
How connected do you feel to your surroundings? According to the ol' seven effects of habitual people, we go through three stages - dependence, independence and interdependence. Makes me think of Depends. Which takes me to the adverts which point out men's need to release bladder contents on frequent occasions. Do any of you find yourself desiring to pee more often after seeing those actors looking for the nearest toilette?
Speaking of affective habits, are you a leader, a coach, a mentor, a manager, a supervisor, a parent, an innovator, an inventor, or a visionary?
Do you encourage people to overcome adversity or do you throw obstacles in people's way? Do you try to accomplish one with the other?
I have one life to live here on this planet with you. I don't have time to waste on timewasters or busy work. I don't like assigning homework for homework's sake or officework to fill empty spaces in a schedule. I look at another person and ask myself what it takes to improve that person's interaction with me and/or others. Then, and only then, do I decide as the person in charge how to address the use of time between us.
Do I know what's best for us? No. Do I make wild guesses sometimes? No. I make wild guesses most of the time. But I base my guesses on what I deem to be beneficial for us.
Leadership is easy. You put yourself on a pedestal to see what's going on and then put everyone on a higher pedestal than you. You lead for their sakes, not yours, but you don't put your life aside. You lead for the whole group, including yourself. There's time for every individual to make valuable input in the workplace, sports team, group of friends, family, crowd, political gathering, you name it.
And sometimes, you decide to walk away from the situation. You realize you are not the leader the group needs to succeed. You put your personality aside and say you will lead a team to victory somewhere else. A decision easier said than done. I know. I've only done it two or three times in my life and it hurt my pride every time.
We're influenced by adverts subliminally. We catch ourselves going to the toilet two or three times in the middle of the night when we don't have the urge or don't need to simply because our thoughts are looking for similarity and found a connection to actors portraying bladder control problems. When leading a team, we influence our teams subliminally. Sometimes, unspoken thoughts circulate and influence a team when we're not paying attention. A leader spends time paying attention to the unspoken thoughts and deciding where the subliminal influence needs to be applied for team success. Do you see the equivalent of team behaviour linked to adverts over which you have no control? Leaders in the emotional realm - religion or industrial psychology, for instance - use external influences all the time. They deliberately tie social trends into their work. Great leaders in any field do the same.
Am I great leader? I've had moments, flashes, of greatness but I'm not completely interdependent. Often, I see the independent self in the wonders of the universe and believe I am alone in my beliefs. When I realize I am not alone in my beliefs, I feel a great understanding of interdependence and then share that understanding with and between others, sometimes when I'm leading, sometimes when I'm neither leading nor following.
This blog is my outreach of understanding my interdependence with my species. Some days I don't feel like typing here but most days I feel an overwhelming desire to share myself and what I've learned from others with you. Of course, we're all the same way. That's why we create blogs, buy portable media devices and lose track of time on social networking websites.
You see what I'm saying? We all have the potential to be great leaders. The best way to get there is to not see yourself as a leader or as great. See yourself as yourself responsible to yourself in others.
Every past was a future. Every solution was a problem. Every leader was a inquisitive baby wetting its clothes. We all influence someone and someone influences us.
Speaking of which, the squirrels and chipmunks roaming the forest floor are making me hungry. Time for lunch! Talk to you great leaders later on.
Speaking of affective habits, are you a leader, a coach, a mentor, a manager, a supervisor, a parent, an innovator, an inventor, or a visionary?
Do you encourage people to overcome adversity or do you throw obstacles in people's way? Do you try to accomplish one with the other?
I have one life to live here on this planet with you. I don't have time to waste on timewasters or busy work. I don't like assigning homework for homework's sake or officework to fill empty spaces in a schedule. I look at another person and ask myself what it takes to improve that person's interaction with me and/or others. Then, and only then, do I decide as the person in charge how to address the use of time between us.
Do I know what's best for us? No. Do I make wild guesses sometimes? No. I make wild guesses most of the time. But I base my guesses on what I deem to be beneficial for us.
Leadership is easy. You put yourself on a pedestal to see what's going on and then put everyone on a higher pedestal than you. You lead for their sakes, not yours, but you don't put your life aside. You lead for the whole group, including yourself. There's time for every individual to make valuable input in the workplace, sports team, group of friends, family, crowd, political gathering, you name it.
And sometimes, you decide to walk away from the situation. You realize you are not the leader the group needs to succeed. You put your personality aside and say you will lead a team to victory somewhere else. A decision easier said than done. I know. I've only done it two or three times in my life and it hurt my pride every time.
We're influenced by adverts subliminally. We catch ourselves going to the toilet two or three times in the middle of the night when we don't have the urge or don't need to simply because our thoughts are looking for similarity and found a connection to actors portraying bladder control problems. When leading a team, we influence our teams subliminally. Sometimes, unspoken thoughts circulate and influence a team when we're not paying attention. A leader spends time paying attention to the unspoken thoughts and deciding where the subliminal influence needs to be applied for team success. Do you see the equivalent of team behaviour linked to adverts over which you have no control? Leaders in the emotional realm - religion or industrial psychology, for instance - use external influences all the time. They deliberately tie social trends into their work. Great leaders in any field do the same.
Am I great leader? I've had moments, flashes, of greatness but I'm not completely interdependent. Often, I see the independent self in the wonders of the universe and believe I am alone in my beliefs. When I realize I am not alone in my beliefs, I feel a great understanding of interdependence and then share that understanding with and between others, sometimes when I'm leading, sometimes when I'm neither leading nor following.
This blog is my outreach of understanding my interdependence with my species. Some days I don't feel like typing here but most days I feel an overwhelming desire to share myself and what I've learned from others with you. Of course, we're all the same way. That's why we create blogs, buy portable media devices and lose track of time on social networking websites.
You see what I'm saying? We all have the potential to be great leaders. The best way to get there is to not see yourself as a leader or as great. See yourself as yourself responsible to yourself in others.
Every past was a future. Every solution was a problem. Every leader was a inquisitive baby wetting its clothes. We all influence someone and someone influences us.
Speaking of which, the squirrels and chipmunks roaming the forest floor are making me hungry. Time for lunch! Talk to you great leaders later on.
A Tree or an Obelisk?
Today, I sit in my place of sanctuary, my temple, my meditation center, my moment to be me and not me. The floor beneath my feet smooth concrete. The window onto the world an open, double-width garage door. Ambient temperature near 20 deg C.
Dozens of trees in near view. Hundreds behind those. I am not a painter so the colour of the landscape takes the form of leaves and branches and trunks and vines and pieces and parts built by my species.
Deciduous trees pulling back into themselves for winter, their suncatchers sealing off at the base, losing their breath, their purpose changing, waving at me one more time before their trip in the fall.
Am I a tree or an obelisk? Do I sway with the wind but hold my place because of strong roots, or do I hold my position because of massive weight and size, rootless?
Metaphors and similes. Which is more athletic? Which is more academic? Can I run faster or push you over? You know what I'm saying.
The grass is in the ground because of the tree overhead. The rotting tree feeds both and doesn't know it doesn't exist.
If ten generations of chickadees have fed at my feeders and I don't feed the eleventh, why does the twelfth stop by and ask for food? Are feeders a universal chickadee food sign?
My friend, the maple tree, stands next to the dead cedar tree, perpendicular to the ground and straight as a compass needle. North is not important but the Earth's core is. Maybe. I think. At least that's what I've been told.
I've never heard a tree laugh. But I've seen a satisfied one. "Ooh! Aah! Feel the sun heat my fluids. Grow leaves, grow!" A sugar maple I could tap and boil its fluids for sweet syrup to pour over breakfast foods or dessert. But I don't. I let it and the wisteria have their twisted relationship on the edge of the suburban forest.
Whispering oaks loom over us all. The mimosa sneaks into a lit corner and displays the last of its clawlike leaves.
These trees are under my protection. I choose to let them be, having trimmed a few branches to keep them from scraping my car but otherwise letting them grow as high as they please. Do they care? Of course not. When a strong enough wind blows, many of these trees would crash down on my car, my house, my driveway, my gate to the backyard garden. They would not uproot and run away from all this to protect me. In the meantime, their shade in summer keeps my house cool. Their leaves in winter provide food for grass and cover for squirrel food. Birds use their branches to find seeds and grubs and hide from predators. An equal bargain? Perhaps. But we don't keep count.
And what of the obelisk in which I sit? What makes this edifice of sticks and nails sit in place, impervious to breezes and thunderstorms? A solid base? Hardly. The ground beneath us shifts and moves, its idea of time different than mine.
If I am not the trees in front of me or the obelisk around me, what am I?
I am these questions. I am the space between the trees and the obelisk. I am the breath of the trees and the meaning to this obelisk. I am filler. I am paste. I am action. I am noise. I am what they are and what they are not.
We say that time slows down in a garden but the leaves here are constantly moving, measurable down to nano- and pico-scales if we choose. We mean the plants in front of us are not a group of people whose faces and actions we scan at a people pace. I can yell at a tree and it won't be offended but I can't ask a tree for immediate help in an emergency. I can climb its branches or chop it up for firewood.
This obelisk is made of trees in its framework and skin so trees braced together form an obelisk.
I find myself by my place in the environment around me. At times, I prefer the environment of people; at times, I prefer the environment of trees. Trees may be obelisks and obelisks may be people but trees can't be people but people and trees can give each other breath and life.
I live in this time. I live nowhere else. I live with the trees and the people. We measure time in different ways - sunshine, seasons, calendars, clocks. We eat and we feed. We live and we die. We are. We be. Timeless and well-placed.
Dozens of trees in near view. Hundreds behind those. I am not a painter so the colour of the landscape takes the form of leaves and branches and trunks and vines and pieces and parts built by my species.
Deciduous trees pulling back into themselves for winter, their suncatchers sealing off at the base, losing their breath, their purpose changing, waving at me one more time before their trip in the fall.
Am I a tree or an obelisk? Do I sway with the wind but hold my place because of strong roots, or do I hold my position because of massive weight and size, rootless?
Metaphors and similes. Which is more athletic? Which is more academic? Can I run faster or push you over? You know what I'm saying.
The grass is in the ground because of the tree overhead. The rotting tree feeds both and doesn't know it doesn't exist.
If ten generations of chickadees have fed at my feeders and I don't feed the eleventh, why does the twelfth stop by and ask for food? Are feeders a universal chickadee food sign?
My friend, the maple tree, stands next to the dead cedar tree, perpendicular to the ground and straight as a compass needle. North is not important but the Earth's core is. Maybe. I think. At least that's what I've been told.
I've never heard a tree laugh. But I've seen a satisfied one. "Ooh! Aah! Feel the sun heat my fluids. Grow leaves, grow!" A sugar maple I could tap and boil its fluids for sweet syrup to pour over breakfast foods or dessert. But I don't. I let it and the wisteria have their twisted relationship on the edge of the suburban forest.
Whispering oaks loom over us all. The mimosa sneaks into a lit corner and displays the last of its clawlike leaves.
These trees are under my protection. I choose to let them be, having trimmed a few branches to keep them from scraping my car but otherwise letting them grow as high as they please. Do they care? Of course not. When a strong enough wind blows, many of these trees would crash down on my car, my house, my driveway, my gate to the backyard garden. They would not uproot and run away from all this to protect me. In the meantime, their shade in summer keeps my house cool. Their leaves in winter provide food for grass and cover for squirrel food. Birds use their branches to find seeds and grubs and hide from predators. An equal bargain? Perhaps. But we don't keep count.
And what of the obelisk in which I sit? What makes this edifice of sticks and nails sit in place, impervious to breezes and thunderstorms? A solid base? Hardly. The ground beneath us shifts and moves, its idea of time different than mine.
If I am not the trees in front of me or the obelisk around me, what am I?
I am these questions. I am the space between the trees and the obelisk. I am the breath of the trees and the meaning to this obelisk. I am filler. I am paste. I am action. I am noise. I am what they are and what they are not.
We say that time slows down in a garden but the leaves here are constantly moving, measurable down to nano- and pico-scales if we choose. We mean the plants in front of us are not a group of people whose faces and actions we scan at a people pace. I can yell at a tree and it won't be offended but I can't ask a tree for immediate help in an emergency. I can climb its branches or chop it up for firewood.
This obelisk is made of trees in its framework and skin so trees braced together form an obelisk.
I find myself by my place in the environment around me. At times, I prefer the environment of people; at times, I prefer the environment of trees. Trees may be obelisks and obelisks may be people but trees can't be people but people and trees can give each other breath and life.
I live in this time. I live nowhere else. I live with the trees and the people. We measure time in different ways - sunshine, seasons, calendars, clocks. We eat and we feed. We live and we die. We are. We be. Timeless and well-placed.
29 October 2009
The Latest of the Early Wearable Computing Years
Early happy b'day to Mark M. I was more of a Rypien fan myself but without you Rypien would have been Capitol carpet, eh? A connection via Riggs was one factor in keeping up with you guys, not to mention the Honorable Heath.
While new players get circulation systems for their outfits and communications devices in their headgear, we get HUDs in other uniforms for those with more firepower. What's next?
In an old copy of "Heavy Metal" magazine, a comic detailed the firefight between two infantry divisions. Hard-fought battle. At the end, a soldier removes his exoskeletal gear and looks at the gear of his opponent, discovering his opponent is completely robotic. That '80s era scifi foretold today. What tells us of tomorrow?
What will semi-pro (i.e., college) and pro players wear on the fields of battle? When will robotic body parts become normal, like the videogames of old when robotic football players faced each other on their wheeled parts? Will players see their routes on HUDs, removing the confusion in huddles of loud stadiums? Will player body stats get displayed on trainers' laptop screens? Will nanoscale drug capsules get released when pain relief or adrenaline doses are needed? Will smart padding absorb and spread contact pressure, preventing concussions and broken bones?
Will football fields become electronically active and track the 3D position of footballs? Will players and balls be able to switch between live slo-mo and accelerated action? Will 3D advert placement become part of every piece of the field, including players, refs, yard markers, coaches, field goals, etc., like wearable electronic art?
Will fans get to have football helmet cams to track like NASCAR car cams, following their favorite players on iPhones during the game, with pay per view allowing expletives and body slamming to be heard in 7.1 sound?
Will players work with their agents to franchise their images for robotic leagues? Multiple Peyton Mannings at quarterback? Adrian Peterson at RB? Mean Joe Green coming back from "retirement"? Reggie White coming back from the dead?
Semi-pro (sorry, college) players will share the rights of their robotic images with their teams, trading revenue for college credits in such classes as "Branding Entrepreneurship" and "Image Capitalisation." Fans can take the robotic role of their favorite players during off weekends, filling stadiums many times during the year, not just for home games, playing anybody from any year against the other team's mix of players and eras, in the FRC (Football Robotic Championship level, of course). DARPA will use information from these college/university performances to tweak their robotic fighting forces, a version of Robocop just a hard metal step around the corner.
Bookmakers learn the names and capabilities of FRC design engineering students and professors just like college football players today. They track the professional careers of robot designers. New revenue streams appear in the hacking of robot players to fix games.
And that's when terrorists will take over Antarctica, using clandestine robotic units to set up robot factories, training camps and synthetic drug manufacturing facilities where few will tread. Submarines to transport e-army units and drug shipments around the planet (submarines disguised as whales, of course, taking down both Japanese whaling vessels and Greenpeace ships that get in their path).
The future is a fun place to play. Anything is possible. Some things appear just as predicted. Surprises surface and steer the future in a whole new direction.
Too bad the Hokies ran out of gas. I don't want to see another opponent's field goals for a while! Night, y'all. More international info on the morrow. A big hint. While the news focuses on "Muslim extremists" (if that's not profiling/stereotyping/hate crime material, what is?), I look at cartels for more interesting futures. Power is not in being seen, it's being invisible that gets you into places nobody's looking. Once you're in, nobody's paying attention because you're one of them/us. After that? Just because someone's no longer demonising you doesn't mean you've stopped reciting history to yourself and your cohorts. You can draw the rest of the picture by now, right? No? Like I said, later on, dude.
While new players get circulation systems for their outfits and communications devices in their headgear, we get HUDs in other uniforms for those with more firepower. What's next?
In an old copy of "Heavy Metal" magazine, a comic detailed the firefight between two infantry divisions. Hard-fought battle. At the end, a soldier removes his exoskeletal gear and looks at the gear of his opponent, discovering his opponent is completely robotic. That '80s era scifi foretold today. What tells us of tomorrow?
What will semi-pro (i.e., college) and pro players wear on the fields of battle? When will robotic body parts become normal, like the videogames of old when robotic football players faced each other on their wheeled parts? Will players see their routes on HUDs, removing the confusion in huddles of loud stadiums? Will player body stats get displayed on trainers' laptop screens? Will nanoscale drug capsules get released when pain relief or adrenaline doses are needed? Will smart padding absorb and spread contact pressure, preventing concussions and broken bones?
Will football fields become electronically active and track the 3D position of footballs? Will players and balls be able to switch between live slo-mo and accelerated action? Will 3D advert placement become part of every piece of the field, including players, refs, yard markers, coaches, field goals, etc., like wearable electronic art?
Will fans get to have football helmet cams to track like NASCAR car cams, following their favorite players on iPhones during the game, with pay per view allowing expletives and body slamming to be heard in 7.1 sound?
Will players work with their agents to franchise their images for robotic leagues? Multiple Peyton Mannings at quarterback? Adrian Peterson at RB? Mean Joe Green coming back from "retirement"? Reggie White coming back from the dead?
Semi-pro (sorry, college) players will share the rights of their robotic images with their teams, trading revenue for college credits in such classes as "Branding Entrepreneurship" and "Image Capitalisation." Fans can take the robotic role of their favorite players during off weekends, filling stadiums many times during the year, not just for home games, playing anybody from any year against the other team's mix of players and eras, in the FRC (Football Robotic Championship level, of course). DARPA will use information from these college/university performances to tweak their robotic fighting forces, a version of Robocop just a hard metal step around the corner.
Bookmakers learn the names and capabilities of FRC design engineering students and professors just like college football players today. They track the professional careers of robot designers. New revenue streams appear in the hacking of robot players to fix games.
And that's when terrorists will take over Antarctica, using clandestine robotic units to set up robot factories, training camps and synthetic drug manufacturing facilities where few will tread. Submarines to transport e-army units and drug shipments around the planet (submarines disguised as whales, of course, taking down both Japanese whaling vessels and Greenpeace ships that get in their path).
The future is a fun place to play. Anything is possible. Some things appear just as predicted. Surprises surface and steer the future in a whole new direction.
Too bad the Hokies ran out of gas. I don't want to see another opponent's field goals for a while! Night, y'all. More international info on the morrow. A big hint. While the news focuses on "Muslim extremists" (if that's not profiling/stereotyping/hate crime material, what is?), I look at cartels for more interesting futures. Power is not in being seen, it's being invisible that gets you into places nobody's looking. Once you're in, nobody's paying attention because you're one of them/us. After that? Just because someone's no longer demonising you doesn't mean you've stopped reciting history to yourself and your cohorts. You can draw the rest of the picture by now, right? No? Like I said, later on, dude.
Yet More Stuff Again
Good to see solar power and smart power grids get a boost by the U.S. president. Has someone asked the guys in cowboy hats what they were there for?
On the other side of the pond, two bits of news:
On the other side of the pond, two bits of news:
What price prosperity, eh? Maybe it helps to get someone to financially help share the load.
Titleless
[Now that I'm calmed down, I can rest for a bit and think about someone else's issues for a change.]
A student of mine mentioned that she always starts the term feeling prepared and organized but quickly falls into disrepair and gets behind in her assignments.
I know how she feels. During the 21 years of my struggles to overcome self-deprecation and situational depression to finally complete a bachelor's degree, I told myself every quarter/semester that this was the term I was going to take my studies seriously and get a good grade.
Do I have some philosophical insight to provide the student? Not really. I wouldn't suggest the path I took to discover that it's when you figure out who you are and thus the major line of reasoning and studying that gets you excited to attend class and master the subject after you've spent countless hours and years of in-class sitting and twindling your pen, not to forget the thousands of dollars invested to discover your inner being...
I am an example of myself to myself as far back as I can remember. I want to see independence in a person but not true independence, just the demonstration of independence in thought as built around the zeitgeist. Done. I want to see freedom from worrying about having money, not the freedom of having lots of money to spend. Done. I want to say I took the use of my environment into consideration when consuming goods and services but not be a total hermit in the woods. Done.
I entered university without knowing what I wanted to do in life. I spent the next 21 years taking a variety of classes, building up my knowledge of the knowledge in books and lectures and labs and teachers' thoughts to see that a university-level education is whatever you want to make of it. For me, it has always been about the pursuit of knowledge for knowledge's sake that can be turned into these words. The acquisition of a better job or position in life was never my goal, only my perception of what others thought my goal of an education should be. I value the quality of one scoop of fresh ice cream, not a basement full of 80 different flavours to choose from.
I have no sage wisdom in me. I acknowledge that fact. I have the accumulation of knowledge that bounces around in my thoughts and gets bounced off the people around me, many times used to the benefit of others and the detriment of, or noneffect on, me.
I am teaching my last class at the local technical institute. I have given the students I met all that I know. I have shared my thoughts, my knowledge, my love of Krispy Kreme doughnuts, my pursuit of cheap technical gadgets and a basic understanding of the class subject. Did I know all there was to know about the subject? Never. Did I inspire all my students? No. But that's real life. We reach out and affect/effect some we meant to and many that we didn't.
What can I tell my students who have trouble focusing on their classwork? Look at the big picture. Is it just this class that you're having difficulty with? Is it the teacher/instructor/professor? Is it your major course of study? Your boyfriend/girlfriend/spouse/child/grandchild? Don't expect to see a clear answer standing out. The solution may be fuzzy. Life is not a series of Yes/No, True/False and multiple choice answers. You have to experiment sometimes to see what is the best answer for the time and place.
A school diploma will open doors for you but you are not your diploma. You may discover who you are before, during or after you receive your diploma. In fact, you'll discover multiple versions of yourself as you go along.
Despite all the distractions that seem so important to you, you are the only coursework, the only project that matters. The class you're taking is part of who you are in the moment. If you understand that, you'll see how unimportant the distractions are. If not, you'll let the distractions get the better part of you. It's no secret. It's what you learned in the crib when you cried for food and your parent(s) were distracted by something temporarily more important than you. We learned to cry ourselves to sleep and we learn to study on our own. It's not hard work. It's just what we learn to do as long as we're open to learning and open to new opportunities. I paid a price of a couple of hundred school credit hours to learn that lesson. I 'ope you don't 'ave to.
A student of mine mentioned that she always starts the term feeling prepared and organized but quickly falls into disrepair and gets behind in her assignments.
I know how she feels. During the 21 years of my struggles to overcome self-deprecation and situational depression to finally complete a bachelor's degree, I told myself every quarter/semester that this was the term I was going to take my studies seriously and get a good grade.
Do I have some philosophical insight to provide the student? Not really. I wouldn't suggest the path I took to discover that it's when you figure out who you are and thus the major line of reasoning and studying that gets you excited to attend class and master the subject after you've spent countless hours and years of in-class sitting and twindling your pen, not to forget the thousands of dollars invested to discover your inner being...
I am an example of myself to myself as far back as I can remember. I want to see independence in a person but not true independence, just the demonstration of independence in thought as built around the zeitgeist. Done. I want to see freedom from worrying about having money, not the freedom of having lots of money to spend. Done. I want to say I took the use of my environment into consideration when consuming goods and services but not be a total hermit in the woods. Done.
I entered university without knowing what I wanted to do in life. I spent the next 21 years taking a variety of classes, building up my knowledge of the knowledge in books and lectures and labs and teachers' thoughts to see that a university-level education is whatever you want to make of it. For me, it has always been about the pursuit of knowledge for knowledge's sake that can be turned into these words. The acquisition of a better job or position in life was never my goal, only my perception of what others thought my goal of an education should be. I value the quality of one scoop of fresh ice cream, not a basement full of 80 different flavours to choose from.
I have no sage wisdom in me. I acknowledge that fact. I have the accumulation of knowledge that bounces around in my thoughts and gets bounced off the people around me, many times used to the benefit of others and the detriment of, or noneffect on, me.
I am teaching my last class at the local technical institute. I have given the students I met all that I know. I have shared my thoughts, my knowledge, my love of Krispy Kreme doughnuts, my pursuit of cheap technical gadgets and a basic understanding of the class subject. Did I know all there was to know about the subject? Never. Did I inspire all my students? No. But that's real life. We reach out and affect/effect some we meant to and many that we didn't.
What can I tell my students who have trouble focusing on their classwork? Look at the big picture. Is it just this class that you're having difficulty with? Is it the teacher/instructor/professor? Is it your major course of study? Your boyfriend/girlfriend/spouse/child/grandchild? Don't expect to see a clear answer standing out. The solution may be fuzzy. Life is not a series of Yes/No, True/False and multiple choice answers. You have to experiment sometimes to see what is the best answer for the time and place.
A school diploma will open doors for you but you are not your diploma. You may discover who you are before, during or after you receive your diploma. In fact, you'll discover multiple versions of yourself as you go along.
Despite all the distractions that seem so important to you, you are the only coursework, the only project that matters. The class you're taking is part of who you are in the moment. If you understand that, you'll see how unimportant the distractions are. If not, you'll let the distractions get the better part of you. It's no secret. It's what you learned in the crib when you cried for food and your parent(s) were distracted by something temporarily more important than you. We learned to cry ourselves to sleep and we learn to study on our own. It's not hard work. It's just what we learn to do as long as we're open to learning and open to new opportunities. I paid a price of a couple of hundred school credit hours to learn that lesson. I 'ope you don't 'ave to.
Lost In Allemagne
Mad, Hopeful, Dazed, Depressed, Contented, Ashamed, Famished, Cranky, Stressed. The many moods of mes chats mâles.
A day of contemplating life through another's eyes.
Meanwhile, on the battlefront...
A day of contemplating life through another's eyes.
Meanwhile, on the battlefront...
David McWilliams: Rich get richer as rest of us pay for their mistakes
Kierkegaard on the Couch
The Mismeasure of Woman= & =
A day of contemplating nothing and nothingness, happiness a stranger in a strange land somewhere. What's the point of using ASCII or binary if the text won't type itself since today's not a day for one to be typing one's thoughts? :^(
The recession over and less than 90 percent of the people fully employed. Should the remaining folks jump for joy? Best be quiet, eh? Guess I should be a good bloke and eat me fish and chips and drink me draught. Daft, I say. Here's my fully Monty to those who put us in this mess, guilty and charged up. Maybe there's something numbing on the telly to take my mind off me. A couple of mouse hunters my companions for the day.
28 October 2009
Link O' The Day
What do we do with what we know and how do we apply resources effectively?:
http://www.good.is/post/how-might-we-measure-what%e2%80%99s-most-meaningful/
http://www.good.is/post/how-might-we-measure-what%e2%80%99s-most-meaningful/
27 October 2009
Clinical Chill
When writing the types of stories I write, I look at the junction of wordplay and madness. Deep in the bowels of the bowels, bacteria gather to feed on our discarded youth. In the bacteria gather other goodies.
Condensed versions of what matters.
In the meantime, small rubber cylinders spin incessantly, grinding rock upon rock in hopes of creating polished gifts to give out at the end of the year, the muddy goop poured off the front deck onto the roots of azaleas which may or may not add colour beneath the redbud tree in spring.
Bach concertos on earpieces.
When in class at the University of Tennessee in Knoxville in the early 1980s, I listened to a professor discuss the issues of death and dying, the majority of my classmates nurses who dealt with the elderly or terminally ill. I the oddity. I the curious. I obsessed with mortality in my second decade of hesitating, halting living writing. A comment from the teacher: "Those who've thought about self have thought about self's death. Those who step into the abyss find desire to go back, some taking the permanent route. Some put off self's death until their 50s, waiting for something stronger than the abyss to keep them on this side." Studied Elisabeth Kübler-Ross and other authors. Don't go into the light, etc., because the light's not real, just the decrease of oxygen to body parts, including the aerobic bacteria fending off the anaerobic bacteria in our guts.
A year before our 30th.
Within a calendar year, two secondary schoolmates have taken their lives from the rest of us. Snuffed. Eliminated. Subtracted. Of my ~477 classmates, how many others have ended their lives with their own means?
Depression in a depression.
Or a recession. Words have no meaning except when you're facing yourself in a mirror asking why, why, why. Where are the answers? Reactive reagents. Organic or inorganic chemistry. Beakers. Stopcocks. Microscales. Notebooks.
I know that mirror. I've stared at my face looking for answers. Whose face am I? My long-lost grandfather? My parents? My...what? Temper tantrums as a child. Red hair. Scandinavian rage. Scandals. Scandalise. Vandalise. Valise. Valet. Anger and nowhere to release because no one upon whom berserkers should attack.
I know the questions. When will it end? What's the point? Why bother? What's the difference? We all know them. We've asked them or asked them of others.
Alone but not lonely. Lonely but not alone. Any time, any place. All the time. No place. With or without words. Chemicals pumping through our bodies, driving us insane. Artificial chemicals - drugs - a plaster mask over a crumbling wall. The abyss, known or unknown, desired beyond rational responsible logical 40238tmnF)$MDS_$
Meaningless meaningful mean meanings means
Can...not...wait...five...more...minutes...of...life...
Two-stepping, two-timing or twelve steps. Don't give a damn. It's just another fucking minute on this planet that can do without me.
And never at a convenient time. Pounding headaches. Unbearable silence. Screaming without mercy. Can hell be any worse?
These moments curl around us like a boa constrictor that hasn't eaten in a month. We're but little mice in the vice.
If this is madness, where's the line that divides us from genius? Why can't we choose? Why be normal if the cycle's going to hit the mountain trail and sling mud and rocks into our sore spots over and over and over and send red rover to simple simon's clotheslined the pieman and got the cobbler nailing the little old lady in the shoe?
Where are the signs that help others help those who think that help is forever out of reach?
I lost two classmates recently, both who took their lives. They thought what they thought and did what they did because of who they were. In my stories, I see the reflection of those with whom I've spent my life. My life is not yet spent. I still have breath. Where in my stories are my classmates whose lives are spent? What can I learn? What have my characters learned? Is there a lesson in what we call clinical depression, bipolar personalities, or other mental twists and turns that make normalcy a bad joke we never get? I don't know. I have a normal life. I have normal friends and normal family. Of course, normality is a statistical mean to which none of us wholly belongs, according to John Weightman.
Statistics. Sadistics. Permutations. Connotations. Mathematics for masochists.
Today, I am sad. Happiness will have to wait its turn tomorrow. I miss my dead classmates. I miss my fellow secondary schoolmates who are still alive. In the depths of our depressions - real, imagined, temporary or permanent - we miss ourselves, too. A good comforting thought or relief valve of a funny joke is out of my sight right now. I am p-p-p-pefdurhitdaqwty perplexed.
We cannot solve the world's problems by ourselves. It takes time and effort to see what's really going on. We may never figure out what's wrong with ourselves but we move forward and try anyway. Trial and error. Fall down and get back up. Two steps forward and one step back. No, it's not easy. No, it's not hard. It is what it is. Some of us will choose to kill ourselves and there's nothing we can do to stop the action. From another galaxy, I can't see if that's what we should expect of a growing population of one species getting more and more crowded but that's what population studies show. Murder, violence, depression, suicide. The other side of longer lifespans and healthier birthrates on less and less arable land.
I like to write. What I write is not always what I like. I don't like this blog entry but it's one I want to write down and observe. I have met the clinically depressed. I have met schizophrenics, bipolar, obsessive-compulsive and manic-depressive types. I have met the disenfranchised and the despondents. I have met those who feel they have no hope left. Drug addicts. Suicidal loners. People who've found a way to live despite their desire to die. All of us alive, breathing, kicking and screaming our way through the next minute, five minutes, hour, morning, afternoon, evening, night, day, week, month, year...
Every moment is not a blessing. Every moment is not happiness, joy, peace and quiet. Every moment is whatever we do to get through the moment.
Can we get through the moment? We just did. We will again right after this next one. Can we save our schoolmates, coworkers, family and friends from killing themselves? We hope so. We may not be able to. In the moment when we lose one or more, we face ourselves and what we feel we might have done. Why? What if...? The answers never appear. Or do they? We're left with ourselves. You see, that's the answer, don't you? We're left with ourselves. We're the ones who go forward with each other, looking at the remaining questions to be answered and working together for solutions.
No matter the reason or what we believe, every body dies. We had our lives and lived them, no matter how short or long. We interacted with those around us the best way our bodies could, good or bad.
The past few days, I've tried to maintain a happy demeanor but I've been sad. The older I get, the more I become a sympathetic old fool. I lost a classmate to suicide and there's not a thing I could have done to stop her. Her life was hers to do with as she chose. I want to blame the knuckleheads who created this economic downturn but I know that's just the Viking in me who wants some bloodletting to feel better. I want to grab someone by the collar and punch as hard as I can but who's at cause? Too many chemical-laden instant meals? Too much breathing industrial pollution? Clinical depression is a disease beyond my comprehension, a label I know little about.
One less person in the world. One less smile. One less tear. One less hug.
Tomorrow's another day. Tonight's a long time, sleep far away. I don't have enough arms, smiles or soothing words to reach out to all my classmates at once and tell them they're more important than anyone else in the world. If you can read this, whoever you are, I love you. You are important to me. I need you more than you can possibly imagine. I don't care what you look like or what you think. We may be worlds apart in thought but we're brother and sister in fact. Look in the mirror and imagine someone(s) beside you or behind you smiling at you smiling back at them.
Some moments are tough to handle by ourselves. If nothing else, the Internet's here to help us see we're not alone. We can share our problems anonymously, if we have to, to find creative solutions from online strangers when we feel we can't turn to immediate friends and family.
I wish you a good night, my friends. Here is my virtual handshake or reassuring pat on the back. You'll have to pardon my emotional outburst here. I'll get back to my humourous ways soon enough. I want to feel every emotion, even sadness and depression, when the moment for one arrives. Why else live? Why not live? There's always tomorrow. Procrastination is a good thing!
Condensed versions of what matters.
In the meantime, small rubber cylinders spin incessantly, grinding rock upon rock in hopes of creating polished gifts to give out at the end of the year, the muddy goop poured off the front deck onto the roots of azaleas which may or may not add colour beneath the redbud tree in spring.
Bach concertos on earpieces.
When in class at the University of Tennessee in Knoxville in the early 1980s, I listened to a professor discuss the issues of death and dying, the majority of my classmates nurses who dealt with the elderly or terminally ill. I the oddity. I the curious. I obsessed with mortality in my second decade of hesitating, halting living writing. A comment from the teacher: "Those who've thought about self have thought about self's death. Those who step into the abyss find desire to go back, some taking the permanent route. Some put off self's death until their 50s, waiting for something stronger than the abyss to keep them on this side." Studied Elisabeth Kübler-Ross and other authors. Don't go into the light, etc., because the light's not real, just the decrease of oxygen to body parts, including the aerobic bacteria fending off the anaerobic bacteria in our guts.
A year before our 30th.
Within a calendar year, two secondary schoolmates have taken their lives from the rest of us. Snuffed. Eliminated. Subtracted. Of my ~477 classmates, how many others have ended their lives with their own means?
Depression in a depression.
Or a recession. Words have no meaning except when you're facing yourself in a mirror asking why, why, why. Where are the answers? Reactive reagents. Organic or inorganic chemistry. Beakers. Stopcocks. Microscales. Notebooks.
I know that mirror. I've stared at my face looking for answers. Whose face am I? My long-lost grandfather? My parents? My...what? Temper tantrums as a child. Red hair. Scandinavian rage. Scandals. Scandalise. Vandalise. Valise. Valet. Anger and nowhere to release because no one upon whom berserkers should attack.
I know the questions. When will it end? What's the point? Why bother? What's the difference? We all know them. We've asked them or asked them of others.
Alone but not lonely. Lonely but not alone. Any time, any place. All the time. No place. With or without words. Chemicals pumping through our bodies, driving us insane. Artificial chemicals - drugs - a plaster mask over a crumbling wall. The abyss, known or unknown, desired beyond rational responsible logical 40238tmnF)$MDS_$
Meaningless meaningful mean meanings means
Can...not...wait...five...more...minutes...of...life...
Two-stepping, two-timing or twelve steps. Don't give a damn. It's just another fucking minute on this planet that can do without me.
And never at a convenient time. Pounding headaches. Unbearable silence. Screaming without mercy. Can hell be any worse?
These moments curl around us like a boa constrictor that hasn't eaten in a month. We're but little mice in the vice.
If this is madness, where's the line that divides us from genius? Why can't we choose? Why be normal if the cycle's going to hit the mountain trail and sling mud and rocks into our sore spots over and over and over and send red rover to simple simon's clotheslined the pieman and got the cobbler nailing the little old lady in the shoe?
Where are the signs that help others help those who think that help is forever out of reach?
I lost two classmates recently, both who took their lives. They thought what they thought and did what they did because of who they were. In my stories, I see the reflection of those with whom I've spent my life. My life is not yet spent. I still have breath. Where in my stories are my classmates whose lives are spent? What can I learn? What have my characters learned? Is there a lesson in what we call clinical depression, bipolar personalities, or other mental twists and turns that make normalcy a bad joke we never get? I don't know. I have a normal life. I have normal friends and normal family. Of course, normality is a statistical mean to which none of us wholly belongs, according to John Weightman.
Statistics. Sadistics. Permutations. Connotations. Mathematics for masochists.
Today, I am sad. Happiness will have to wait its turn tomorrow. I miss my dead classmates. I miss my fellow secondary schoolmates who are still alive. In the depths of our depressions - real, imagined, temporary or permanent - we miss ourselves, too. A good comforting thought or relief valve of a funny joke is out of my sight right now. I am p-p-p-pefdurhitdaqwty perplexed.
We cannot solve the world's problems by ourselves. It takes time and effort to see what's really going on. We may never figure out what's wrong with ourselves but we move forward and try anyway. Trial and error. Fall down and get back up. Two steps forward and one step back. No, it's not easy. No, it's not hard. It is what it is. Some of us will choose to kill ourselves and there's nothing we can do to stop the action. From another galaxy, I can't see if that's what we should expect of a growing population of one species getting more and more crowded but that's what population studies show. Murder, violence, depression, suicide. The other side of longer lifespans and healthier birthrates on less and less arable land.
I like to write. What I write is not always what I like. I don't like this blog entry but it's one I want to write down and observe. I have met the clinically depressed. I have met schizophrenics, bipolar, obsessive-compulsive and manic-depressive types. I have met the disenfranchised and the despondents. I have met those who feel they have no hope left. Drug addicts. Suicidal loners. People who've found a way to live despite their desire to die. All of us alive, breathing, kicking and screaming our way through the next minute, five minutes, hour, morning, afternoon, evening, night, day, week, month, year...
Every moment is not a blessing. Every moment is not happiness, joy, peace and quiet. Every moment is whatever we do to get through the moment.
Can we get through the moment? We just did. We will again right after this next one. Can we save our schoolmates, coworkers, family and friends from killing themselves? We hope so. We may not be able to. In the moment when we lose one or more, we face ourselves and what we feel we might have done. Why? What if...? The answers never appear. Or do they? We're left with ourselves. You see, that's the answer, don't you? We're left with ourselves. We're the ones who go forward with each other, looking at the remaining questions to be answered and working together for solutions.
No matter the reason or what we believe, every body dies. We had our lives and lived them, no matter how short or long. We interacted with those around us the best way our bodies could, good or bad.
The past few days, I've tried to maintain a happy demeanor but I've been sad. The older I get, the more I become a sympathetic old fool. I lost a classmate to suicide and there's not a thing I could have done to stop her. Her life was hers to do with as she chose. I want to blame the knuckleheads who created this economic downturn but I know that's just the Viking in me who wants some bloodletting to feel better. I want to grab someone by the collar and punch as hard as I can but who's at cause? Too many chemical-laden instant meals? Too much breathing industrial pollution? Clinical depression is a disease beyond my comprehension, a label I know little about.
One less person in the world. One less smile. One less tear. One less hug.
Tomorrow's another day. Tonight's a long time, sleep far away. I don't have enough arms, smiles or soothing words to reach out to all my classmates at once and tell them they're more important than anyone else in the world. If you can read this, whoever you are, I love you. You are important to me. I need you more than you can possibly imagine. I don't care what you look like or what you think. We may be worlds apart in thought but we're brother and sister in fact. Look in the mirror and imagine someone(s) beside you or behind you smiling at you smiling back at them.
Some moments are tough to handle by ourselves. If nothing else, the Internet's here to help us see we're not alone. We can share our problems anonymously, if we have to, to find creative solutions from online strangers when we feel we can't turn to immediate friends and family.
I wish you a good night, my friends. Here is my virtual handshake or reassuring pat on the back. You'll have to pardon my emotional outburst here. I'll get back to my humourous ways soon enough. I want to feel every emotion, even sadness and depression, when the moment for one arrives. Why else live? Why not live? There's always tomorrow. Procrastination is a good thing!
The Spirit and Influence of Giving
Two movies yesterday - "Mon Oncle D'Amerique" and "Race to Witch Mountain." Two generations of moviemakers, multiple movie generations between the release of the movies. Messages and culture markers. Theories. Entertainment.
On this part of the planet, a dose of water falling from the sky.
Tithes and offerings. Forced offerings/sacrifices via government taxes and income redistribution.
We have one voice, one life, one moment.
I see this moment a thousand years from now, when our time is reduced to a few sentences that summarize the general mood and outcome of this century. My thoughts will be long forgotten, these words paved over by a million million blogs and whatever else comes next, including brain-to-brain synapse/thought sharing, people having mosh pit sessions of thought bashing, smashing, ripping into each other's brainwaves at raves and virtual jam sessions. Cutups for cutups.
I forget how time filters out noise. I forget how noise filters out time. I forget I can take a timeout from all this and be noise-free.
Owning the Book of the Future, I already know where these words fit into the scheme of this century, no scheming involved, just a flow of symbols temporarily taking up space in a computer storage system somewhere I don't know, one keyclick away from being deleted forever, assuming places like archive.org don't archive these words.
And then what happens?
A thousand years in the future. A simple statement. A few words. Lives upon lives leading to more lives and yet? Yeti? SETI? Our imaginations running away from us. Discovering aesthetics is not universal. Real life is being integrated into the planets we're on, not separated from them.
I want to believe I'm singular. But I've been taught to believe I want to believe I'm singular, which makes me part of the plural, which wants to believe it's plural when it's really singular, part of the whole one.
I won't live to see one thousand years from now except reading about it. By reading about it, I live it. By living it, I am it. I exist now and forever without doing anything about it. My ancestor planted one extra seed and I'm alive because of it. I write one extra word and someone reads what I didn't write because of it.
I hold up one hand and say, "This is my hand." What is a hand but a section of the environment interacting with itself?
Concepts easy to see and play with. What of emotions? What of heartbeats?
One person kills others in a marketplace, maximizing the number of deaths. Maiming. Creating orphans. Another person kills a family in a jealous rage. Is a reason necessary? A thousand years from now, no one will remember. Can we live today like we'll be seen one thousand years from now? Can we even see tomorrow?
Do you give more than you receive? Do you resolve more problems than you complain about?
These are words. They've never been more than words. They appear to represent symbols greater or less than they are but they are not.
I look for novelty. I look at myself one thousand years from now and ask if I did something different every day that I had to live and breathe. That's all I do. Because I'm a member of a group that sees itself as unique, I think about myself representing that group in what I do differently every day, assuming our group will be here to talk about itself one thousand years from now, talk being a concept that I have no idea how it will be represented at that time. In thinking about differences between now and then, I imagine ideas that could make our group's history more meaningful to folks one thousand years from now, instead of repeating the same historical petty squabbles we play up as epic battles, wars and revolutions, with heroes on one side and villains on the other.
I'm just one person. I'm not a historian. I don't plan to invent a better mousetrap. I plan to live today and the next today and the next today after that. I know all about the mislaid plans of mice and men but I live anyway. Novelty and happiness are my guide. I look for others like me but never place too much hope that I'll find someone like me every moment because I know we get caught up in ideas that take control of our unique lives and twist our emotions and thoughts into tight circles that we can't get out of very easily. I am an example of myself and an example of others to myself and others. The pebble, the pond and the waves all at once.
I don't live to make others happy. I make others happy by living a happy life. I live a happy life by seeing myself one thousand years from now, most of my actions inconsequential and nothing to get riled up about. If my actions won't matter, I can be free to do what I want. There are no rules because the rules of today don't apply one thousand years from now. Concepts easy to see and play with, don't you think?
On this part of the planet, a dose of water falling from the sky.
Tithes and offerings. Forced offerings/sacrifices via government taxes and income redistribution.
We have one voice, one life, one moment.
I see this moment a thousand years from now, when our time is reduced to a few sentences that summarize the general mood and outcome of this century. My thoughts will be long forgotten, these words paved over by a million million blogs and whatever else comes next, including brain-to-brain synapse/thought sharing, people having mosh pit sessions of thought bashing, smashing, ripping into each other's brainwaves at raves and virtual jam sessions. Cutups for cutups.
I forget how time filters out noise. I forget how noise filters out time. I forget I can take a timeout from all this and be noise-free.
Owning the Book of the Future, I already know where these words fit into the scheme of this century, no scheming involved, just a flow of symbols temporarily taking up space in a computer storage system somewhere I don't know, one keyclick away from being deleted forever, assuming places like archive.org don't archive these words.
And then what happens?
A thousand years in the future. A simple statement. A few words. Lives upon lives leading to more lives and yet? Yeti? SETI? Our imaginations running away from us. Discovering aesthetics is not universal. Real life is being integrated into the planets we're on, not separated from them.
I want to believe I'm singular. But I've been taught to believe I want to believe I'm singular, which makes me part of the plural, which wants to believe it's plural when it's really singular, part of the whole one.
I won't live to see one thousand years from now except reading about it. By reading about it, I live it. By living it, I am it. I exist now and forever without doing anything about it. My ancestor planted one extra seed and I'm alive because of it. I write one extra word and someone reads what I didn't write because of it.
I hold up one hand and say, "This is my hand." What is a hand but a section of the environment interacting with itself?
Concepts easy to see and play with. What of emotions? What of heartbeats?
One person kills others in a marketplace, maximizing the number of deaths. Maiming. Creating orphans. Another person kills a family in a jealous rage. Is a reason necessary? A thousand years from now, no one will remember. Can we live today like we'll be seen one thousand years from now? Can we even see tomorrow?
Do you give more than you receive? Do you resolve more problems than you complain about?
These are words. They've never been more than words. They appear to represent symbols greater or less than they are but they are not.
I look for novelty. I look at myself one thousand years from now and ask if I did something different every day that I had to live and breathe. That's all I do. Because I'm a member of a group that sees itself as unique, I think about myself representing that group in what I do differently every day, assuming our group will be here to talk about itself one thousand years from now, talk being a concept that I have no idea how it will be represented at that time. In thinking about differences between now and then, I imagine ideas that could make our group's history more meaningful to folks one thousand years from now, instead of repeating the same historical petty squabbles we play up as epic battles, wars and revolutions, with heroes on one side and villains on the other.
I'm just one person. I'm not a historian. I don't plan to invent a better mousetrap. I plan to live today and the next today and the next today after that. I know all about the mislaid plans of mice and men but I live anyway. Novelty and happiness are my guide. I look for others like me but never place too much hope that I'll find someone like me every moment because I know we get caught up in ideas that take control of our unique lives and twist our emotions and thoughts into tight circles that we can't get out of very easily. I am an example of myself and an example of others to myself and others. The pebble, the pond and the waves all at once.
I don't live to make others happy. I make others happy by living a happy life. I live a happy life by seeing myself one thousand years from now, most of my actions inconsequential and nothing to get riled up about. If my actions won't matter, I can be free to do what I want. There are no rules because the rules of today don't apply one thousand years from now. Concepts easy to see and play with, don't you think?
26 October 2009
Continuing Saga of the Pioneer Family
"Pa, how come our mobile phones don't work out here?"
"Boy, it's on account of them swindlers."
"Swindlers?"
"Yeah, that swindler sickness 'bout wiped everyone out."
"No, Ez, it weren't no swindler sickness. It were the heinous virus that wiped them out."
"Mama, I ain't talking about that thing. I'm talking 'bout afore that happened."
"But, Pa and Ma, is my phone ain't working 'cause it's ill?"
"Young man, you watch your mouth. Ain't nobody or nothing ill 'round here."
"But my brother..."
"He's just got a bit of fever 'cause he drank what he shouldn't've. You sit back there with your brother and play another game."
"But Ma, our batteries've run out."
"Well, son, as soon as your Pa figures out what makes them batteries work, we'll get it fixed. Meantime, you play the counting game with your brother."
"Aw, Ma, it's boring."
"Look, now, boy, you listen to your Ma. Play that counting game but play it quietly. I's got a headache from listening to you flap your jaws so much."
"Oh, okay. Brother, it's your turn to count."
"Is it? Well, I see one, two, five, ten, fifteen dead electric wagons on this side of the road. How about your side?"
"I see five, ten, fifteen, twenty dead horseless carriages and ten, twenty dead electric wagons!"
"You win this round."
"And there's some of them feller eaters over there."
"You sure about that?"
"Yeah, they're eating some fellers."
"Lawdy may, they sure is. Pa, we got some feller eaters in the area."
"Well, son, they's plenty of fellers in them dead wagons to eat so we're doing just fine."
"Yessir. Pa, when do we get to a place where there's some kids to play with? I'm tired of all them dead wagons and such."
"Boy, ain't mine to say. We're heading to where your Mama's family gots some land. We's hoping there's some folks still up and around in them parts there."
"Yessir."
"Whyn't you boys count vultures for a change? They's different than regular feller eaters but not tasty like regular fowl."
"Yessir."
"Yessir."
"Ez, I sure hope you know what you're doing."
"Mama, if you've got a better idea, I's listening 'cause I still ain't used to the stench of dead folks."
"Don't know, Ez. I's just glad we had nothing to do with them swindlers and hope we ain't got nothing to do with the heinous virus."
"'At's right, Mama. We done the right thing all the time. You, me and the boys'll do just fine. And you know I know all 'bout them batteries. I's just teaching the boys how to wean off of them things. Won't be needing them things no longer, the way I figure it."
"I know, Ez. But I gotta give 'em hope 'til we find something else for them to do."
"Hope's 'bout all we got, Mama."
"Hope and each other."
"'At's right."
"Boy, it's on account of them swindlers."
"Swindlers?"
"Yeah, that swindler sickness 'bout wiped everyone out."
"No, Ez, it weren't no swindler sickness. It were the heinous virus that wiped them out."
"Mama, I ain't talking about that thing. I'm talking 'bout afore that happened."
"But, Pa and Ma, is my phone ain't working 'cause it's ill?"
"Young man, you watch your mouth. Ain't nobody or nothing ill 'round here."
"But my brother..."
"He's just got a bit of fever 'cause he drank what he shouldn't've. You sit back there with your brother and play another game."
"But Ma, our batteries've run out."
"Well, son, as soon as your Pa figures out what makes them batteries work, we'll get it fixed. Meantime, you play the counting game with your brother."
"Aw, Ma, it's boring."
"Look, now, boy, you listen to your Ma. Play that counting game but play it quietly. I's got a headache from listening to you flap your jaws so much."
"Oh, okay. Brother, it's your turn to count."
"Is it? Well, I see one, two, five, ten, fifteen dead electric wagons on this side of the road. How about your side?"
"I see five, ten, fifteen, twenty dead horseless carriages and ten, twenty dead electric wagons!"
"You win this round."
"And there's some of them feller eaters over there."
"You sure about that?"
"Yeah, they're eating some fellers."
"Lawdy may, they sure is. Pa, we got some feller eaters in the area."
"Well, son, they's plenty of fellers in them dead wagons to eat so we're doing just fine."
"Yessir. Pa, when do we get to a place where there's some kids to play with? I'm tired of all them dead wagons and such."
"Boy, ain't mine to say. We're heading to where your Mama's family gots some land. We's hoping there's some folks still up and around in them parts there."
"Yessir."
"Whyn't you boys count vultures for a change? They's different than regular feller eaters but not tasty like regular fowl."
"Yessir."
"Yessir."
"Ez, I sure hope you know what you're doing."
"Mama, if you've got a better idea, I's listening 'cause I still ain't used to the stench of dead folks."
"Don't know, Ez. I's just glad we had nothing to do with them swindlers and hope we ain't got nothing to do with the heinous virus."
"'At's right, Mama. We done the right thing all the time. You, me and the boys'll do just fine. And you know I know all 'bout them batteries. I's just teaching the boys how to wean off of them things. Won't be needing them things no longer, the way I figure it."
"I know, Ez. But I gotta give 'em hope 'til we find something else for them to do."
"Hope's 'bout all we got, Mama."
"Hope and each other."
"'At's right."
Fall: Between Yellow and Brown
Outside the window, sunlight and shadows form a crisscross pattern on a yellow redbud leaf full of holes. Brown leaves fall to the ground in a timed dance, flipping and spinning toward Earth's core, stopped by the woven vines and roots that feed off of last year's crop of tree leaves, dust and other former living material.
An invisible breeze passes through, indicated by waving branches.
The cycles of this patch of planet vary but repeat, tied to the tilt, spin and rotation around the Sun.
I cannot tell you if there is a Who or who, Them or them tied to the creation of this planet and its inhabitants. That is for you to know and believe. I wander aimlessly, my body what it is, what it was and what it might be. I support those who support others but I seek no support for myself. I observe and report, tied to my nurture and nature, no matter what else you know and believe I might be tied to.
Your belief is wonderful. Your happiness shows on your face and in the joy you share with others. Your gifts are not just self-sacrificing, they're life-enhancing. I've tried to be you but my vanity and my vices get in the way. That's why I support what you do, believing the world of our species is better served by you than by me.
I'm a crotchety old fool, fooled by his folly. You are the salt of the earth and the honey of the beehive. I'm a beer drinker and sports enthusiast who cusses like a sailor when he's angry. I seek resolutions that will make our species more successful - sometimes a resolution requires "adjustments" that make me uncomfortable in the moment but I look at the big picture and try to shake off what I know I just approved to be done that I don't like. I don't seek forgiveness or acceptance of my actions. I accept what has to be done that will get happiness later on.
The leaves on the tree outside the window...some of them still have shades of green but yellow and brown are the dominant theme now, here in late October in the mid-latitudes of the Northern Hemisphere of this planet.
I happily sing songs from my childhood spent in summer camps and youth retreats. I enjoyed my time in the choir, singing four-part harmony, trying my best to stay in tune before tinnitus took away my ability to hear myself sing in a group. I'm a middle-aged guy now, subject to chronic aches and pains I didn't know when I was younger except when I played sports and took a few days to heal from wounds. Happiness is knowing the aches and pains and my off-key singing mean I'm alive.
I admire those who adhere to religious practices, no matter what you say in prayers. I understand what you seek but I do not ask myself for the same. I respect one sacrosanct ceremony - the wedding vow - and seek only the same of others. My wife is my angel, my saint, my partner, my companion, my eternal joy. Everything else that I do and think relates to that one belief, monogamy. Others have different ways to celebrate monogamy, different rules, different beliefs. My sight is limited - I do not know what is right or wrong and will not judge others' behaviour, no matter what I personally feel about their practices.
I celebrate me. I celebrate you. Life is the key to living. Our planet is tiny, tiny, tiny. We forget sometimes how small our world is because we live in isolated pockets most of our lives and think the world must be gigantic in comparison.
I am just one person but we are seven billion strong. The more we focus on our strengths the less we have to let our weaknesses get in our way.
What is one leaf worth? It can become food for plants, or warmth and shelter for a gray squirrel's nest. In a few weeks, the leaf in front of me will be gone. The bare branch of the redbud tree in winter will face me for a few months, its seedpods hanging until Earth's axis points the Northern Hemisphere toward the Sun again, bringing out new redbud blooms and fresh seedpods.
Happiness is being at peace with myself. Peace is knowing you have found the life you seek. Let me share my life with you from here, knowing you're sharing your life with others in more direct ways in the moment, no matter whether you're in a church, temple, synagogue, mosque or other formal religious gathering place.
An invisible breeze passes through, indicated by waving branches.
The cycles of this patch of planet vary but repeat, tied to the tilt, spin and rotation around the Sun.
I cannot tell you if there is a Who or who, Them or them tied to the creation of this planet and its inhabitants. That is for you to know and believe. I wander aimlessly, my body what it is, what it was and what it might be. I support those who support others but I seek no support for myself. I observe and report, tied to my nurture and nature, no matter what else you know and believe I might be tied to.
Your belief is wonderful. Your happiness shows on your face and in the joy you share with others. Your gifts are not just self-sacrificing, they're life-enhancing. I've tried to be you but my vanity and my vices get in the way. That's why I support what you do, believing the world of our species is better served by you than by me.
I'm a crotchety old fool, fooled by his folly. You are the salt of the earth and the honey of the beehive. I'm a beer drinker and sports enthusiast who cusses like a sailor when he's angry. I seek resolutions that will make our species more successful - sometimes a resolution requires "adjustments" that make me uncomfortable in the moment but I look at the big picture and try to shake off what I know I just approved to be done that I don't like. I don't seek forgiveness or acceptance of my actions. I accept what has to be done that will get happiness later on.
The leaves on the tree outside the window...some of them still have shades of green but yellow and brown are the dominant theme now, here in late October in the mid-latitudes of the Northern Hemisphere of this planet.
I happily sing songs from my childhood spent in summer camps and youth retreats. I enjoyed my time in the choir, singing four-part harmony, trying my best to stay in tune before tinnitus took away my ability to hear myself sing in a group. I'm a middle-aged guy now, subject to chronic aches and pains I didn't know when I was younger except when I played sports and took a few days to heal from wounds. Happiness is knowing the aches and pains and my off-key singing mean I'm alive.
I admire those who adhere to religious practices, no matter what you say in prayers. I understand what you seek but I do not ask myself for the same. I respect one sacrosanct ceremony - the wedding vow - and seek only the same of others. My wife is my angel, my saint, my partner, my companion, my eternal joy. Everything else that I do and think relates to that one belief, monogamy. Others have different ways to celebrate monogamy, different rules, different beliefs. My sight is limited - I do not know what is right or wrong and will not judge others' behaviour, no matter what I personally feel about their practices.
I celebrate me. I celebrate you. Life is the key to living. Our planet is tiny, tiny, tiny. We forget sometimes how small our world is because we live in isolated pockets most of our lives and think the world must be gigantic in comparison.
I am just one person but we are seven billion strong. The more we focus on our strengths the less we have to let our weaknesses get in our way.
What is one leaf worth? It can become food for plants, or warmth and shelter for a gray squirrel's nest. In a few weeks, the leaf in front of me will be gone. The bare branch of the redbud tree in winter will face me for a few months, its seedpods hanging until Earth's axis points the Northern Hemisphere toward the Sun again, bringing out new redbud blooms and fresh seedpods.
Happiness is being at peace with myself. Peace is knowing you have found the life you seek. Let me share my life with you from here, knowing you're sharing your life with others in more direct ways in the moment, no matter whether you're in a church, temple, synagogue, mosque or other formal religious gathering place.
25 October 2009
Five Million Miles Away From Home
First item on the agenda: rumour of the day. Now that the fire ant nest has been disrupted, the fire ants are busy cleaning house and then they're on the march, looking not for hostages to take home but for vengeance. Killings home and abroad. Prisons are meant to keep people in so how many people does it take to break people out, especially along the border, to show that power is as mobile as the Peacekeeper or other intercontinental treaty trickers? I learned a long time ago that you don't stuff your mattress full of dough because the doughboys want all 200+ pieces of your pie. Best invest. Anybody want an overpriced piece of "art" now that the Windy City deal went bust as predicted?
Who sings the old song best, The Brothers Four, Bobby Bare, the Hooters, Nick Cave, or a different take by the Proclaimers?
Today's a popular day for allegories among the poplars. The Story of the Falling Tree Seed. The Time that Lightning Felled the Old Oak up the Hill. The Gully Washer of the Ages.
Folk songs. Easy lyrics. Simple melodies. On a bright, sunny morning, everyone sitting around the campfire, waiting on the breakfast to warm up, we sing a few tunes appropriate for the day. Kumbaya. Sing 'til the power of the Lord comes down. Scarborough Fair. He's Got the Whole World. Blowing in the Wind. Day by Day. Michael Row the Boat Ashore. Swing Low, Sweet Chariot. Waltzing Matilda. It's a Small World. Make New Friends. Gaelic Blessing.
One day we'll be sitting on Mars, gathered around the solar-powered heating system, eating our flavoured algae breakfast. Will we look up at the sky and shout with joy? Will be reminisce about the good ol' days on Earth? Will someone sing a revised version of being 500 miles away from home?
A journey of over 500 days begins with the thought that you're one of the chosen few to take the long ride across the chasm, no wagon trail, no dual carriageway, just you and a few companions. I would like to be one of you but I won't be. Envy is my companion. I'll sing a campfire song or two in your honour, whoever you end up being, whenever you decide to sign up for the adventure. The military forces of my country are always advertising their Earthbound adventures. Wouldn't it be more exciting to say you went where no one has gone before? Or even to have been a technician who worked on the equipment that went where our species had never laid foot?
Back in the 1980s, I worked on a contract for a company called Rocketdyne (I was a subcontractor working directly for a firm named Bizbing Enterprises/Butler Services). My job description included working on a CAD system because of my recent associate's degree that had an emphasis on CAD (this is back in the days of AutoCAD 1.o on desktop PCs, meaning my work at Rocketdyne in the basement of a Marshall Space Flight Center building was actually in a cold room on an Intergraph system loaded on a DEC mainframe VAX computer).
At the time, Rocketdyne was analysing the logic of the code in the space shuttle main engine controller because of the recent catastrophic accident of the Challenger and every company's scrutiny of their possible contribution to the accident. My job was relatively simple: take the handwritten logic flow diagrams from the engineers and draw them in CAD. Based on the skill set developed during my days with my secondary schoolmate when we handbuilt computers in our basement using the Intel 8080/8085 and RCA 1802 CPUs in the 1970s, I personally reviewed the logic as I drew the logic blocks, pointing out to the engineering manager the places where the logic didn't make sense to me. Also, because of my quick typing skills, I typed up engineering reports of the analysis, making grammar and formatting changes on the fly, leaving the concepts and ideas in place.
Have I ever flown on the space shuttle? Of course not. I'm not a pilot or a mission specialist. I'm just this regular guy who grew up in the suburban mazes of the southeastern portion of a political entity called the United States of America. Somewhere in the code in the box attached near the main engine of the space shuttle there might still remain the equivalent of an if...then statement I drew or pointed out was misplaced. That code has orbited the Earth countless times. My workmates designed the box for space hardness and wrote the code to control valves.
Happiness is what you make of what you do or have done. I am not a genius. I am not a trendsetter. I am me. I am happy to see the sunshine today and feel the solar heat on this cool day. I am happy to smell the burning wood of a campfire. I am happy to eat burnt toast and runny breakfast goo. I am happy to know I'll have a stiff neck and back from sleeping on the ground.
Somebody out there wants to be part of the space program, somebody in the Mongolian desert, somebody in the Australian outback, somebody in the Amazon forest, African plains, European forests and American suburbs. Life is about working together to accomplish goals beyond what any one of us can do.
I challenge anyone who might run into this blog to think about what you're doing. Are you caught up in the political gossip or rumourmonging or are you reaching outside of your insular life and asking others what we're doing?
Our species has accomplished goals unimaginable a century ago. We have so much more to accomplish than border squabbles or drug wars. But it takes every single one of us to make progress. Learn to laugh off your troubles. Or pray for guidance, if you need to. Whatever it takes to see we're the same species with a wide variety of individual lifestyles.
A part of me, in one form or the other, has circled the planet in near-Earth orbit. I hope that many of you get to see yourselves reach destinations that I can barely imagine, just like those who worked on the Voyager spacecraft never hoped their work would take them to the outer limits of the solar system.
Who sings the old song best, The Brothers Four, Bobby Bare, the Hooters, Nick Cave, or a different take by the Proclaimers?
Today's a popular day for allegories among the poplars. The Story of the Falling Tree Seed. The Time that Lightning Felled the Old Oak up the Hill. The Gully Washer of the Ages.
Folk songs. Easy lyrics. Simple melodies. On a bright, sunny morning, everyone sitting around the campfire, waiting on the breakfast to warm up, we sing a few tunes appropriate for the day. Kumbaya. Sing 'til the power of the Lord comes down. Scarborough Fair. He's Got the Whole World. Blowing in the Wind. Day by Day. Michael Row the Boat Ashore. Swing Low, Sweet Chariot. Waltzing Matilda. It's a Small World. Make New Friends. Gaelic Blessing.
One day we'll be sitting on Mars, gathered around the solar-powered heating system, eating our flavoured algae breakfast. Will we look up at the sky and shout with joy? Will be reminisce about the good ol' days on Earth? Will someone sing a revised version of being 500 miles away from home?
A journey of over 500 days begins with the thought that you're one of the chosen few to take the long ride across the chasm, no wagon trail, no dual carriageway, just you and a few companions. I would like to be one of you but I won't be. Envy is my companion. I'll sing a campfire song or two in your honour, whoever you end up being, whenever you decide to sign up for the adventure. The military forces of my country are always advertising their Earthbound adventures. Wouldn't it be more exciting to say you went where no one has gone before? Or even to have been a technician who worked on the equipment that went where our species had never laid foot?
Back in the 1980s, I worked on a contract for a company called Rocketdyne (I was a subcontractor working directly for a firm named Bizbing Enterprises/Butler Services). My job description included working on a CAD system because of my recent associate's degree that had an emphasis on CAD (this is back in the days of AutoCAD 1.o on desktop PCs, meaning my work at Rocketdyne in the basement of a Marshall Space Flight Center building was actually in a cold room on an Intergraph system loaded on a DEC mainframe VAX computer).
At the time, Rocketdyne was analysing the logic of the code in the space shuttle main engine controller because of the recent catastrophic accident of the Challenger and every company's scrutiny of their possible contribution to the accident. My job was relatively simple: take the handwritten logic flow diagrams from the engineers and draw them in CAD. Based on the skill set developed during my days with my secondary schoolmate when we handbuilt computers in our basement using the Intel 8080/8085 and RCA 1802 CPUs in the 1970s, I personally reviewed the logic as I drew the logic blocks, pointing out to the engineering manager the places where the logic didn't make sense to me. Also, because of my quick typing skills, I typed up engineering reports of the analysis, making grammar and formatting changes on the fly, leaving the concepts and ideas in place.
Have I ever flown on the space shuttle? Of course not. I'm not a pilot or a mission specialist. I'm just this regular guy who grew up in the suburban mazes of the southeastern portion of a political entity called the United States of America. Somewhere in the code in the box attached near the main engine of the space shuttle there might still remain the equivalent of an if...then statement I drew or pointed out was misplaced. That code has orbited the Earth countless times. My workmates designed the box for space hardness and wrote the code to control valves.
Happiness is what you make of what you do or have done. I am not a genius. I am not a trendsetter. I am me. I am happy to see the sunshine today and feel the solar heat on this cool day. I am happy to smell the burning wood of a campfire. I am happy to eat burnt toast and runny breakfast goo. I am happy to know I'll have a stiff neck and back from sleeping on the ground.
Somebody out there wants to be part of the space program, somebody in the Mongolian desert, somebody in the Australian outback, somebody in the Amazon forest, African plains, European forests and American suburbs. Life is about working together to accomplish goals beyond what any one of us can do.
I challenge anyone who might run into this blog to think about what you're doing. Are you caught up in the political gossip or rumourmonging or are you reaching outside of your insular life and asking others what we're doing?
Our species has accomplished goals unimaginable a century ago. We have so much more to accomplish than border squabbles or drug wars. But it takes every single one of us to make progress. Learn to laugh off your troubles. Or pray for guidance, if you need to. Whatever it takes to see we're the same species with a wide variety of individual lifestyles.
A part of me, in one form or the other, has circled the planet in near-Earth orbit. I hope that many of you get to see yourselves reach destinations that I can barely imagine, just like those who worked on the Voyager spacecraft never hoped their work would take them to the outer limits of the solar system.
24 October 2009
According to associates...
According to associates, I need to pare down the pear I'm peeling and watch where my core is. Dripping juice leaves trails. Seeds sprout where they shouldn't. Pardon my Scandinavian fervor but fuck you, associates. If freedom is quantifiable, we've lost our journey into space where political parties have no place to hold conventions or bar protesters. I call it like I see it, not the way I want it all the time, because I know I'm not always right. Sometimes I have to put words down to hear what I'm saying and see what others are reading. A switchboard operator doesn't say, "Sorry, I can't connect you to the requested party - you two aren't meant for each other."
Time to watch football and drink beer, a quantifiable good time!
I like my associates but if they get in my way, they're... hmm... how do I word this with legal aplomb? They're no longer in my way later on. I smile on the outside and figure out on the inside where the weak spots on the flanks are to be exploited while I hold your attention. I get what I want using input from others all the time to see if what I want profits just me or my whole species. I aim for the latter but sometimes hit the former on the head.
Time to watch football and drink beer, a quantifiable good time!
I like my associates but if they get in my way, they're... hmm... how do I word this with legal aplomb? They're no longer in my way later on. I smile on the outside and figure out on the inside where the weak spots on the flanks are to be exploited while I hold your attention. I get what I want using input from others all the time to see if what I want profits just me or my whole species. I aim for the latter but sometimes hit the former on the head.
Style Points
In a dream last night...
Last night, a dream, in...
A last night, dreamin'...
I spin the tiny rock in my hands and remember the theme park song about the size of this planet. Rubicon. Rubik's cube. Pros and cons. Political debate. The click and tock of phonemes.
The first grunts. The expanding vocabularies of sights and sounds. Who gets to name the object in front of us? Whose vocal utterings are the official mental lists? Why do we keep breaking down the image in front of us into smaller chunks?
We aim to please, our precision and accuracy like archery class. The more we seek unity, the more we find disparity.
The rock has no boundaries, just a continuous spherical surface, smoother than a billiard ball. But no one cares about those comparisons.
We want more descriptive details. We want delineation. We want categories.
Big government rolls down a hill, gathering no moss and crushing tiny stones, smoothing all in its path. Plurality has a single personality.
The issue at hand, what to do with artificial boundaries, issues proclamations to protect the right of sovereignty to govern others.
We watched tribes grow to the size of municipalities and feudal lords into kings and queens. We watched monarchy give way to democracy and communism. We'll watch the ecumenopolis turn democracy and communism into...?
I had a dream last night. Dreams are what they are, my brain with little external stimuli to play with. In my dream, I walked around a theme park with a former classmate of mine. We met other former classmates and eventually lost track of our current families, just the two of us walking through the park, looking for a way to get to the other side, finding a tram to take us up and over. I had other dreams, too. I value my dreams for their insight into my personality and the changes I seek to make my days more eventful and fulfilling. But my dreams are not secret visions or gifts from the other side. They are the result of my earlier interaction with the environment and lack thereof in the moment.
I am one person watching all of you, interacting with many nearby. Like the kids who walked into my yard to find a lost cat. Or the woman who wants my wife and me to attend local weekly religious services.
Local, regional, global. I have opinions and dreams about what to do with perceived conflict between the regional factions in Afghanistan. But I don't have a clear picture. Do we declare groups in the area VNSAs (violent non-state actors) or belligerent forces? Do encounters with FARC, the Red Brigades, the IRA and other fighting forces teach us valuable lessons to apply in the Afghan hills and Indus valley? What is the definition of a benevolent government and is there such a thing in existence? Does unity or disparity make better diplomatic policy in situations like this?
In Britain, a separatist got major airtime to talk about insular views. Is there a place for British separatists and Afghan separatists? Should there be? If the planet knows no bounds, should we recognize others' desires for homelands? If separation is granted, should international support be taken away?
In becoming an ecumenopolis, we face the question of who we are. Are we one species and two genders? Are we one species with multiple cultures but not necessarily multicultural, or a little of both? I don't have the right answers. I have opinions and dreams. I depend on my fellow members of our species to come up with a variety of answers, situational and timely, to solve problems iteratively because we're perpetually changing.
Change is constant. Change is pain and joy. Thus, we face constant pain and joy. Easy? Never. Eventful? A most resounding "YES!" We can see square pegs and round holes. We can pound a screw with a hammer. The choices are many. The solutions are few.
You can choose where you want to live. Your life is now subject to international scrutiny. Can you live a separatist life that is acceptable in an ecumenopolis? Absolutely. The right of a member of our species to perpetuate a subculture is guaranteed at birth. How hard you're willing to fight to protect your subculture against those who want to be where you live is up to you, not me. Cooperation and coordination 'midst competition - that's where I'll meet you and see if your subculture is worth promoting on the international stage. As always, we don't have to like each other, just agree that we're one species. The rest of our lives are opinions and dreams to do with as we see fit.
Last night, a dream, in...
A last night, dreamin'...
I spin the tiny rock in my hands and remember the theme park song about the size of this planet. Rubicon. Rubik's cube. Pros and cons. Political debate. The click and tock of phonemes.
The first grunts. The expanding vocabularies of sights and sounds. Who gets to name the object in front of us? Whose vocal utterings are the official mental lists? Why do we keep breaking down the image in front of us into smaller chunks?
We aim to please, our precision and accuracy like archery class. The more we seek unity, the more we find disparity.
The rock has no boundaries, just a continuous spherical surface, smoother than a billiard ball. But no one cares about those comparisons.
We want more descriptive details. We want delineation. We want categories.
Big government rolls down a hill, gathering no moss and crushing tiny stones, smoothing all in its path. Plurality has a single personality.
The issue at hand, what to do with artificial boundaries, issues proclamations to protect the right of sovereignty to govern others.
We watched tribes grow to the size of municipalities and feudal lords into kings and queens. We watched monarchy give way to democracy and communism. We'll watch the ecumenopolis turn democracy and communism into...?
I had a dream last night. Dreams are what they are, my brain with little external stimuli to play with. In my dream, I walked around a theme park with a former classmate of mine. We met other former classmates and eventually lost track of our current families, just the two of us walking through the park, looking for a way to get to the other side, finding a tram to take us up and over. I had other dreams, too. I value my dreams for their insight into my personality and the changes I seek to make my days more eventful and fulfilling. But my dreams are not secret visions or gifts from the other side. They are the result of my earlier interaction with the environment and lack thereof in the moment.
I am one person watching all of you, interacting with many nearby. Like the kids who walked into my yard to find a lost cat. Or the woman who wants my wife and me to attend local weekly religious services.
Local, regional, global. I have opinions and dreams about what to do with perceived conflict between the regional factions in Afghanistan. But I don't have a clear picture. Do we declare groups in the area VNSAs (violent non-state actors) or belligerent forces? Do encounters with FARC, the Red Brigades, the IRA and other fighting forces teach us valuable lessons to apply in the Afghan hills and Indus valley? What is the definition of a benevolent government and is there such a thing in existence? Does unity or disparity make better diplomatic policy in situations like this?
In Britain, a separatist got major airtime to talk about insular views. Is there a place for British separatists and Afghan separatists? Should there be? If the planet knows no bounds, should we recognize others' desires for homelands? If separation is granted, should international support be taken away?
In becoming an ecumenopolis, we face the question of who we are. Are we one species and two genders? Are we one species with multiple cultures but not necessarily multicultural, or a little of both? I don't have the right answers. I have opinions and dreams. I depend on my fellow members of our species to come up with a variety of answers, situational and timely, to solve problems iteratively because we're perpetually changing.
Change is constant. Change is pain and joy. Thus, we face constant pain and joy. Easy? Never. Eventful? A most resounding "YES!" We can see square pegs and round holes. We can pound a screw with a hammer. The choices are many. The solutions are few.
You can choose where you want to live. Your life is now subject to international scrutiny. Can you live a separatist life that is acceptable in an ecumenopolis? Absolutely. The right of a member of our species to perpetuate a subculture is guaranteed at birth. How hard you're willing to fight to protect your subculture against those who want to be where you live is up to you, not me. Cooperation and coordination 'midst competition - that's where I'll meet you and see if your subculture is worth promoting on the international stage. As always, we don't have to like each other, just agree that we're one species. The rest of our lives are opinions and dreams to do with as we see fit.
23 October 2009
Subbaculcha
A parent co-creates. A parent nurtures. A child survives childhood. And when childhood is over...?
Senioritis. A feeling of accomplishment. The red carpet awaits. The world at the doorstep.
And what does a senior get?
Recognition for participation. A flower. An announcement. A walk with one's parent(s) across a football field.
Parents get what...?
Recognition for participation? Thank goodness, yes. A feeling of accomplishment? Affirmative. The red carpet awaits? Maybe a vacuum cleaner waits to be used. The world at the doorstep? A pile of bills and a day off before the work world starts all over again.
Wins and losses fade with time. Family remains important. Like traveling all the way from Saratoga, NY, to Hazel Green, AL, to see your sister's niece as a cheerleader. Like taking pictures of your friends' son, #46 on the football team, while they travel.
Moments will stand out but the score, 14-42, will be forgotten. The rest of the school year will not wait. Friends will go hunting and fishing and dating and studying together.
As the senior year winds down, the exit gets closer, the door to adulthood opens wider and the moment of truth arrives. Soon you'll discover just how prepared you are to handle everyday life as your own parent - waking yourself up in the morning, preparing your own breakfast, making your own household budget, handling unanticipated emergency situations. The next few months make the difference between successfully leaping out of the secondary school student life and being pushed out.
One night on the football field showed you life as a game winner. Another night on the football field showed you life as a graduating senior surrounded by supportive friends and family, the game's outcome important but not critical. In other words, life, just as real as it gets.
What's the old saying? You never get time to study for life's quizzes? Life is always preparing for the wrong test? Sayings aside, your senior year is about you and about your parents/guardians. They want you to succeed in life and you want to be independent. Independence and success are linked to the social contract your parents signed when they conceived you. Society is yours and yours for the taking as long as you learn to give back.
One day (and that day is sooner than you think) you'll sit in the stands with other parents, yelling for your child who may be carrying the flag on the field, cheering on the sideline, tackling between the yard markers or performing in the band at halftime. Between now and then, the world waits to see what you have to offer. The better you prepare yourself now, the more relaxing and fun will be that day when you're the parent who's holding the flower after walking your child across the football field as a senior. It won't seem important now but it will.
So listen to yourself for a moment. Hear what you have to say. See what your parents are trying to instill in you before you graduate. You are the most important person in the world. Learn to act like you are. When you're important, so is everyone else. When everyone is important, you own the world and the world can't wait to accept you with open arms.
Your growth began when you were born and ends when you die. Make the most of your growth while you're young and have the world in your hands. We want you to succeed because we know you'll be one of us soon. Your success is our success. And soon your success will be your child's success.
A loss is never fun but we learn from the loss and move on. Tonight you were winners in the bigger picture. Take the win that is your parents' pride in seeing you reach your senior year and celebrate. This night and the rest of your senior year is a party that all your schoolmates are invited to. Make it an event no one will ever forget. You are the graduating class of 2k10! Your success begins now.
Senioritis. A feeling of accomplishment. The red carpet awaits. The world at the doorstep.
And what does a senior get?
Recognition for participation. A flower. An announcement. A walk with one's parent(s) across a football field.
Parents get what...?
Recognition for participation? Thank goodness, yes. A feeling of accomplishment? Affirmative. The red carpet awaits? Maybe a vacuum cleaner waits to be used. The world at the doorstep? A pile of bills and a day off before the work world starts all over again.
Wins and losses fade with time. Family remains important. Like traveling all the way from Saratoga, NY, to Hazel Green, AL, to see your sister's niece as a cheerleader. Like taking pictures of your friends' son, #46 on the football team, while they travel.
Moments will stand out but the score, 14-42, will be forgotten. The rest of the school year will not wait. Friends will go hunting and fishing and dating and studying together.
As the senior year winds down, the exit gets closer, the door to adulthood opens wider and the moment of truth arrives. Soon you'll discover just how prepared you are to handle everyday life as your own parent - waking yourself up in the morning, preparing your own breakfast, making your own household budget, handling unanticipated emergency situations. The next few months make the difference between successfully leaping out of the secondary school student life and being pushed out.
One night on the football field showed you life as a game winner. Another night on the football field showed you life as a graduating senior surrounded by supportive friends and family, the game's outcome important but not critical. In other words, life, just as real as it gets.
What's the old saying? You never get time to study for life's quizzes? Life is always preparing for the wrong test? Sayings aside, your senior year is about you and about your parents/guardians. They want you to succeed in life and you want to be independent. Independence and success are linked to the social contract your parents signed when they conceived you. Society is yours and yours for the taking as long as you learn to give back.
One day (and that day is sooner than you think) you'll sit in the stands with other parents, yelling for your child who may be carrying the flag on the field, cheering on the sideline, tackling between the yard markers or performing in the band at halftime. Between now and then, the world waits to see what you have to offer. The better you prepare yourself now, the more relaxing and fun will be that day when you're the parent who's holding the flower after walking your child across the football field as a senior. It won't seem important now but it will.
So listen to yourself for a moment. Hear what you have to say. See what your parents are trying to instill in you before you graduate. You are the most important person in the world. Learn to act like you are. When you're important, so is everyone else. When everyone is important, you own the world and the world can't wait to accept you with open arms.
Your growth began when you were born and ends when you die. Make the most of your growth while you're young and have the world in your hands. We want you to succeed because we know you'll be one of us soon. Your success is our success. And soon your success will be your child's success.
A loss is never fun but we learn from the loss and move on. Tonight you were winners in the bigger picture. Take the win that is your parents' pride in seeing you reach your senior year and celebrate. This night and the rest of your senior year is a party that all your schoolmates are invited to. Make it an event no one will ever forget. You are the graduating class of 2k10! Your success begins now.
Marines Ban Twitter, MySpace, Facebook
When is censorship not censorship? That's a question I do not answer because I see open communication as necessary as breathing, fraught with risks. Here's one reason for preventing open communication from use by professional nation preservers/protectors:
Marines Ban Twitter, MySpace, Facebook
Posted using ShareThis
Marines Ban Twitter, MySpace, Facebook
Posted using ShareThis
Speculated Speckled Pickled Eggs
[Personal note for myself. Feel free to skip.] I have no idea what's going on. I see and do not believe. I feel and make no record of my skin contact. People have wants and needs and I cannot discern their logical connections. Logic makes no sense to me. The sun does not shine. Clouds do not exist. Yet, I define my day by the water falling from the sky that blocks the sunshine.
I am me. I have no capability to be more than one person. Better yet, I do not want to be more than one person. I actually want to be me. I like being me. I like me who likes the person who likes being me.
RNA is ribonucleic acid. A right turn is a coordinated series of actions determined by a football coach who teaches the staff to teach the players to stand in place until the play caller takes a ball and turns to hand the ball to the person willing to run and get hit. Recombinatorial, or some such.
People are willing to ski and play tennis. Physical coordination.
A large number of living beings have the same set of genetic material that is turned off or turned on in a particular sequence. God's blueprint or random observation by the current species to which I belong? Both? We see what we believe. We believe what we believe we see. Plate of shrimp. Pine-scented car freshener.
I belong to nothing. I am not nothing. Therefore, I don't belong to nothing. Absent is not the same as present somewhere else.
A drop of water flows along a pine needle hanging from the gutter. The drop stops at the end, formed by surface tension and stretched by gravity. Another drop flows along and pushes the first drop off. Nothing is as I just described it. A drop of water does not exist. A pine needle does not exist. A gutter does not exist. Gravity is in my imagination. Instead, I just saw a spherical magnifying glass, a solar energy collector and a trough for collecting debris to grow tree seeds, all in the recesses of my brain.
Sober, sanity and madness. Like diving into a mountain stream in winter with no way to get warm. Idiocy for idiots.
I stand alone by myself, shoulder to shoulder with the rest of my species, words my clothes, paragraphs my floor, away from here and nailed into my shoes. "Mommy! Mommy! Why am I going around in circles?" "Shut up or I'll nail the other foot to the floor."
A worker at an eyeglasses factory fell into a vat of molten glass. He made a spectacle of himself, didn't he?
I am one person. I am happy being one person. How important is my happiness? Does happiness exist or have I made myself believe in happiness?
Somewhere I read where religious belief is directly tied to one's brain and the need for deep social interaction. Social intercourse, if you will.
If I have learned the steps to complete a task, excel at repeating the task, should I perform the task again and again? The pursuit of perfection? Not for me. I am looking for novelty.
This universe is not just about my species but my species is all I know. If I ask questions and get answers from the universe that run counter to the existence of my species, where does that put me if I will never be other than a member of my species? Should I avoid the questions if I don't have an idea what the answers could be? The absence of self is close to the absence of selfishness which is close to the absence of my species, is it not?
I do not exist. If I do not exist, who or what is writing these words and seeing the intensity of light vary with the passing of dark shapes in the sky above me?
I choose to ask questions because I want to see myself from another angle, even an angle that includes the absence of me or the non-necessity of my existence. Like bashing my head with a rock or flogging my back with a whip. Only less messy.
I am me. I will always be me. I am also you but today I need to see myself as only one person so I can see the parts separate from the whole and better determine how to strengthen the power of the whole through the belief in the presence and the absence of the self.
I don't enjoy keeping quiet. I like transparency so that when a thought occurs to me I let it go out into the world without thought of impact like it bouncing back to me in some other form hours, weeks, months or years from now. If I have a thought, someone else had the same thought. If I express my thoughts in words or speech, others will hear what they thought they thought but may not have thought or spoken.
We get so wrapped up in our day-to-day activities, which we believe with conviction are what we're supposed to do, to hell with others who might have better things for us to do, that we lose sight of where we are. No matter how much I think I see our species from the right angles, I miss what I should see or should do. I'm not out to change the world. I'm here to see what our species could do if we changed our points of view. I don't care which particular points of view others have - they may be right or wrong for their time and place. I don't ask that they look at my point of view. I can only see what one person sees. I'll always be me.
I like me. I like who I am. I like my species. I like what my species likes. I don't like what my species dislikes but I'm willing to see the point of view of a disliking person because only then can I see if there's a like hidden in dislike that I should like.
These words do not exist. These are just electric, magnetic, particle-wave-speculated, speckled pickled eggs laid by a drop of rain splattering on a bed of wet tree leaves. Everything else is in your imagination.
I am me. I have no capability to be more than one person. Better yet, I do not want to be more than one person. I actually want to be me. I like being me. I like me who likes the person who likes being me.
RNA is ribonucleic acid. A right turn is a coordinated series of actions determined by a football coach who teaches the staff to teach the players to stand in place until the play caller takes a ball and turns to hand the ball to the person willing to run and get hit. Recombinatorial, or some such.
People are willing to ski and play tennis. Physical coordination.
A large number of living beings have the same set of genetic material that is turned off or turned on in a particular sequence. God's blueprint or random observation by the current species to which I belong? Both? We see what we believe. We believe what we believe we see. Plate of shrimp. Pine-scented car freshener.
I belong to nothing. I am not nothing. Therefore, I don't belong to nothing. Absent is not the same as present somewhere else.
A drop of water flows along a pine needle hanging from the gutter. The drop stops at the end, formed by surface tension and stretched by gravity. Another drop flows along and pushes the first drop off. Nothing is as I just described it. A drop of water does not exist. A pine needle does not exist. A gutter does not exist. Gravity is in my imagination. Instead, I just saw a spherical magnifying glass, a solar energy collector and a trough for collecting debris to grow tree seeds, all in the recesses of my brain.
Sober, sanity and madness. Like diving into a mountain stream in winter with no way to get warm. Idiocy for idiots.
I stand alone by myself, shoulder to shoulder with the rest of my species, words my clothes, paragraphs my floor, away from here and nailed into my shoes. "Mommy! Mommy! Why am I going around in circles?" "Shut up or I'll nail the other foot to the floor."
A worker at an eyeglasses factory fell into a vat of molten glass. He made a spectacle of himself, didn't he?
I am one person. I am happy being one person. How important is my happiness? Does happiness exist or have I made myself believe in happiness?
Somewhere I read where religious belief is directly tied to one's brain and the need for deep social interaction. Social intercourse, if you will.
If I have learned the steps to complete a task, excel at repeating the task, should I perform the task again and again? The pursuit of perfection? Not for me. I am looking for novelty.
This universe is not just about my species but my species is all I know. If I ask questions and get answers from the universe that run counter to the existence of my species, where does that put me if I will never be other than a member of my species? Should I avoid the questions if I don't have an idea what the answers could be? The absence of self is close to the absence of selfishness which is close to the absence of my species, is it not?
I do not exist. If I do not exist, who or what is writing these words and seeing the intensity of light vary with the passing of dark shapes in the sky above me?
I choose to ask questions because I want to see myself from another angle, even an angle that includes the absence of me or the non-necessity of my existence. Like bashing my head with a rock or flogging my back with a whip. Only less messy.
I am me. I will always be me. I am also you but today I need to see myself as only one person so I can see the parts separate from the whole and better determine how to strengthen the power of the whole through the belief in the presence and the absence of the self.
I don't enjoy keeping quiet. I like transparency so that when a thought occurs to me I let it go out into the world without thought of impact like it bouncing back to me in some other form hours, weeks, months or years from now. If I have a thought, someone else had the same thought. If I express my thoughts in words or speech, others will hear what they thought they thought but may not have thought or spoken.
We get so wrapped up in our day-to-day activities, which we believe with conviction are what we're supposed to do, to hell with others who might have better things for us to do, that we lose sight of where we are. No matter how much I think I see our species from the right angles, I miss what I should see or should do. I'm not out to change the world. I'm here to see what our species could do if we changed our points of view. I don't care which particular points of view others have - they may be right or wrong for their time and place. I don't ask that they look at my point of view. I can only see what one person sees. I'll always be me.
I like me. I like who I am. I like my species. I like what my species likes. I don't like what my species dislikes but I'm willing to see the point of view of a disliking person because only then can I see if there's a like hidden in dislike that I should like.
These words do not exist. These are just electric, magnetic, particle-wave-speculated, speckled pickled eggs laid by a drop of rain splattering on a bed of wet tree leaves. Everything else is in your imagination.
Quick Nod
Another quick nod, this time to the person who pointed out I should have used the words "netizen" and "avatar" in a recent post. I won't go back to edit the post in question because I haven't.
The Great Yippie-Kai War
Every now and then, with its worn covers staring me in the face, the Book of the Future taunts me to turn a few pages and see what's going on outside this moment. Now, the Book of the Future is a a funny creature (yes, that's right - it's a living document, always sneaking in changes like repagination and outline formatting to fool with me).
The Book of the Future is a misnomer. The book is just a bundle of pages stuck inside an electric pencil sharpener. To read the pages, I have to find a certain kind of wood used to make a wraparound for sticks of graphite. Then, I push the pencil into the sharpener and pull out the reels of shaven wood. There, written in the woodgrain, are the messages that the book delivers.
The book belongs to someone else. I found the book in a ditch when I was biking through my childhood neighbourhood, not far from the house of an eccentric old lady who made me mow her lawn with an electric lawnmower.
Inside the book, instructions detailed how to create more pages to the story. You make the pencil shavings and then glue them together using the glue formula found on page 123. At first, I couldn't find page 123 and then I realized there was no page 123. I had to create it! But that's a story for another time.
Today, I've flipped open the book and gone back to the pages that someone else had written. There, between pages delta-x 47 and adhmad mór, I found the following short chapter:
The Book of the Future is a misnomer. The book is just a bundle of pages stuck inside an electric pencil sharpener. To read the pages, I have to find a certain kind of wood used to make a wraparound for sticks of graphite. Then, I push the pencil into the sharpener and pull out the reels of shaven wood. There, written in the woodgrain, are the messages that the book delivers.
The book belongs to someone else. I found the book in a ditch when I was biking through my childhood neighbourhood, not far from the house of an eccentric old lady who made me mow her lawn with an electric lawnmower.
Inside the book, instructions detailed how to create more pages to the story. You make the pencil shavings and then glue them together using the glue formula found on page 123. At first, I couldn't find page 123 and then I realized there was no page 123. I had to create it! But that's a story for another time.
Today, I've flipped open the book and gone back to the pages that someone else had written. There, between pages delta-x 47 and adhmad mór, I found the following short chapter:
Scientists from the Astronomy Sector of Silicon Woods, the southeastern housing estate bordering the dark side of the Moon, reported a signal trace of familiar origins. According to the scientists' calculations, the signal, a broadcast sent sometime in the seventh millennium of the modern era, appears to have bounced back from the edge of our universe.
Amateur astronomers are encouraged to point their radio antennae to the same spot in the sky to help further define the edge of space.
If what they see is correct, our universe is part of a oil drop floating along the gutter in a rainfall event in the local township on a planet in a larger universe. But that's just speculation, scientists' theories driven by their reading of pulp science fiction. You can rest assured we will dispel this theory in no time.
In further news, scientists have finally unlocked the secrets of space travel hidden in beer. For those willing to become lab subjects, more research is available. Stop at your local pub to become volunteers.
22 October 2009
Wagon Trail
Sitting around a campfire, a pioneer family talked about the day's trip across the prairie.
"Mama, tell them boys of yours the troubles we've seen."
"Well, Ez, seems like when we wuz kids, the snows piled up to the rooftop."
"'At's right, Mama. So you boys better think twice afore complaining about our trek through these lands."
"But, Pa, there's nothing to do out here. Back when we lived in town, there was plenty of kids our age to play with. Now, all we do is sit on the wagon most of the day and then set up camp at night."
"Boy, I oughta smack you up side the head for that kind of back talk!"
"Ma, what's he talking about? I ain't never back talked him."
"Young man, you mind your father. If he says you back talked him, you agree with him."
"Yes'm."
"And you, young feller. Don't you put that smirk on your face. I know what you're thinking."
"What'd I do?"
"You're thinking your older brother's taking the troubles off of your back. You're still in trouble from yesterday."
"Ah, Ma, I always get in trouble for nothing."
"Ain't nothing. You've been going on about when we're getting to our next stop when I told you to take care of business afore we get back in the wagon."
"Mama, leave the boy alone. He's got smaller parts'n the rest of us."
"Ez, that ain't no excuse for knowing you're going to have to stop sooner than if you'd paid a mind to yo'self."
"Reckon you're right about that'n, Mama. Young man, you mind your ma. If she tells you to step over to them bushes afore we leave in the morning, you do as she says."
"Yessir."
"Well, whose turn is it to tell a good story? Mama?"
"The older boy told one last night. Why'nt you tell one tonight, Ez?"
"I'd be obliged. A long time ago, long afore any of us wuz born, there wuz only this wilderness. Not a soul in sight. Just hilltops and treetops and fields of prairie grass. There were large stretches of them pretty flowers that your Mama liked. And plenty of wild fowl for hunting, if there'd been any of us around. 'Cept there ain't. Or weren't, that is."
"How'd you know that, Pa, if there weren't any of us around to know?"
"Boy, this is my story. You just shut your trap and listen. I'll get to the good parts soon enough. Now, in those times, wagons hadn't been invented yet so animals didn't have no good trails to tell them how to get from one place to another. They just went from one patch of grass to one watering hole, day after day, sometimes crossing their own paths many times a day. They weren't in no hurry, neither, so they might spent most parts of a day in one spot.
"Well, one day, these group of animals, they..."
"What kind, Pa?"
"What kind of what, son?"
"What kind of animals were they?"
"They were them grasseating kinds, that's what they wuz."
"Uh-huh."
"Don't you 'uh-huh' me, boy."
"Yessir."
"Anyway, these prairie grass grazers were thinking to themselves, 'All we ever do is eat grass and drink water. Ain't there something else more to do?' Well, you know how they get. One sight of our wagon from far off and they skitter and scatter like...well, like themselves. So, without wagons around, they didn't have nothing to mozy them on up the way. They kept eating and drinking and thinking.
"Well, it weren't long afore they figured out this sort of same thing day after day was not awful but just regular ol' mind-numbing. It was no wonder they did the same thing because there weren't nothing to get them to change their minds. Think about it, boys. If you had the best tasting grass to eat every day and you didn't have no hunters or wagons around, you'd be just as pleased as...well, as yourselves, wouldn't ya?"
"Yessir."
"Yessir."
"Well, one day, this feller was walking across them plains and he saw them grasseaters and told himself, 'Now, if I wuz them, what would I be doing out here?' He watched them from afar and..."
"From a what?"
"From afar."
"Pa, you didn't say nothing 'bout no far."
"I didn't because there ain't no far. That feller ain't seen far 'cept by lightning. Now let me get back to the story. So he watching from a great distance and sees them animals is doing the same thing over and over again. What do you reckon he did?"
"Dunno."
"Well, he figured he'd have himself a little fun. He crawled in the grass until he got right next to them animals and he stands up and hollers at the top of his lungs. Them animals runs as far as their breath'd let 'em. And still some of them run some more. They run until it got dark and then they went back to their ways and sat down to sleep. The next morning, they wake up and go right back to what they wuz doing, eating grass and drinking water. Afore they know it, that feller showed up again and tried to scare 'em. But they was keen on him and weren't falling for the trick a second time. Instead, they ran up on the feller and they ate him!"
"They ate him? Every part of him?"
"That's right, son. They ate his head and his fingers and his toes. Everything!"
"What happened next?"
"Well, them animals, they weren't no longer just grasseaters. They wuz feller eaters. They got a taste for folks and they weren't going back to just walking around eating grass and drinking water. So now, any time a feller walks through them plains, there's them feller eaters not far behind."
"You mean...you mean, out here?"
"That's right."
"Pa, I'm scared."
"Well, boy, now you sees why we stay in this wagon all day. It's not in account of you ain't got no friends to play with out here, it's account of them feller eaters."
"Ma, I don't want to use them bushes in the morning. I'm afraid them feller eaters is out there."
"You don't worry about them feller eaters, young man. They ain't gonna bother you when you're doing your business. They's only interested in you when you're taking off by yourself through them prairie grasses."
"Pa?"
"Yes, boy?"
"How long we got afore we get out of these prairies?"
"Could be a while, son."
"You reckon them feller eaters is looking at us right now?"
"No, son. They go to sleep when the sun goes down. Which is about time for us, too."
"Pa, how come we ain't never seen no feller eaters out here?"
"'Cause you never knew to look for one until now."
"Ez, you scared up the boys enough as it is. Boys, you get up in that wagon and go to sleep yo'self. We'll be with you shortly."
"Mama, tell them boys of yours the troubles we've seen."
"Well, Ez, seems like when we wuz kids, the snows piled up to the rooftop."
"'At's right, Mama. So you boys better think twice afore complaining about our trek through these lands."
"But, Pa, there's nothing to do out here. Back when we lived in town, there was plenty of kids our age to play with. Now, all we do is sit on the wagon most of the day and then set up camp at night."
"Boy, I oughta smack you up side the head for that kind of back talk!"
"Ma, what's he talking about? I ain't never back talked him."
"Young man, you mind your father. If he says you back talked him, you agree with him."
"Yes'm."
"And you, young feller. Don't you put that smirk on your face. I know what you're thinking."
"What'd I do?"
"You're thinking your older brother's taking the troubles off of your back. You're still in trouble from yesterday."
"Ah, Ma, I always get in trouble for nothing."
"Ain't nothing. You've been going on about when we're getting to our next stop when I told you to take care of business afore we get back in the wagon."
"Mama, leave the boy alone. He's got smaller parts'n the rest of us."
"Ez, that ain't no excuse for knowing you're going to have to stop sooner than if you'd paid a mind to yo'self."
"Reckon you're right about that'n, Mama. Young man, you mind your ma. If she tells you to step over to them bushes afore we leave in the morning, you do as she says."
"Yessir."
"Well, whose turn is it to tell a good story? Mama?"
"The older boy told one last night. Why'nt you tell one tonight, Ez?"
"I'd be obliged. A long time ago, long afore any of us wuz born, there wuz only this wilderness. Not a soul in sight. Just hilltops and treetops and fields of prairie grass. There were large stretches of them pretty flowers that your Mama liked. And plenty of wild fowl for hunting, if there'd been any of us around. 'Cept there ain't. Or weren't, that is."
"How'd you know that, Pa, if there weren't any of us around to know?"
"Boy, this is my story. You just shut your trap and listen. I'll get to the good parts soon enough. Now, in those times, wagons hadn't been invented yet so animals didn't have no good trails to tell them how to get from one place to another. They just went from one patch of grass to one watering hole, day after day, sometimes crossing their own paths many times a day. They weren't in no hurry, neither, so they might spent most parts of a day in one spot.
"Well, one day, these group of animals, they..."
"What kind, Pa?"
"What kind of what, son?"
"What kind of animals were they?"
"They were them grasseating kinds, that's what they wuz."
"Uh-huh."
"Don't you 'uh-huh' me, boy."
"Yessir."
"Anyway, these prairie grass grazers were thinking to themselves, 'All we ever do is eat grass and drink water. Ain't there something else more to do?' Well, you know how they get. One sight of our wagon from far off and they skitter and scatter like...well, like themselves. So, without wagons around, they didn't have nothing to mozy them on up the way. They kept eating and drinking and thinking.
"Well, it weren't long afore they figured out this sort of same thing day after day was not awful but just regular ol' mind-numbing. It was no wonder they did the same thing because there weren't nothing to get them to change their minds. Think about it, boys. If you had the best tasting grass to eat every day and you didn't have no hunters or wagons around, you'd be just as pleased as...well, as yourselves, wouldn't ya?"
"Yessir."
"Yessir."
"Well, one day, this feller was walking across them plains and he saw them grasseaters and told himself, 'Now, if I wuz them, what would I be doing out here?' He watched them from afar and..."
"From a what?"
"From afar."
"Pa, you didn't say nothing 'bout no far."
"I didn't because there ain't no far. That feller ain't seen far 'cept by lightning. Now let me get back to the story. So he watching from a great distance and sees them animals is doing the same thing over and over again. What do you reckon he did?"
"Dunno."
"Well, he figured he'd have himself a little fun. He crawled in the grass until he got right next to them animals and he stands up and hollers at the top of his lungs. Them animals runs as far as their breath'd let 'em. And still some of them run some more. They run until it got dark and then they went back to their ways and sat down to sleep. The next morning, they wake up and go right back to what they wuz doing, eating grass and drinking water. Afore they know it, that feller showed up again and tried to scare 'em. But they was keen on him and weren't falling for the trick a second time. Instead, they ran up on the feller and they ate him!"
"They ate him? Every part of him?"
"That's right, son. They ate his head and his fingers and his toes. Everything!"
"What happened next?"
"Well, them animals, they weren't no longer just grasseaters. They wuz feller eaters. They got a taste for folks and they weren't going back to just walking around eating grass and drinking water. So now, any time a feller walks through them plains, there's them feller eaters not far behind."
"You mean...you mean, out here?"
"That's right."
"Pa, I'm scared."
"Well, boy, now you sees why we stay in this wagon all day. It's not in account of you ain't got no friends to play with out here, it's account of them feller eaters."
"Ma, I don't want to use them bushes in the morning. I'm afraid them feller eaters is out there."
"You don't worry about them feller eaters, young man. They ain't gonna bother you when you're doing your business. They's only interested in you when you're taking off by yourself through them prairie grasses."
"Pa?"
"Yes, boy?"
"How long we got afore we get out of these prairies?"
"Could be a while, son."
"You reckon them feller eaters is looking at us right now?"
"No, son. They go to sleep when the sun goes down. Which is about time for us, too."
"Pa, how come we ain't never seen no feller eaters out here?"
"'Cause you never knew to look for one until now."
"Ez, you scared up the boys enough as it is. Boys, you get up in that wagon and go to sleep yo'self. We'll be with you shortly."
21 October 2009
Weedy Decision
As a frugal spender, I look for ways to conserve spending. If it also conserves resources, so be it. Here's another person's take on one area to conserve:
http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2009/10/21/DDS51A378K.DTL
My lawn is not a meadow but the edge of a suburban forest. My lawn mowers, including a hand-pushed reel mower, hand-pushed motorised mower and a small tractor, have sat idle for years - I could sell them but then it means I'm promoting someone else's lawnmowing. Anybody have a creative use for former grasscutting machines?
Time for lunch and class prep - have a great day!
http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2009/10/21/DDS51A378K.DTL
My lawn is not a meadow but the edge of a suburban forest. My lawn mowers, including a hand-pushed reel mower, hand-pushed motorised mower and a small tractor, have sat idle for years - I could sell them but then it means I'm promoting someone else's lawnmowing. Anybody have a creative use for former grasscutting machines?
Time for lunch and class prep - have a great day!
"The Numbers Don't Add Up"
While one set of people face long-term unemployment, another set is investing and reinvesting in the climbing stock market value. An intersecting subset is paying more attention to investment portfolios without employment income to work with.
Some people are selling their second yacht or fourth retirement property. Some are having their first home taken away. Some are scooping up cheap assets for later profitable resale.
On whom do I focus?
Experts, analysts and other questionable words float in the open marketplace of ideas. Ideas. Hmm... What is an idea? And no, not the dictionary or wikipedia definition. What is an idea to you?
I don't know the diets of the lifeforms whose daily habits take them across the patch of ground on which my house was deeded. As an experiment, I throw bits of food next to the driveway to see what happens. Apples quickly disappear. Oranges and grapefruits are never consumed by large lifeforms, their round shapes shrinking with the growth of mold. Today, I threw a few stale doughnuts out and will check on them later. Birdseed is almost instantly consumed.
I try not to distinguish one lifeform's needs from another in what I choose to toss into the yard. That way, I get to see a variety of responses to my application of the "trickle down" food cycle. You remember the "trickle down" theory, don't you? A person who's eating a large, juicy sandwich will have some drops of nutritional liquid drip off the chin and onto the ground for other lifeforms to feed on. That's not the "trickle down" theory, you say? Are you sure?
While we google our memories of the "trickle down" theory, let's think for a moment. Did you take an economics class in school, primary, secondary or collegiate? Do you remember the theories of supply and demand, the iterative value of currency, or how the banking system is supposed to work? Do you know how to write a check? [Those of you who've only used credit/debit cards your whole life, or even your mobile phone to pay for goods, are excused from answering that last question.]
At one point I thought about majoring in economics or accounting in my college studies, especially since beer consumption and football watching weren't offered in college curricula. Somewhere between chemical engineering, foreign languages, religious studies, computer science and IT management, that is. Meanwhile, my college loans piled up.
If I have no personal belief in the power of money, should I speak from a monetary point of view? If I only see life in the moment, should I talk about the value of compounding interest?
Questions today...questions...sigh...what to say, what to do...
In my family, participation in the exchange of goods and services vary. Some live on the minimum monthly payment plan. Some live frugally and pay cash for major purchases. Some invest heavily and make major gains in their personal wealth. Risk and reward. Comfort zone. Playgrounds.
I don't know what money is other than an idea. I see pieces of paper and bits of stamped metal and hear about the comparative value of one version versus another but it makes no sense to me. Money. What is it? Barter converter. Murder incentive. War inciter. Peace initiative. Health provider.
Suggestions pour in on how to make our economy strong again, from isolationist policies to single global currency, from free market to centralized control, from high risk rogue investors to highly-regulated / scrutinized market management teams.
And still, I have no internal concept of money. It's like a void in my mind, the center of a hurricane / typhoon, alive but empty, surrounded by bustling activity.
No matter what I say or believe, people will use their definitions of money to take risks or do nothing with their money. No matter what we think, the future is undefined and full of risks - there are no surefire definitions of safety and security. We act and the rest of the universe reacts, seen mainly on the local scale.
For instance, decades after the launch of the Voyager spacecrafts, war and pestilence have killed millions of people, yet these tiny boxes of metal parts keep moving outward from the center of our solar system. Like beams of energy reaching us from across the universe, the Voyager units represent us at a point in time that no longer exists. We took many risks using vast sums of money to create those spacecraft, money that could have been spent on any number of ideas but we chose to learn more about our solar system and thus more about our place in it, including the risks facing the survival of our species in this area of the galaxy.
Where is real growth occurring in our economy? What is truth? What is reality? What is money but this shirt on my back and the laptop computer under my fingertips?
I tell myself I am the only person writing and reading this blog so that I can be free to say what I think and feel, not tied to emotions between myself and others or economically linked to others who might give me motives to speak or keep quiet. Sometimes I believe what I tell myself and other times I see myself not saying enough because of fear of offending others.
While those versed in the ways of making money more valuable (and thus more likely to be loaned, spent or invested) express their opinions or use their actions to put money in motion, I sit here and look at our planet from the edge of the solar system, as if I'm a vulnerable set of technology long past accomplishing its stated goals, and even past its imagined value as a precursor to "V'ger."
I have no use for money. I only have use for my species. To see value in what the two have in common, I pull away from all the voices who are trying to make money by talking about the value of money and imagine a time and place where the current value of money is unimportant. If I talk about a time 10,000 years from now, I might as well write a science fiction story. If I talk about a time a few months or a few years from now, I might as well become an economic policy expert.
I imagine a time in the near future - could be tomorrow or could be fifty years from now - most likely, a time where we're still repeating ourselves over and over while pretending that our new discoveries, new technologies and new genetic changes make us a better species. I don't mind the repetition because repetition is like the food I throw into the yard, giving us ongoing experiments to see which changes we make will lead to more innovative beneficial changes.
In this near future:
Some people are selling their second yacht or fourth retirement property. Some are having their first home taken away. Some are scooping up cheap assets for later profitable resale.
On whom do I focus?
Experts, analysts and other questionable words float in the open marketplace of ideas. Ideas. Hmm... What is an idea? And no, not the dictionary or wikipedia definition. What is an idea to you?
I don't know the diets of the lifeforms whose daily habits take them across the patch of ground on which my house was deeded. As an experiment, I throw bits of food next to the driveway to see what happens. Apples quickly disappear. Oranges and grapefruits are never consumed by large lifeforms, their round shapes shrinking with the growth of mold. Today, I threw a few stale doughnuts out and will check on them later. Birdseed is almost instantly consumed.
I try not to distinguish one lifeform's needs from another in what I choose to toss into the yard. That way, I get to see a variety of responses to my application of the "trickle down" food cycle. You remember the "trickle down" theory, don't you? A person who's eating a large, juicy sandwich will have some drops of nutritional liquid drip off the chin and onto the ground for other lifeforms to feed on. That's not the "trickle down" theory, you say? Are you sure?
While we google our memories of the "trickle down" theory, let's think for a moment. Did you take an economics class in school, primary, secondary or collegiate? Do you remember the theories of supply and demand, the iterative value of currency, or how the banking system is supposed to work? Do you know how to write a check? [Those of you who've only used credit/debit cards your whole life, or even your mobile phone to pay for goods, are excused from answering that last question.]
At one point I thought about majoring in economics or accounting in my college studies, especially since beer consumption and football watching weren't offered in college curricula. Somewhere between chemical engineering, foreign languages, religious studies, computer science and IT management, that is. Meanwhile, my college loans piled up.
If I have no personal belief in the power of money, should I speak from a monetary point of view? If I only see life in the moment, should I talk about the value of compounding interest?
Questions today...questions...sigh...what to say, what to do...
In my family, participation in the exchange of goods and services vary. Some live on the minimum monthly payment plan. Some live frugally and pay cash for major purchases. Some invest heavily and make major gains in their personal wealth. Risk and reward. Comfort zone. Playgrounds.
I don't know what money is other than an idea. I see pieces of paper and bits of stamped metal and hear about the comparative value of one version versus another but it makes no sense to me. Money. What is it? Barter converter. Murder incentive. War inciter. Peace initiative. Health provider.
Suggestions pour in on how to make our economy strong again, from isolationist policies to single global currency, from free market to centralized control, from high risk rogue investors to highly-regulated / scrutinized market management teams.
And still, I have no internal concept of money. It's like a void in my mind, the center of a hurricane / typhoon, alive but empty, surrounded by bustling activity.
No matter what I say or believe, people will use their definitions of money to take risks or do nothing with their money. No matter what we think, the future is undefined and full of risks - there are no surefire definitions of safety and security. We act and the rest of the universe reacts, seen mainly on the local scale.
For instance, decades after the launch of the Voyager spacecrafts, war and pestilence have killed millions of people, yet these tiny boxes of metal parts keep moving outward from the center of our solar system. Like beams of energy reaching us from across the universe, the Voyager units represent us at a point in time that no longer exists. We took many risks using vast sums of money to create those spacecraft, money that could have been spent on any number of ideas but we chose to learn more about our solar system and thus more about our place in it, including the risks facing the survival of our species in this area of the galaxy.
Where is real growth occurring in our economy? What is truth? What is reality? What is money but this shirt on my back and the laptop computer under my fingertips?
I tell myself I am the only person writing and reading this blog so that I can be free to say what I think and feel, not tied to emotions between myself and others or economically linked to others who might give me motives to speak or keep quiet. Sometimes I believe what I tell myself and other times I see myself not saying enough because of fear of offending others.
While those versed in the ways of making money more valuable (and thus more likely to be loaned, spent or invested) express their opinions or use their actions to put money in motion, I sit here and look at our planet from the edge of the solar system, as if I'm a vulnerable set of technology long past accomplishing its stated goals, and even past its imagined value as a precursor to "V'ger."
I have no use for money. I only have use for my species. To see value in what the two have in common, I pull away from all the voices who are trying to make money by talking about the value of money and imagine a time and place where the current value of money is unimportant. If I talk about a time 10,000 years from now, I might as well write a science fiction story. If I talk about a time a few months or a few years from now, I might as well become an economic policy expert.
I imagine a time in the near future - could be tomorrow or could be fifty years from now - most likely, a time where we're still repeating ourselves over and over while pretending that our new discoveries, new technologies and new genetic changes make us a better species. I don't mind the repetition because repetition is like the food I throw into the yard, giving us ongoing experiments to see which changes we make will lead to more innovative beneficial changes.
In this near future:
- We've rewritten the laws governing advertising and marketing - we can no longer over-promise the benefits of goods and services - we must give messages that demonstrate the real benefits and detriments of products, including product life of average enjoyment/usefulness and environmental impact, with links to forums discussing the products/services.
- Community service is a required set of skills/classes taught to children throughout their school years and has monetary value which can be exchanged for goods and services, useful during times of economic downturns when those who are less actively employed, both children and adults, can put their skills and hobbies to use for the community and still have economic purchasing power.
- We fuse fantasy and reality where we can don imaginary lives that are viewable by others wearing similar augmented reality gear - no longer do you have to use limited resources for your wardrobe or lifestyle - you can create, lease or buy your own AR life and change it at will, making mandatory school/office dress codes obsolete. On the Internet and in real life, nobody sees you as a dog.
- Office hours become completely useless as labor laws recognize the blend of work and private life into one - we get paid for completed projects, not hours worked, freeing us to do what we want when we want as long as we stay on schedule (schedule being a flexible definition using time, cost and resources creatively).
- Poverty still plagues society due to war, pestilence, mental challenges and drug abuse. However, voluntary poverty becomes fashionable as people try and stay in the "no impact" lifestyle. Governments grapple with the concept of low-tax zones to encourage more people to live in low-stress, low-overhead areas, asking if such citizens must demonstrate higher community involvement to qualify or if being just plain "we don't trust and don't want a government" folks can live there, too.
- The digital divide raises the barrier higher and higher that separates the educated from the uneducated, continuing to spark inventions to connect those who want to be digital citizens but don't have the means or understanding to get connected. Political revolutions are led by digital citizens pretending to be members of the nondigital proletariats.
- Greenland becomes a major tourist destination when people flood to the island to bathe in the curative cold waters of melting glaciers.
- Antarctica becomes the next major battleground for terrorist groups to control.
- A child of parents of Taoist/Buddhist Han, Muslim Uyghur, Hindu Indian and Ainu heritage is born in space.
20 October 2009
Poiuytrew
I looked at two sets of eyes today - deep-brown, almost black irises. Too dark to see if pupils were expanding or contracting. I looked at other facial movements for clues about the two people. We have seen each other many times but I still look for reassurance of our connectedness. Why?
I exist in this moment - well-established fact. I find what I want in this moment - self-assured fact. I want to give my share of this moment away - curious fact. Why?
I want to know you but do you want me to know you? By knowing you, I write down what I observe about you from my perspective. My perspective, though, has many moods and styles of writing. I may use humour, criticism, fiction, or some mix of the three.
I look at one face and see the profile of Mayan royalty. I look at the other face and see Asian beauty. Each with a history, personal and cultural. Each with a set of daily problems and solutions.
I look for a smile but if I won't get a smile will I be happy with what I get? What if a smile is not the personal/cultural recognition sign from the other? What if a smile is preserved for close friends only, in order to maintain a shell of indifference, a shield against the rest of the world of faces?
I live in this moment. Today's earlier moments are gone. I cannot retrieve the previous moments but I can remember them in this moment. In reliving a moment in my thoughts, I take away from my ability to learn a new task like writing a new song, or seeing a new view of the outside world.
To some degree, I value wandering and aimlessness so I can keep my sense of wonder alive. Wandering and aimlessness mean forgetting previous moments so the current moment is all I've got, free from planning for the future. When free of time, I have only myself to give, no external gifts I've made or future to offer. I'm just plain me, with all my freckles and wrinkles, not an athletic star or academic giant. When I'm me outside of time, I don't know who I am except through you. If I get no indication from you who I am, I am not me. When I'm free of time and no longer me, I am a clear pane of glass, devoid and null. Not even a chameleon or a mirror.
To be devoid and null means no concentration, no focus, no exertion of my will. A little scary at times, keeping all but my physical appearance out of the picture, subject to your interpretation without commentary from me. Comparable to showing a photograph of a friend to someone who seems unimpressed and adding, "Oh, he's got great charm and personality. He's just not photogenic." What if you don't say anything and the person doesn't say anything back? You're both standing there looking at a photograph, a static image, a time-based capture that doesn't represent the friend except in one moment.
That's what it feels like when you don't smile back.
Time to review some of the feedback I've gotten in regards to reviving the loan/credit business...
I exist in this moment - well-established fact. I find what I want in this moment - self-assured fact. I want to give my share of this moment away - curious fact. Why?
I want to know you but do you want me to know you? By knowing you, I write down what I observe about you from my perspective. My perspective, though, has many moods and styles of writing. I may use humour, criticism, fiction, or some mix of the three.
I look at one face and see the profile of Mayan royalty. I look at the other face and see Asian beauty. Each with a history, personal and cultural. Each with a set of daily problems and solutions.
I look for a smile but if I won't get a smile will I be happy with what I get? What if a smile is not the personal/cultural recognition sign from the other? What if a smile is preserved for close friends only, in order to maintain a shell of indifference, a shield against the rest of the world of faces?
I live in this moment. Today's earlier moments are gone. I cannot retrieve the previous moments but I can remember them in this moment. In reliving a moment in my thoughts, I take away from my ability to learn a new task like writing a new song, or seeing a new view of the outside world.
To some degree, I value wandering and aimlessness so I can keep my sense of wonder alive. Wandering and aimlessness mean forgetting previous moments so the current moment is all I've got, free from planning for the future. When free of time, I have only myself to give, no external gifts I've made or future to offer. I'm just plain me, with all my freckles and wrinkles, not an athletic star or academic giant. When I'm me outside of time, I don't know who I am except through you. If I get no indication from you who I am, I am not me. When I'm free of time and no longer me, I am a clear pane of glass, devoid and null. Not even a chameleon or a mirror.
To be devoid and null means no concentration, no focus, no exertion of my will. A little scary at times, keeping all but my physical appearance out of the picture, subject to your interpretation without commentary from me. Comparable to showing a photograph of a friend to someone who seems unimpressed and adding, "Oh, he's got great charm and personality. He's just not photogenic." What if you don't say anything and the person doesn't say anything back? You're both standing there looking at a photograph, a static image, a time-based capture that doesn't represent the friend except in one moment.
That's what it feels like when you don't smile back.
Time to review some of the feedback I've gotten in regards to reviving the loan/credit business...
Who's Not Paying Their Taxes?
Now, I'm not here to accuse any particular legislator but have you ever noticed the number of legislators that get caught not paying their taxes or having workers for whom they don't pay employee taxes? Or the fact that in this tough economy, with all the talk about the economic slowdown and reduction in collection of taxes, we haven't had a push by legislators to take a pay cut, lower their expense accounts, or reduce their support staff?
Not that I should be the one talking. I haven't reduced my support staff during this economic downturn, either. The same squirrels, birds and insects are free to feed off my land as when the economy was growing rapidly.
Well, folks, time to hitch up this wagon and hit the road. Peddle my wares in the next town. Yippie-kai-yay, Mister Falcon.
Not that I should be the one talking. I haven't reduced my support staff during this economic downturn, either. The same squirrels, birds and insects are free to feed off my land as when the economy was growing rapidly.
Well, folks, time to hitch up this wagon and hit the road. Peddle my wares in the next town. Yippie-kai-yay, Mister Falcon.
Once More Into The Breach
Last night, I sat with my wife and watched an hour of "Almost The Truth, The Lawyer's Cut," a series of interviews with comedians, writers, and others involved with or inspired by the Monty Python comedy team. I felt like I was watching the Discovery Channel about a series of excavations or True Hollywood Story about a cartoonish movie icon. It would be like finding out Alexander the Great didn't intend to conquer the known world - he just happened to go for a walk and a bunch of angry, fighting soldiers followed him around.
Meanwhile, in our TV viewing room, an American football game progressed along. With no guarantee of a victory, making every play essential, Moreno charged into the middle of the pile on 3rd and 1 in the second half of the ballgame, achieving his goal of reaching the first down marker, joining his teammates in their drive for success.
Two paragraphs - two means for adults to make names for themselves.
I think about the group of friends with whom I spent my childhood and the group of friends from my adulthood. How have we made names for ourselves? Did we mean to? Do we take turns charging forward to conquer our foes? Will we have the luxury to look back at ourselves and recount our victories for admirers?
Do you want to be talked about? More than likely. But who is your intended audience or set of admirers? An arena full of screaming fans? A kitchen full of loving family? A comfortable group of friends?
As my grandfather used to say, success is not the size of the wheelbarrow, but rather if you finished digging out the hole, no matter how big or small.
Meanwhile, in our TV viewing room, an American football game progressed along. With no guarantee of a victory, making every play essential, Moreno charged into the middle of the pile on 3rd and 1 in the second half of the ballgame, achieving his goal of reaching the first down marker, joining his teammates in their drive for success.
Two paragraphs - two means for adults to make names for themselves.
I think about the group of friends with whom I spent my childhood and the group of friends from my adulthood. How have we made names for ourselves? Did we mean to? Do we take turns charging forward to conquer our foes? Will we have the luxury to look back at ourselves and recount our victories for admirers?
Do you want to be talked about? More than likely. But who is your intended audience or set of admirers? An arena full of screaming fans? A kitchen full of loving family? A comfortable group of friends?
As my grandfather used to say, success is not the size of the wheelbarrow, but rather if you finished digging out the hole, no matter how big or small.
19 October 2009
Who'da Thunk It?
I think back to the jobs I've had and wonder where I'd be if I knew where I would go. Mowing one lawn after another while working for myself. Scraping varnish off upright pianos in the heat of summer for a piano tuner/refinisher. Squeezing the juice out of ground beef at Taco Bell. Punching holes in tubs of rising pizza dough as a kitchen cook at Chicago Dough Company. Typing up military contract proposals at GE. Wading in sewage up to my hips in large sewer pipes for ADS Environmental Services. Setting up computer networks for Microsoft WHQL tests at Conexant Systems. Managing a test lab and traveling to Europe as a program manager for Avocent. Teaching classes at ITT Technical Institute.
Where will I be in 15 years? What work will I have performed? I have no idea.
Motivational speakers encourage their listeners to break the mold and seek out new horizons, quitting your job, if you have to, so you can become the real you you're meant to be. They sell their success stories as part of the marketing/branding of themselves, sometimes seen as motivation for motivation's sake, like selling a book on how to sell books that promote selling your own book.
What is success? I ask myself that question every morning after I wake up. What do I want to do today that will make me happy to wake up the next morning and look back at my previous day's accomplishments as motivation for that day's accomplishments? Sometimes I'm happy to say I did nothing more significant than watched the Sun trace a path across the sky. Sometimes I'm not happy enough, having expected more of myself than I gave the previous day, motivating me to move a little faster/smarter during my waking hours.
Success is felt in the moment. I am living my life only in the moment and can find success nowhere else. My previous accomplishments may demonstrate success or lack thereof, but what I do in the current moment determines what success means to me, not the past or expectations of the future.
Like I said, job titles and the activities involved with work have little meaning to me. They indicate my social/economic interactions, not who I am. I am me, here and now, not who I was or what I did with others.
Sitting here now, I contemplate what I will think when I wake up tomorrow. Will I feel happy? Yes. What will I feel motivated to do? I don't know. I plan to meet a friend/business associate for lunch but other than that I have no concrete plans. I will talk about and think about my next set of social/economic interactions but I will not know with certainty who I will be. What kind of success is that? Wonderful.
If a boy on a fully-funded Navy ROTC academic scholarship at Georgia Tech as a chemical engineering student who left after three quarters because of poor academic performance to find himself making pizzas a year or so later can end up where I'm sitting today, then anything is possible. Happiness is seeing the lessons learned (e.g., learn to study before you take "weeding out" courses like chemistry, physics and calculus while being in the ROTC jazz band and football marching band at a place like Georgia Tech) and moving on (put aside distractions and complete classes to get an associate's and a bachelor's degree years later).
I have collected a set of experiences in life that have made my 47 trips around the Sun successfully entertaining and happy. I discovered along the way that when I seek my definition of happiness and not the definitions others want to impose on me I am much more successful.
How did I get here, retired at 45? I learned to laugh. I taught others the value of making fun of yourself. I found a life partner at age 12 whom I married 12 years later. I valued my mistakes, no matter how painful they felt at the time, and found ways to apply corrective action for success.
For some, success is having their faces and bodies snipped and tucked. For others, success is traveling to Central America to heal the sick. For many, success is having children who have children.
I didn't plan and follow a perfect path of success to get here today. Long ago, I thought that I'd like to be a millionaire by age 45 and retire but I did not create a spreadsheet and manage my funds every day to accomplish the task. Instead, I meandered. I wandered and wondered. I listened to the advice of others (especially my wife's advice to avoid the trap of "buyer's remorse") and followed advice when it made sense to me, sometimes working out and sometimes not. I emotionally leaned on my friends and family when times got too tough for one person to handle. Always, I laughed and joked around.
I have taught classes for three quarters in the local classrooms of a technical institute. I have learned a better way to teach, one that is as old as our species: motivate others to enjoy life and nurture their natural curiosity and capacity to adapt. Teaching is not rote memorization. Teaching is encouraging others to desire to learn and count success as the grasp of a school subject, including concepts and jargon/vocabulary. I've learned more than I expected on the night I showed up at the technical institute as a guest speaker last winter. Time to take that learning and move on to the next social/economic interaction called a job or occupation, my definition of continual success as a wandering wonderer.
Where will I be in 15 years? What work will I have performed? I have no idea.
Motivational speakers encourage their listeners to break the mold and seek out new horizons, quitting your job, if you have to, so you can become the real you you're meant to be. They sell their success stories as part of the marketing/branding of themselves, sometimes seen as motivation for motivation's sake, like selling a book on how to sell books that promote selling your own book.
What is success? I ask myself that question every morning after I wake up. What do I want to do today that will make me happy to wake up the next morning and look back at my previous day's accomplishments as motivation for that day's accomplishments? Sometimes I'm happy to say I did nothing more significant than watched the Sun trace a path across the sky. Sometimes I'm not happy enough, having expected more of myself than I gave the previous day, motivating me to move a little faster/smarter during my waking hours.
Success is felt in the moment. I am living my life only in the moment and can find success nowhere else. My previous accomplishments may demonstrate success or lack thereof, but what I do in the current moment determines what success means to me, not the past or expectations of the future.
Like I said, job titles and the activities involved with work have little meaning to me. They indicate my social/economic interactions, not who I am. I am me, here and now, not who I was or what I did with others.
Sitting here now, I contemplate what I will think when I wake up tomorrow. Will I feel happy? Yes. What will I feel motivated to do? I don't know. I plan to meet a friend/business associate for lunch but other than that I have no concrete plans. I will talk about and think about my next set of social/economic interactions but I will not know with certainty who I will be. What kind of success is that? Wonderful.
If a boy on a fully-funded Navy ROTC academic scholarship at Georgia Tech as a chemical engineering student who left after three quarters because of poor academic performance to find himself making pizzas a year or so later can end up where I'm sitting today, then anything is possible. Happiness is seeing the lessons learned (e.g., learn to study before you take "weeding out" courses like chemistry, physics and calculus while being in the ROTC jazz band and football marching band at a place like Georgia Tech) and moving on (put aside distractions and complete classes to get an associate's and a bachelor's degree years later).
I have collected a set of experiences in life that have made my 47 trips around the Sun successfully entertaining and happy. I discovered along the way that when I seek my definition of happiness and not the definitions others want to impose on me I am much more successful.
How did I get here, retired at 45? I learned to laugh. I taught others the value of making fun of yourself. I found a life partner at age 12 whom I married 12 years later. I valued my mistakes, no matter how painful they felt at the time, and found ways to apply corrective action for success.
For some, success is having their faces and bodies snipped and tucked. For others, success is traveling to Central America to heal the sick. For many, success is having children who have children.
I didn't plan and follow a perfect path of success to get here today. Long ago, I thought that I'd like to be a millionaire by age 45 and retire but I did not create a spreadsheet and manage my funds every day to accomplish the task. Instead, I meandered. I wandered and wondered. I listened to the advice of others (especially my wife's advice to avoid the trap of "buyer's remorse") and followed advice when it made sense to me, sometimes working out and sometimes not. I emotionally leaned on my friends and family when times got too tough for one person to handle. Always, I laughed and joked around.
I have taught classes for three quarters in the local classrooms of a technical institute. I have learned a better way to teach, one that is as old as our species: motivate others to enjoy life and nurture their natural curiosity and capacity to adapt. Teaching is not rote memorization. Teaching is encouraging others to desire to learn and count success as the grasp of a school subject, including concepts and jargon/vocabulary. I've learned more than I expected on the night I showed up at the technical institute as a guest speaker last winter. Time to take that learning and move on to the next social/economic interaction called a job or occupation, my definition of continual success as a wandering wonderer.
Sunrise Through The Trees
I couldn't sleep last night because of you. Who are you? You are the parents who insist their children get a narrow point of view while being raised. You are the child who's known only one point of view while growing up but senses there's more to life. You are those who want more and those who want less.
Over the past few days, while watching a few spectacles centered on sports arenas broadcast to television screens, I paid attention to the adverts which pay, in part, for my viewing. Many of them told me about the money I'd save by spending money, often in the $500-$1000 range and sometimes in the $3000-$5000 range, depending on products being advertised. Overall, I felt a nostalgic touch, as if the adverts were still aimed toward the mass consumption audience, even in adverts for alcoholic beverages ("drink more because we've packed fewer calories," "drink lots because we added two more drops of artificial flavoring!").
Earlier this morning, while I stared at the ceiling in near-darkness and imagined little insects crawling around that farted glow-in-the-dark gas which my optic nerve was trying its darnedest to detect, I thought about you and I thought about those adverts. I thought about what defines us.
Before I retired a few years ago from a day job, I managed several small projects, totaling in the tens of millions of dollars. Saving $500 a year would have gotten me fired. My company wanted savings in the X to XX million dollar range, or significant sales increases to compensate for lack of savings while a new technology hit the market.
Therefore, I am of two minds here. I enjoy watching sports but sitting in front of a small box, even one close to 60" diagonal, and letting myself get exposed to adverts for savings of small change tells me that I am not the demographic the product companies are after. At the same time, the cost to go to to the same sporting events and watch them live is cost-prohibitive to my frugal budget.
As the Earth turns and the view of the Sun comes close to my eyes, the landscape slowly breaks into individual items out of the general dim silhouette moments ago. So, too, my understanding of the universe slowly wakes up and brightens my view of life.
Who am I? Who are you? Who are we? My generation now runs the executive branch of the U.S. government. The U.S. president is 10 months older than I am. Those of our age actually have control of the world. We have come of age, as they say, after making significant progress in our growing-up stage. Wise, we depend on those of many ages and backgrounds to run the machines that make our lives better - political, financial, industrial, academic, religious, etc.
I no longer sit back and let the older generation tell me what to do because I am now in charge of my life. I am me because of you so I am in charge of your life and you in charge of mine.
I have 14,809 days to keep learning. In some number of days less than that time, my generation will pass the torch that keeps the lamp of our species burning bright.
I did not vote for Barack Obama and do not support many Democratic ideals (especially since I am a fiscal conservative at heart) but I will not let detractors stop my generation from having its day in the sun! We will go after the detractors until our last breath, if necessary, to shape our species up and prepare us for the next tens of thousands of years of growing up we still have to do. We will hunt down the cowardly suicide bomber trainers and do what we have to do with them to better our species. We will not rest. We don't care what your colour is, how you dress, how you speak, what you do or who you hang out with. We spent our youth discovering we are all the same and we will not waste our training on backwards thinking.
Because I could not sleep last night, I had several hours to contemplate the future of our species. I saw that we make progress when we put aside insignificant differences, which accounts for most of what we do everyday, and work together to improve our living conditions. I don't have time to waste on vegetating in front of a TV any longer if I want our generation to make a difference in where our species will be 10 or 20 years from now when we finally relinquish our responsibilities to the next generation.
I'm not out to make our planet a peace fest or a love nest. I'm out to save us from ourselves and get us on the path to a prosperous future, starting now. As usual, I'll keep using humour but my days of sitting on the sofa are over. Time to return to the workforce and push us a little harder in the right direction, one company and one industry at a time. If I'm lucky, in my lifetime I'll see us having an interplanetary broadcast system that, instead of searching for extraterrestrial intelligence, will actively beam intergalactic broadcasts of what our species has accomplished to points all over the universe (sure, we don't know the risks or rewards for such a scenario but we're already noisy now).
I'll start today by seeing how we can convert or retrain our war profiteering into space research and exploration. How do we train kids that the path to heaven includes building rockets to the Moon instead of strapping bombs to our chests? How do you say that the rigours of space are equivalent to infidels? How do we coordinate our navies into solely stopping pirates instead of chasing after each other? How do we turn our armies and air forces into profitable means of both protecting good governments and getting us onto other planets? Do beauty pageants and racecar events fit into this scheme?
My future started over 47 years ago and it's happening today. How about yours?
Over the past few days, while watching a few spectacles centered on sports arenas broadcast to television screens, I paid attention to the adverts which pay, in part, for my viewing. Many of them told me about the money I'd save by spending money, often in the $500-$1000 range and sometimes in the $3000-$5000 range, depending on products being advertised. Overall, I felt a nostalgic touch, as if the adverts were still aimed toward the mass consumption audience, even in adverts for alcoholic beverages ("drink more because we've packed fewer calories," "drink lots because we added two more drops of artificial flavoring!").
Earlier this morning, while I stared at the ceiling in near-darkness and imagined little insects crawling around that farted glow-in-the-dark gas which my optic nerve was trying its darnedest to detect, I thought about you and I thought about those adverts. I thought about what defines us.
Before I retired a few years ago from a day job, I managed several small projects, totaling in the tens of millions of dollars. Saving $500 a year would have gotten me fired. My company wanted savings in the X to XX million dollar range, or significant sales increases to compensate for lack of savings while a new technology hit the market.
Therefore, I am of two minds here. I enjoy watching sports but sitting in front of a small box, even one close to 60" diagonal, and letting myself get exposed to adverts for savings of small change tells me that I am not the demographic the product companies are after. At the same time, the cost to go to to the same sporting events and watch them live is cost-prohibitive to my frugal budget.
As the Earth turns and the view of the Sun comes close to my eyes, the landscape slowly breaks into individual items out of the general dim silhouette moments ago. So, too, my understanding of the universe slowly wakes up and brightens my view of life.
Who am I? Who are you? Who are we? My generation now runs the executive branch of the U.S. government. The U.S. president is 10 months older than I am. Those of our age actually have control of the world. We have come of age, as they say, after making significant progress in our growing-up stage. Wise, we depend on those of many ages and backgrounds to run the machines that make our lives better - political, financial, industrial, academic, religious, etc.
I no longer sit back and let the older generation tell me what to do because I am now in charge of my life. I am me because of you so I am in charge of your life and you in charge of mine.
I have 14,809 days to keep learning. In some number of days less than that time, my generation will pass the torch that keeps the lamp of our species burning bright.
I did not vote for Barack Obama and do not support many Democratic ideals (especially since I am a fiscal conservative at heart) but I will not let detractors stop my generation from having its day in the sun! We will go after the detractors until our last breath, if necessary, to shape our species up and prepare us for the next tens of thousands of years of growing up we still have to do. We will hunt down the cowardly suicide bomber trainers and do what we have to do with them to better our species. We will not rest. We don't care what your colour is, how you dress, how you speak, what you do or who you hang out with. We spent our youth discovering we are all the same and we will not waste our training on backwards thinking.
Because I could not sleep last night, I had several hours to contemplate the future of our species. I saw that we make progress when we put aside insignificant differences, which accounts for most of what we do everyday, and work together to improve our living conditions. I don't have time to waste on vegetating in front of a TV any longer if I want our generation to make a difference in where our species will be 10 or 20 years from now when we finally relinquish our responsibilities to the next generation.
I'm not out to make our planet a peace fest or a love nest. I'm out to save us from ourselves and get us on the path to a prosperous future, starting now. As usual, I'll keep using humour but my days of sitting on the sofa are over. Time to return to the workforce and push us a little harder in the right direction, one company and one industry at a time. If I'm lucky, in my lifetime I'll see us having an interplanetary broadcast system that, instead of searching for extraterrestrial intelligence, will actively beam intergalactic broadcasts of what our species has accomplished to points all over the universe (sure, we don't know the risks or rewards for such a scenario but we're already noisy now).
I'll start today by seeing how we can convert or retrain our war profiteering into space research and exploration. How do we train kids that the path to heaven includes building rockets to the Moon instead of strapping bombs to our chests? How do you say that the rigours of space are equivalent to infidels? How do we coordinate our navies into solely stopping pirates instead of chasing after each other? How do we turn our armies and air forces into profitable means of both protecting good governments and getting us onto other planets? Do beauty pageants and racecar events fit into this scheme?
My future started over 47 years ago and it's happening today. How about yours?
18 October 2009
A Moment Alone Together
Felt like I visited a hippie commune tonight, complete with '60s-era interpersonal communications issues enhanced by frequent drug use, a common theme of movies from my childhood in the '60s. In other words, my wife and I saw "Where The Wild Things Are." When the hero is a child psychologist, or rather a child pretending to be a group leader, then the monster in the closet is the ego, not blood dripping off teeth or coat buttons reflecting like flesh-eating dragon's eyes. I credit the acting and CG facial effects of the Wild Things for giving the movie the sort of depth "Pan's Labyrinth" showed that "Labyrinth" didn't.
Afterward, we ate a late dinner at Tony's Little Italy restaurant. Our server, Elizah P, shared my love of two main courses - lobster-stuffed ravioli and Italian sausage and peppers - and the rum-soaked cake for dessert. At the table next to us a mother hugged and rocked her son sitting on her lap. She leaned over to get bites of bread while her husband seemed to sit there as if his brain was in another time zone, totally disinterested. After while, the boy went to an empty table and was king of the feast, eating fried potato strips from a large red McDonald's cardboard box. The boy played funny faces with his mother.
I chose the lobster ravioli, splitting a cup of olives with my wife while drinking a glass of house Chianti; she ate baked ziti with meatballs (for my dessert, rum cake; for hers, chocolate-covered cannoli). At another table, a young couple drank diet Pepsi and Mr. Pibb, the woman ordering a grilled chicken salad.
We debated the ceiling light fixture covers. To me, they look like glass punch bowls in the colour of 1930s pressed glass. To my wife, they looked like upside-down sunny-side up fried eggs with glass door knob finials stuck in the middle.
We have one life here to share with each other. Tonight, the young mother with the French fry boy, her long hair a mix of blonde and brunette down to the bottom of her shoulder blades, wearing a black-and-white striped sweater over a svelte, small frame, kept glancing my way but never making eye contact with me until the moment her husband had taken their son to the toilet.
A smile. A quiet, shared moment. Never long enough. And never longer than you want it to be. We know these moments when we reveal our beings, prepared to share our weaknesses, dropping the masks as if to say, "I do not know who I look like to you. I wish that all the problems of my life and that of yours is forgotten in this moment we give each other." Romance novels hover over scenes like this, page after suspense-filled page. Serial soap opera TV shows freeze camera shots on these looks just before going to commercial breaks. We get one shot. We give one shot. Like a photograph or woodcut engraved in our memories.
I always wish there was more time; time to mold the image of the face, the shape of the nose, the curve of the eyebrows, the variation of the eye colours, the upturned smiling lips; time to read and write thoughts by facial expression only; time to breathe in the aromas of the room, the tomato sauce, the garlic salad dressing, the olive oil, the perfume; and time to savour thoughts like these in the moment.
Tonight, I had the time and shared it with the woman who loves her son with all her heart and wants her husband to give her just a few minutes' attention at dinner, a hug with her son a joy but not the same as hugging the man with whom she brought her son into the world. Yes, that's what her smile told me - "give me what I seek: recognition" - that she begged and demanded at the same time.
In our rush we forget ourselves. By forgetting ourselves we forget those around us who are themselves because of us. We forget that our problems are there to be shared with empathy for those listening empathetically. I love my wife and sometimes we forget each other even when one is talking and the other hearing but not listening. We have the ability to listen and think at the same time but it takes patience to slow down our thought process to listen to others. When we take time to listen, the love between us feels infinite.
The more I love my wife by telling her that I love her, both privately and publicly, the more I love those around me and the better I can listen, talk and think. Thanks goes out to the woman sitting nearby who listened to the conversation between my wife, the server and me and heard me tell the server how much I love my wife by the compliments I gave my life partner through what I said to Elizah.
A shared look is a look of love and an appreciation for one another. I appreciate my wife, and the mother next to us tonight appreciates her husband and son. Together, with a moment of infinity captured in one look, the young mother and I shared our appreciation for one another that we share with the ones we love.
I read that a globally popular musician wrote that she was a geek in primary and secondary school. I don't know what else she said but I know what she means. One's dedication to one's life begins at an early age. We drive ourselves forward and the harder/faster we drive, the farther we get. How far we get depends on factors outside our determination, including luck/fate/god's(gods') will, but if we aren't driving ourselves we'll probably get nowhere fast. I look at all sorts of people who've reached great heights in our societies - Madonna, Peyton Manning, Hu Jintao, Barack Obama, Angela Merkel, to name a few - and know that they are where they are because of their drive, determination and willingness to share with others, giving everyone they meet the feeling that the moment they shared together was special.
Tonight's movie shared a similar message but not as direct - be yourself, unselfishly. I hope Elizah and the mother at the next table saw the same message from me. Don't wait to be yourself - when you are yourself and when you share yourself, give wholeheartedly, knowing that your love is infinite when you give unselfishly.
Afterward, we ate a late dinner at Tony's Little Italy restaurant. Our server, Elizah P, shared my love of two main courses - lobster-stuffed ravioli and Italian sausage and peppers - and the rum-soaked cake for dessert. At the table next to us a mother hugged and rocked her son sitting on her lap. She leaned over to get bites of bread while her husband seemed to sit there as if his brain was in another time zone, totally disinterested. After while, the boy went to an empty table and was king of the feast, eating fried potato strips from a large red McDonald's cardboard box. The boy played funny faces with his mother.
I chose the lobster ravioli, splitting a cup of olives with my wife while drinking a glass of house Chianti; she ate baked ziti with meatballs (for my dessert, rum cake; for hers, chocolate-covered cannoli). At another table, a young couple drank diet Pepsi and Mr. Pibb, the woman ordering a grilled chicken salad.
We debated the ceiling light fixture covers. To me, they look like glass punch bowls in the colour of 1930s pressed glass. To my wife, they looked like upside-down sunny-side up fried eggs with glass door knob finials stuck in the middle.
We have one life here to share with each other. Tonight, the young mother with the French fry boy, her long hair a mix of blonde and brunette down to the bottom of her shoulder blades, wearing a black-and-white striped sweater over a svelte, small frame, kept glancing my way but never making eye contact with me until the moment her husband had taken their son to the toilet.
A smile. A quiet, shared moment. Never long enough. And never longer than you want it to be. We know these moments when we reveal our beings, prepared to share our weaknesses, dropping the masks as if to say, "I do not know who I look like to you. I wish that all the problems of my life and that of yours is forgotten in this moment we give each other." Romance novels hover over scenes like this, page after suspense-filled page. Serial soap opera TV shows freeze camera shots on these looks just before going to commercial breaks. We get one shot. We give one shot. Like a photograph or woodcut engraved in our memories.
I always wish there was more time; time to mold the image of the face, the shape of the nose, the curve of the eyebrows, the variation of the eye colours, the upturned smiling lips; time to read and write thoughts by facial expression only; time to breathe in the aromas of the room, the tomato sauce, the garlic salad dressing, the olive oil, the perfume; and time to savour thoughts like these in the moment.
Tonight, I had the time and shared it with the woman who loves her son with all her heart and wants her husband to give her just a few minutes' attention at dinner, a hug with her son a joy but not the same as hugging the man with whom she brought her son into the world. Yes, that's what her smile told me - "give me what I seek: recognition" - that she begged and demanded at the same time.
In our rush we forget ourselves. By forgetting ourselves we forget those around us who are themselves because of us. We forget that our problems are there to be shared with empathy for those listening empathetically. I love my wife and sometimes we forget each other even when one is talking and the other hearing but not listening. We have the ability to listen and think at the same time but it takes patience to slow down our thought process to listen to others. When we take time to listen, the love between us feels infinite.
The more I love my wife by telling her that I love her, both privately and publicly, the more I love those around me and the better I can listen, talk and think. Thanks goes out to the woman sitting nearby who listened to the conversation between my wife, the server and me and heard me tell the server how much I love my wife by the compliments I gave my life partner through what I said to Elizah.
A shared look is a look of love and an appreciation for one another. I appreciate my wife, and the mother next to us tonight appreciates her husband and son. Together, with a moment of infinity captured in one look, the young mother and I shared our appreciation for one another that we share with the ones we love.
I read that a globally popular musician wrote that she was a geek in primary and secondary school. I don't know what else she said but I know what she means. One's dedication to one's life begins at an early age. We drive ourselves forward and the harder/faster we drive, the farther we get. How far we get depends on factors outside our determination, including luck/fate/god's(gods') will, but if we aren't driving ourselves we'll probably get nowhere fast. I look at all sorts of people who've reached great heights in our societies - Madonna, Peyton Manning, Hu Jintao, Barack Obama, Angela Merkel, to name a few - and know that they are where they are because of their drive, determination and willingness to share with others, giving everyone they meet the feeling that the moment they shared together was special.
Tonight's movie shared a similar message but not as direct - be yourself, unselfishly. I hope Elizah and the mother at the next table saw the same message from me. Don't wait to be yourself - when you are yourself and when you share yourself, give wholeheartedly, knowing that your love is infinite when you give unselfishly.
Where is I, Stan?
In global news today, the cartography business is taking off after the announcements of the Stans - Pakistan, Afghanistan, Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, Kazakhstan, Kyrgystan, Tajikistan, as well as Iran and Iraq - that they were officially joining together to form two new states, Sunnistan and Shi'iteistan. They released notes of their secret meeting to form one country, Islamistan, which detailed the continuing fight over the "right" destiny of the Muslims, paralleling the long struggle of the Jewish people to form one state, which in turn showed the internal struggle of all countries to define themselves in one form.
Immediately, the United States condemned the move, saying that it will make the polarisation of its country more pronounced. However, one cartographer pointed out that the left-leaning East and West coasts of the U.S. could not become one country separated by the right-leaning middle. Another cartographer pointed out the ability of Canada to hold itself together despite the French-speaking province of Quebec. Northern Irish residents cheered the move, approving land separation based on minor religious differences.
Analysts have flooded the airwaves. Is this good for our world? Is it bad? Where will the price of oil go? How will the military-industrial complex respond to this threat to their marketing campaign that had turned the whole area into a profitable battleground? Will FIFA have new locations from which to choose future World Cups? Should the 2016 Olympics be taken from Rio and split between the two new countries? Will there be an upswing in the price of Persian rugs?
Russia, India and China are expected to announce an upcoming set of joint military exercises along the borders of Sunnistan and Shi'iteistan.
Further details will be released by the new governments, including the proposal that the two countries will share one seat in the United Nations, showing solidarity.
Meanwhile, Kuwait is sweating bricks, looking at its lonely place between Saudi Arabia and these new nations. Qatar, Bahrain and the UAE will release statements in the next day. Nations of the African continent are said to be in talks to reconfigure their borders and perhaps declare themselves one nation, should Sunnistan and Shi'iteistan create regional peace and prosperity.
Immediately, the United States condemned the move, saying that it will make the polarisation of its country more pronounced. However, one cartographer pointed out that the left-leaning East and West coasts of the U.S. could not become one country separated by the right-leaning middle. Another cartographer pointed out the ability of Canada to hold itself together despite the French-speaking province of Quebec. Northern Irish residents cheered the move, approving land separation based on minor religious differences.
Analysts have flooded the airwaves. Is this good for our world? Is it bad? Where will the price of oil go? How will the military-industrial complex respond to this threat to their marketing campaign that had turned the whole area into a profitable battleground? Will FIFA have new locations from which to choose future World Cups? Should the 2016 Olympics be taken from Rio and split between the two new countries? Will there be an upswing in the price of Persian rugs?
Russia, India and China are expected to announce an upcoming set of joint military exercises along the borders of Sunnistan and Shi'iteistan.
Further details will be released by the new governments, including the proposal that the two countries will share one seat in the United Nations, showing solidarity.
Meanwhile, Kuwait is sweating bricks, looking at its lonely place between Saudi Arabia and these new nations. Qatar, Bahrain and the UAE will release statements in the next day. Nations of the African continent are said to be in talks to reconfigure their borders and perhaps declare themselves one nation, should Sunnistan and Shi'iteistan create regional peace and prosperity.
The Texture of Yellow-Green
Bright, sunny day - the hickory tree leaves, redbud leaves, and oak leaves find their warm, temperate zone days drop from a boil to a simmer on the pot of Earth's crust. Photosynthesis and chlorophyll fade in level of importance. Dormancy soon dominates. Life in the mid-latitudes of the Northern Hemisphere turns to thoughts of winter.
Outside my window, redbud seeds hang signs of hope, unaware of themselves waiting for a strong wind to release them from their storage boxes and become themselves anew.
= = =
I am myself today, which means I am aware of myself as you in all our forms, in all our locations. I see the guys with long locks of hair, Ted Nugent style, moving from seat to seat at a college football game. I see the father in his National Guard jacket escorting his beautiful daughter to the football field. I see the men in stripes, whose jobs they take seriously, requiring them to memorize a book-sized set of rules and endure the anger of players, coaches and fans, all to maintain a balanced sense of fair play on the field of battle that life rarely grants us - I salute your neutrality, grit and determination. I see the mothers cheering their sons knocking each other down to help their team win. I see the police officers and security guards directing traffic and pulling aside raucous, inebriated fans, all to ensure the safety of a community in movement. I see commerce in action, too, from the hand-painted adverts on fence walls to zeppelins floating overhead, talking heads with microphones on the sideline and in the media booth facing camera operators all tuned to the hidden voice in their ears talking from the producer's or director's command post (a nod, as well, to the IT folks behind the scenes, running cables and setting up information networks in today's Internet world - how else would we get our instant handheld media device updates?).
= = =
Today, I look at the colour streaming through the trees, visible particle-waves bouncing off my eyeballs, and feel the colour yellow-green. Not silky smooth. Not sandpaper rough. A slight resistance when I rub the colour between my fingers. Velour. Velveteen. Sometimes this side of yellow. Sometimes that side of green. The colour of a deciduous leaf about to fall to the ground. I hold the colour in my head, a concept I still find amazing many decades after I said my first word and recognized my first fellow member of our species.
They say that science is destroying the sense of wonder of our place in the universe, turning our millennial-long development of religion and god(s) into an atheist mindset. I disagree. No matter what we believe, or which god(s) we devote our lives to, every waking moment is a miracle and every thought/sensation a new discovery, regardless of our scientific community's desire to dissect minutiae down to slices of infinitesimally-small bits of iota.
I smile. I relax my shoulder muscles. I am alive. I may have been created by a god or may be a god for all I know. What I know doesn't matter. Knowledge is not all. A tree cannot see me. A tree cannot prevent me from knocking it down or understand my knowledge of xylem and phloem. A tree and I don't have to have that knowledge. We exist.
Last night, while I let my thoughts wander and my body slip into a sleep state, a thought bounced around, humourous but insightful. What's in a label? Local inhabitants of this area where I live have been called American Indians and native Americans but they are neither. They never knew Amerigo Vespucci - they owed no allegiance to the European leaders of their time. They, we, are of one species. We are not Americans. We are Earth-bonded creatures. The land does not owe us anything. We are not riveted into one place (although private ownership laws allow us to claim a place on land for a set period of time). Thus, we can wander wherever we want and toss labels aside like a combine cutting wheat.
I am just one person. I happen to be male. I happen to have a low amount of melanin in my skin. I can choose to reinforce stereotype labels associated with melanin levels and I can choose not to reinforce stereotypes. I choose the latter. What I reinforce is others' behaviour, the only sure thing I know via what I see, hear, feel, taste and smell, recombined by what I process in my thoughts. I know it's not always easy to overcome stereotypes, especially ones where feelings of superiority or inferiority have formed one's personality, but we can toss aside these feelings if we choose to believe we're truly free and truly one species on one planet set to explore the rest of the universe together.
Outside my window, redbud seeds hang signs of hope, unaware of themselves waiting for a strong wind to release them from their storage boxes and become themselves anew.
= = =
I am myself today, which means I am aware of myself as you in all our forms, in all our locations. I see the guys with long locks of hair, Ted Nugent style, moving from seat to seat at a college football game. I see the father in his National Guard jacket escorting his beautiful daughter to the football field. I see the men in stripes, whose jobs they take seriously, requiring them to memorize a book-sized set of rules and endure the anger of players, coaches and fans, all to maintain a balanced sense of fair play on the field of battle that life rarely grants us - I salute your neutrality, grit and determination. I see the mothers cheering their sons knocking each other down to help their team win. I see the police officers and security guards directing traffic and pulling aside raucous, inebriated fans, all to ensure the safety of a community in movement. I see commerce in action, too, from the hand-painted adverts on fence walls to zeppelins floating overhead, talking heads with microphones on the sideline and in the media booth facing camera operators all tuned to the hidden voice in their ears talking from the producer's or director's command post (a nod, as well, to the IT folks behind the scenes, running cables and setting up information networks in today's Internet world - how else would we get our instant handheld media device updates?).
= = =
Today, I look at the colour streaming through the trees, visible particle-waves bouncing off my eyeballs, and feel the colour yellow-green. Not silky smooth. Not sandpaper rough. A slight resistance when I rub the colour between my fingers. Velour. Velveteen. Sometimes this side of yellow. Sometimes that side of green. The colour of a deciduous leaf about to fall to the ground. I hold the colour in my head, a concept I still find amazing many decades after I said my first word and recognized my first fellow member of our species.
They say that science is destroying the sense of wonder of our place in the universe, turning our millennial-long development of religion and god(s) into an atheist mindset. I disagree. No matter what we believe, or which god(s) we devote our lives to, every waking moment is a miracle and every thought/sensation a new discovery, regardless of our scientific community's desire to dissect minutiae down to slices of infinitesimally-small bits of iota.
I smile. I relax my shoulder muscles. I am alive. I may have been created by a god or may be a god for all I know. What I know doesn't matter. Knowledge is not all. A tree cannot see me. A tree cannot prevent me from knocking it down or understand my knowledge of xylem and phloem. A tree and I don't have to have that knowledge. We exist.
Last night, while I let my thoughts wander and my body slip into a sleep state, a thought bounced around, humourous but insightful. What's in a label? Local inhabitants of this area where I live have been called American Indians and native Americans but they are neither. They never knew Amerigo Vespucci - they owed no allegiance to the European leaders of their time. They, we, are of one species. We are not Americans. We are Earth-bonded creatures. The land does not owe us anything. We are not riveted into one place (although private ownership laws allow us to claim a place on land for a set period of time). Thus, we can wander wherever we want and toss labels aside like a combine cutting wheat.
I am just one person. I happen to be male. I happen to have a low amount of melanin in my skin. I can choose to reinforce stereotype labels associated with melanin levels and I can choose not to reinforce stereotypes. I choose the latter. What I reinforce is others' behaviour, the only sure thing I know via what I see, hear, feel, taste and smell, recombined by what I process in my thoughts. I know it's not always easy to overcome stereotypes, especially ones where feelings of superiority or inferiority have formed one's personality, but we can toss aside these feelings if we choose to believe we're truly free and truly one species on one planet set to explore the rest of the universe together.
16 October 2009
The Sweet Smell of Victory
Birdland. Trojan band. Fireworks. Complete game plan. The streak is over! Long live the streak.
Tonight, I celebrate the first win in how many games? 27? 28? But I celebrate not for myself or my wife, both of us licking our lips after munching fresh, hot doughnuts from the fountain of youthful delights up the road that we call Krispy Kreme. While slowly sipping a large cup of robust brew, I sit back and blink my red, tired eyes.
What did I see tonight?
Homecoming. Trojans vs. Hornets. Red vs. Blue. Girls in dresses sporting mums. Fathers with matching flowers hanging on their lapels. A tiara. Mothers and aunts hugging their debutantes waiting for their makeup to shine. A father and daughter flashing the rock-and-roll sign with fist pumping outstretched forefinger and pinkie. Students standing and cheering their mates on the field. About 45 deg F. Metal seating - stands - for the audience, including parents, relatives, marching band, and curiosity seekers. Who will be crowned homecoming king and queen at halftime?
A long pass or two but mainly running up the middle, leaping over the pile, fresh legs digging into thighs, shins and dirt, pushing and pulling, one more yard and then drop to the ground. Sweeps. Handoffs. Plunging across the goal line. Touchdown!
Long sheets of misty rain settling over the crowd. Muddy field. Football the way you want to play football, with grass in your teeth and mud in your ears. Uniforms uniformly cold, wet and wearing the scars of helmet-to-shoulder pad battles. Trench warfare without the mustard gas, hot dogs bearing mustard instead. Hot chocolate too hot to keep stocked, selling hot water at the concession stand. Hot hands on the air dryer in the bathroom for frozen digits.
Trudging Trojans. Swarming Hornets. Pound for pound on pound of flesh. Pounding. Wounding. Diving. Catching. Dropping. Passing.
Streaks on the windscreen. Sometimes you're the bug. Sometimes you're the windshield wiper. Streaks of another streak, a string of losses. Biting. Stinging. Numbing. Fearing.
Unbelievable? On this cold, wet evening, unmistakably fall weather in north Alabama, the Tennessee border so close you can smell it, a group of young men overcame the stench of defeat and stepped up a notch, their heads held high. Humble but sure of themselves.
You can never make up for a loss. But you can move on to the next tough test and overcome mistakes. You knock down the obstacles that excuses are made of - the shoulda, the coulda, the woulda, the must, the have-to - and march into the arena.
You eat the clichés like a breakfast of champions, taking care of business, throwing off the yoke of the agony of defeat and putting on the crown of the thrill of victory. You don't care about words. You care about your tackling responsibility, your blocking assignment, your ball handling, your pass pattern, your interception ability.
Your daily problems can wait. Your girlfriend, your father, your brother, your schoolwork, your part-time job are momentarily forgotten. You are a warrior, a battle-hardened fighting machine. You are a man. Flesh and blood not taking it anymore. You're the one dishing it out this time.
You own four 12-minute periods. You pace yourself, your burning desire to win on reserve. You bend a little just before your second wind kicks in but you do not break. You. will. not. quit.
While the visiting marching band plays tunes from Broadway musicals, you meet with your coaches and teammates plotting out the second half of the game like ol' Broadway Joe Namath, a boy himself once singing the likes of sweet home Alabama long before the legend of "Run, Forest, run," sang out in the minds of those who confused movie plots with history.
This win belongs to you, the players, the coaches, the cheerleaders, the dance team, the marching band, the students, the parents, the teachers, the administration, the announcers, the press, the field workers, the concession stand operators, and everyone involved in making a high school football game a community event.
We will talk about this night the rest of our lives. On Friday, 16th October 2009, the Hazel Green High School Trojans football team won 20-17 over the Chelsea Hornets. Heroes will be made over and over in the retelling. Catches will be recalled 10, 20, 30 years from now. Bashing tackles will be retold until the whole family can see in their dreams every turning jaw and compressed chest on the field from this night. Penalties will be discussed and refrains of "three blind mice" sung about bad referee calls or calls that luckily went our way.
Fifty years from now, when an old man is watching his great grandson pick up a ball for the first time, someone will hear him whisper, "One dark, stormy night, on the sixteenth of October in oh-nine, I found out what it was like to be a winner. Not just in my heart but here in the power of these arms and legs on a football field in Hazel Green. Not just as myself but as a teammate. It's your turn, son. Pick up the winning family tradition that ball represents and make me proud."
Tonight, I celebrate the first win in how many games? 27? 28? But I celebrate not for myself or my wife, both of us licking our lips after munching fresh, hot doughnuts from the fountain of youthful delights up the road that we call Krispy Kreme. While slowly sipping a large cup of robust brew, I sit back and blink my red, tired eyes.
What did I see tonight?
Homecoming. Trojans vs. Hornets. Red vs. Blue. Girls in dresses sporting mums. Fathers with matching flowers hanging on their lapels. A tiara. Mothers and aunts hugging their debutantes waiting for their makeup to shine. A father and daughter flashing the rock-and-roll sign with fist pumping outstretched forefinger and pinkie. Students standing and cheering their mates on the field. About 45 deg F. Metal seating - stands - for the audience, including parents, relatives, marching band, and curiosity seekers. Who will be crowned homecoming king and queen at halftime?
A long pass or two but mainly running up the middle, leaping over the pile, fresh legs digging into thighs, shins and dirt, pushing and pulling, one more yard and then drop to the ground. Sweeps. Handoffs. Plunging across the goal line. Touchdown!
Long sheets of misty rain settling over the crowd. Muddy field. Football the way you want to play football, with grass in your teeth and mud in your ears. Uniforms uniformly cold, wet and wearing the scars of helmet-to-shoulder pad battles. Trench warfare without the mustard gas, hot dogs bearing mustard instead. Hot chocolate too hot to keep stocked, selling hot water at the concession stand. Hot hands on the air dryer in the bathroom for frozen digits.
Trudging Trojans. Swarming Hornets. Pound for pound on pound of flesh. Pounding. Wounding. Diving. Catching. Dropping. Passing.
Streaks on the windscreen. Sometimes you're the bug. Sometimes you're the windshield wiper. Streaks of another streak, a string of losses. Biting. Stinging. Numbing. Fearing.
Unbelievable? On this cold, wet evening, unmistakably fall weather in north Alabama, the Tennessee border so close you can smell it, a group of young men overcame the stench of defeat and stepped up a notch, their heads held high. Humble but sure of themselves.
You can never make up for a loss. But you can move on to the next tough test and overcome mistakes. You knock down the obstacles that excuses are made of - the shoulda, the coulda, the woulda, the must, the have-to - and march into the arena.
You eat the clichés like a breakfast of champions, taking care of business, throwing off the yoke of the agony of defeat and putting on the crown of the thrill of victory. You don't care about words. You care about your tackling responsibility, your blocking assignment, your ball handling, your pass pattern, your interception ability.
Your daily problems can wait. Your girlfriend, your father, your brother, your schoolwork, your part-time job are momentarily forgotten. You are a warrior, a battle-hardened fighting machine. You are a man. Flesh and blood not taking it anymore. You're the one dishing it out this time.
You own four 12-minute periods. You pace yourself, your burning desire to win on reserve. You bend a little just before your second wind kicks in but you do not break. You. will. not. quit.
While the visiting marching band plays tunes from Broadway musicals, you meet with your coaches and teammates plotting out the second half of the game like ol' Broadway Joe Namath, a boy himself once singing the likes of sweet home Alabama long before the legend of "Run, Forest, run," sang out in the minds of those who confused movie plots with history.
This win belongs to you, the players, the coaches, the cheerleaders, the dance team, the marching band, the students, the parents, the teachers, the administration, the announcers, the press, the field workers, the concession stand operators, and everyone involved in making a high school football game a community event.
We will talk about this night the rest of our lives. On Friday, 16th October 2009, the Hazel Green High School Trojans football team won 20-17 over the Chelsea Hornets. Heroes will be made over and over in the retelling. Catches will be recalled 10, 20, 30 years from now. Bashing tackles will be retold until the whole family can see in their dreams every turning jaw and compressed chest on the field from this night. Penalties will be discussed and refrains of "three blind mice" sung about bad referee calls or calls that luckily went our way.
Fifty years from now, when an old man is watching his great grandson pick up a ball for the first time, someone will hear him whisper, "One dark, stormy night, on the sixteenth of October in oh-nine, I found out what it was like to be a winner. Not just in my heart but here in the power of these arms and legs on a football field in Hazel Green. Not just as myself but as a teammate. It's your turn, son. Pick up the winning family tradition that ball represents and make me proud."
The Public Auction
Someone told me they heard that the government was going to have a public auction. Now, I ain't much of one to keep track of what the government is doing, having plenty to keep my little ol' mind occupied, but I was wondering what the government has to auction to the public. I mean, ain't the government public by dee-fault?
I never heard such a quantified quandary in my life. My friend Jeb says that it's not the government's fault that they're having a public auction. The government caint hep itself in a case like this.
I disagree. It's not the government's job to have a public auction. It's the people's job to auction public assets. After all, we're a government of the people, by the people, paid and bought for the people. Or paid off. Maybe bought off.
I'm no professor so I won't have the brain knowledge to collect the facts about this public auction. I'm just an ol' country fellow who's got no chickens to raise or corn to ferment and bottle. Poor in thoughts and deeds.
There's no right or privilege involved in getting a public auction started, anymore than there's a right or privilege for water, electricity or high speed communications. Reckon that's all I know. Time to put my teeth back in and get some vittles for supper. Maw, you ready to go to town?!
I never heard such a quantified quandary in my life. My friend Jeb says that it's not the government's fault that they're having a public auction. The government caint hep itself in a case like this.
I disagree. It's not the government's job to have a public auction. It's the people's job to auction public assets. After all, we're a government of the people, by the people, paid and bought for the people. Or paid off. Maybe bought off.
I'm no professor so I won't have the brain knowledge to collect the facts about this public auction. I'm just an ol' country fellow who's got no chickens to raise or corn to ferment and bottle. Poor in thoughts and deeds.
There's no right or privilege involved in getting a public auction started, anymore than there's a right or privilege for water, electricity or high speed communications. Reckon that's all I know. Time to put my teeth back in and get some vittles for supper. Maw, you ready to go to town?!
Puzzle of the Moment
Aporia. Glossolalia. Hildegard of Bingen. Cyrus' cylinder. Voynich manuscript. Poems of Victor Hugo. Brassolaeliocattleya. Magnetic pole. Wrinkled skin. Euphoria. Immortality. Heineken Cup. Remote storage. Potting soil. Tumbled rocks. Pencil sharpener. Pull chain. Harmonica. Matchbook. Twill tape. Croakies. Copper calligraphy ink. Charge card. Alkaline battery. Screwdriver. Eohippus. Lake Tanganyika. Perth. Patagonia. Zero degrees Celsius. Digital waveform. Layered. Ion drive. Woven basket. Equinox. Medieval. Ming. Micron. Tally. TTTE. Hill of Content. Solar system communication grid. Mill. Coast. Press. Flame. Applied practicality.
15 October 2009
Bay Bulls
Quick post. Double bonus night: 1) Jon Gruden wearing a shirt supporting the USF Bulls, home of my father's post-graduate alma mater, and 2) my team's quarterback getting player of the week honors. Another win like Saturday's and he'll get name recognition, too!
Caught part of the Monty Python Q&A/T&A/DNA session tonight - interesting, will have to finish watching on ifc.com later this week after resolving Pakistan issue. À bientôt!
Caught part of the Monty Python Q&A/T&A/DNA session tonight - interesting, will have to finish watching on ifc.com later this week after resolving Pakistan issue. À bientôt!
Packing The Heat
You know what, in the midst of my foray into humour, part of me is burning mad. I'm tired of brothers and sisters bombing brothers and sisters in and around Pakistan. Time to take action. See you in a few days. These assholes with their desire to kill others have run out of time. No more monkeying around my funny bone. Kick the neighbourhood association into gear and flush out the geeks wiring up their explosive playtoys.
The planet is my backyard. You kill someone(s) with a bomb anywhere on this planet and you're messing with me and my associates. We take no prisoners. We listen to no excuses.
You got my attention. Now you get the attention you deserve. Lightning never strikes twice in the same place? You know why? You just struck out. Time to say goodbye.
The planet is my backyard. You kill someone(s) with a bomb anywhere on this planet and you're messing with me and my associates. We take no prisoners. We listen to no excuses.
You got my attention. Now you get the attention you deserve. Lightning never strikes twice in the same place? You know why? You just struck out. Time to say goodbye.
Temporal
A few years ago, while taking a work break to visit the Manhattan isle for entertainment in the guise of training toward PMP (Pimp My Project) certification, I saw a theatrical farce called Spamalot which rehashed material from a movie that rehashed material from a series of comedy sketches.
Tempest.
I use material from my life, which rehashes what I've already done. Thus, I mix reality and fantasy, having made love to the most wonderful woman on the drive to class last night, she and I using the erasable board markers to circle targets for treasure hunting truffles tucked temptuously in titillating ticklish hideaways.
Out of Touch.
What are pupils and irises but students and flowers? What is an optic nerve but what is an optic nerve?
Facts are fictions, anyway. History is a pot of apple butter on the boil. Molasses are really made of mole asses?
There's really no such thing as a better cup of tea. A cup of tea better be a cup of tea. Not better. And not a butter cup, neither.
And that woman I made love to. Well, she made love to me, too. Like making change, only without the change purse. Straps, though (or seatbelts, if you prefer items with only one purpose). Woulda used whips but had to handle the steering wheel and gear knob. Two hands. Two feet occupied with accelerator and clutch. Whatta drive. No need for a putter this time, the rest of the golf bag plenty for a round of fairways and greens. Par for the course, as they say.
Time out.
Tempest.
I use material from my life, which rehashes what I've already done. Thus, I mix reality and fantasy, having made love to the most wonderful woman on the drive to class last night, she and I using the erasable board markers to circle targets for treasure hunting truffles tucked temptuously in titillating ticklish hideaways.
Out of Touch.
What are pupils and irises but students and flowers? What is an optic nerve but what is an optic nerve?
Facts are fictions, anyway. History is a pot of apple butter on the boil. Molasses are really made of mole asses?
There's really no such thing as a better cup of tea. A cup of tea better be a cup of tea. Not better. And not a butter cup, neither.
And that woman I made love to. Well, she made love to me, too. Like making change, only without the change purse. Straps, though (or seatbelts, if you prefer items with only one purpose). Woulda used whips but had to handle the steering wheel and gear knob. Two hands. Two feet occupied with accelerator and clutch. Whatta drive. No need for a putter this time, the rest of the golf bag plenty for a round of fairways and greens. Par for the course, as they say.
Time out.
Page Up / Page Down / Home / End
As I've told you, I have a constant dilemma - being a hermit in the midst of a desert of people and being a switchboard operator who's making JIT (just in time) connections between people whose lives are key to my success. At once, I want to be alone and want to be surrounded by people I love. But so what? That's what being a responsible adult is all about.
Speaking of responsibility, I've conducted more research, courtesy of my friends. Did you know that we're using up the planet's oxygen? That's right. By putting more and more talking heads on television and radio, their voices and the equipment they use are consuming vast quantities of oxygen. In fact, a secret, conspiratorial laboratory is working day and night to create more oxygen so we can have more impartial news coverage. One researcher contacted me and showed me diagrams of devices that directly siphon off the breath of public speakers and pump the air deep into oceans. The carbon dioxide buildup will take centuries before there's any effect, the researcher said.
Bad news. I took the researcher's data and entered it into my planetary simulation program which includes the activities of the antlike creatures we call humans. The effect of carbon dioxide buildup is not the main problem. The main problem is the effect of the giant straws shoved down into the oceans. Large populations of brine zebra mussels will clog the straws and attract giant squids and octopi, which in turn will stir up gadzillions of zooplankton and disrupt the ocean currents.
But don't worry. The switch of the magnetic poles in the next few years will overshadow the catastrophic effect of massive temperature swings across the planet.
So, while you glue your ears to the words and images of your favorite soothsayer, who assures you of your place in society, the combined effects of soothsaying will transform the planet into one giant swamp where alligators, crocodiles and eerie swamp gas will rule, and whales will sprout feet and wander land, hunting humans for sport.
More fun reading: http://www.science.org.au/nova/newscientist/104ns_002.htm
Speaking of responsibility, I've conducted more research, courtesy of my friends. Did you know that we're using up the planet's oxygen? That's right. By putting more and more talking heads on television and radio, their voices and the equipment they use are consuming vast quantities of oxygen. In fact, a secret, conspiratorial laboratory is working day and night to create more oxygen so we can have more impartial news coverage. One researcher contacted me and showed me diagrams of devices that directly siphon off the breath of public speakers and pump the air deep into oceans. The carbon dioxide buildup will take centuries before there's any effect, the researcher said.
Bad news. I took the researcher's data and entered it into my planetary simulation program which includes the activities of the antlike creatures we call humans. The effect of carbon dioxide buildup is not the main problem. The main problem is the effect of the giant straws shoved down into the oceans. Large populations of brine zebra mussels will clog the straws and attract giant squids and octopi, which in turn will stir up gadzillions of zooplankton and disrupt the ocean currents.
But don't worry. The switch of the magnetic poles in the next few years will overshadow the catastrophic effect of massive temperature swings across the planet.
So, while you glue your ears to the words and images of your favorite soothsayer, who assures you of your place in society, the combined effects of soothsaying will transform the planet into one giant swamp where alligators, crocodiles and eerie swamp gas will rule, and whales will sprout feet and wander land, hunting humans for sport.
More fun reading: http://www.science.org.au/nova/newscientist/104ns_002.htm
A Runaway Rolling Row In The Heath
"Are you sure about this?"
"Absolutely, sir."
"You mean it?"
"With certainty."
"And you promise this is the last expansion?"
"Well, sir, we could take land from Ireland but there might be resistance."
"We want to make sure about this one. I don't want to face another crisis."
"Sir, by turning the last hectare of land in the north and all the land in-between, from Plymouth to Aberdeen, into a fully-operational set of runways and space ports, we guarantee that the British Isles will be the one and only hub for international flight for all destinations reached by crossing the Northern Hemisphere and into space via the centrifugally-neutral North Pole line."
"Very well. Prepare the speech and I'll talk to our citizens to explain yet again why converting our English cottage housing estates into underground cities is best for our country."
"Excellent, sir. You won't regret it one bit."
"Regret? Never. And schedule a flight to my newly-renovated plantation on Montserrat."
"Yes, sir. Anything else you want, Prime Minister Beckham?"
"Tell Victoria to bring the grandkids along."
"Absolutely, sir."
"You mean it?"
"With certainty."
"And you promise this is the last expansion?"
"Well, sir, we could take land from Ireland but there might be resistance."
"We want to make sure about this one. I don't want to face another crisis."
"Sir, by turning the last hectare of land in the north and all the land in-between, from Plymouth to Aberdeen, into a fully-operational set of runways and space ports, we guarantee that the British Isles will be the one and only hub for international flight for all destinations reached by crossing the Northern Hemisphere and into space via the centrifugally-neutral North Pole line."
"Very well. Prepare the speech and I'll talk to our citizens to explain yet again why converting our English cottage housing estates into underground cities is best for our country."
"Excellent, sir. You won't regret it one bit."
"Regret? Never. And schedule a flight to my newly-renovated plantation on Montserrat."
"Yes, sir. Anything else you want, Prime Minister Beckham?"
"Tell Victoria to bring the grandkids along."
Help, I'm Fallon and I Can't Get This Flying Circus Off The Set
In my youth, a playmate of mine introduced me to the comedy right of passage, including an album with a matching tie and handkerchief. Somewhere I have a book by those boys of British humour. Now, 30+ years later, we get a glimpse of the madcap teamwork of the partial Monty on late night U.S. TV. Still having fun and staying out wheelchairs for now, including a stint on IFC later this month.
Pop. Pop. Pop Music. Humour. Television programming.
What about local entertainment? Do we find joy in our own communities?
Of course we do. But we don't get national adverts to pay for them very often. In and around my wife's hometown, international entertainers have roots - Diana Ross, Charlie Chase, "Doc" McConnell, Archie Campbell, Tennessee Ernie Ford. However, local performers are just as talented, musical and funny (sometimes, all three!), carrying separate day jobs and night gigs in their thoughts and actions.
I have played the role of a news junkie lately, using my personal connections and headline news to create a blog to entertain myself. This morning, I sat in the garage, watching chipmunks stopping at my feet and Carolina wrens flying around my head looking for food and shelter inside my domicile. Their lives were my moment of fun, relaxation, humour and entertainment for a couple of hours. They taught me that I've been repeating myself in ways that may not add to advancement of my species. But then again, it might. If the 40-year old genius of the Monty Python writers/actors can keep them going and going and going (cue up the pink Energizer bunny beating a drum), then repetition is not a bad thing, I suppose.
We are who we are and can be who we are not. We can never be who we were but can appear to repeat the actions of our previous selves. In other words, time for more humour - pardon my Scottish - look on the shite side of life.
Pop. Pop. Pop Music. Humour. Television programming.
What about local entertainment? Do we find joy in our own communities?
Of course we do. But we don't get national adverts to pay for them very often. In and around my wife's hometown, international entertainers have roots - Diana Ross, Charlie Chase, "Doc" McConnell, Archie Campbell, Tennessee Ernie Ford. However, local performers are just as talented, musical and funny (sometimes, all three!), carrying separate day jobs and night gigs in their thoughts and actions.
I have played the role of a news junkie lately, using my personal connections and headline news to create a blog to entertain myself. This morning, I sat in the garage, watching chipmunks stopping at my feet and Carolina wrens flying around my head looking for food and shelter inside my domicile. Their lives were my moment of fun, relaxation, humour and entertainment for a couple of hours. They taught me that I've been repeating myself in ways that may not add to advancement of my species. But then again, it might. If the 40-year old genius of the Monty Python writers/actors can keep them going and going and going (cue up the pink Energizer bunny beating a drum), then repetition is not a bad thing, I suppose.
We are who we are and can be who we are not. We can never be who we were but can appear to repeat the actions of our previous selves. In other words, time for more humour - pardon my Scottish - look on the shite side of life.
14 October 2009
Systematic Satire
For those who think I take myself seriously in any shape, form or fashion, recall my modus operandi is satire in the moment. I express what I see around me in humourous terms, humour for myself and perhaps for others. I make fun of myself first, as well as make fun of those who make fun of themselves (e.g., the last blog entry pokes fun at the atheist/nontheist/theist groups all at once, all while poking fun at me, too).
To me, a pile of spaghetti noodles may look like a mass of writing worms [writing? what are they writing? how about WRITHING?!] which saves someone else from the edge of starvation at the same time. Point of view is key to a good punchline.
Now, get out there and have fun!
To me, a pile of spaghetti noodles may look like a mass of writing worms [writing? what are they writing? how about WRITHING?!] which saves someone else from the edge of starvation at the same time. Point of view is key to a good punchline.
Now, get out there and have fun!
Time To Admit The Truth
In order to move on to the next set of thoughts, I want to admit the truth to you. I am a religious person. I have no religious dogma that directs my daily thoughts or actions but I practice a religion that has no name. I am alive. That's the religion I practice every moment. I treat life as life and see that all lives want to live. To live, some lives consume other lives. As a matter of fact, all lives consume other lives, living and dead.
In my religion, I stop short of giving thought to thoughts. I do not recognize consciousness as an important function in my religion. I only recognize life. Even then, I'm not sure what life is but I don't have to be sure because I don't exist anymore than any other life exists.
Life motivates me to live. All else is icing on the cake.
There, I've said it. Now you know why you are more important to me than anyone or anything because you are alive. Life is the ultimate reason why we're here. If you have other definitions for life, then use them but celebrate life, every life, in the process.
That's all I know and all I see. Now I can relax and concentrate on more concrete goals. No more bottling up inside what I've long known and understood. Can't get trapped in words if I see that words are meaningless. Freedom to be me.
Remember, I truly believe I'm the only one who reads these words. My goal is not to please others. My goal is to see life in simple terms I can understand and treat life as the only game in town. From there, I can make decisions and act upon ways to spread life as I know it out into the local habitable bodies of the universe. In the meantime, I enjoy what life as I know it is about, including sporting events, discussions, movies, festivals, games, politics, religion, companionship, learning, teaching and sleeping. Happiness is living, living happiness. Happiness is being me, no matter what others think, celebrating with others who are being themselves no matter what I think.
In my religion, I stop short of giving thought to thoughts. I do not recognize consciousness as an important function in my religion. I only recognize life. Even then, I'm not sure what life is but I don't have to be sure because I don't exist anymore than any other life exists.
Life motivates me to live. All else is icing on the cake.
There, I've said it. Now you know why you are more important to me than anyone or anything because you are alive. Life is the ultimate reason why we're here. If you have other definitions for life, then use them but celebrate life, every life, in the process.
That's all I know and all I see. Now I can relax and concentrate on more concrete goals. No more bottling up inside what I've long known and understood. Can't get trapped in words if I see that words are meaningless. Freedom to be me.
Remember, I truly believe I'm the only one who reads these words. My goal is not to please others. My goal is to see life in simple terms I can understand and treat life as the only game in town. From there, I can make decisions and act upon ways to spread life as I know it out into the local habitable bodies of the universe. In the meantime, I enjoy what life as I know it is about, including sporting events, discussions, movies, festivals, games, politics, religion, companionship, learning, teaching and sleeping. Happiness is living, living happiness. Happiness is being me, no matter what others think, celebrating with others who are being themselves no matter what I think.
The Importance of a Speech Center
How important are your brain and vocal folds? Do you consider them ordinary tools? Do you treat every human utterance with reverence or acknowledging grunts? Are sound and writing significant?
For years, I treated books like delicate artwork, trying not to bend the pages, crease the binding and definitely not lining the margins with handwritten notes. Every book was a treasure to me (and still is) but now I feel free to write comments when they come to me, for use later on in understanding my interpretation of the work at a certain age and how the zeitgeist influenced me.
My life is my one and only life here and now. It is no less or more important than any other life. Every word I utter, every thought I make, every symbol I scratch make me who I am and who I will be looking back at who I was and will be.
My life is life as I know life, the conversion of matter into deliberate outputs of energy. When my life here is over, I will have no deliberations to make. My component parts will be liberated. I will be free in a completely new sense, my cells decomposing into free radicals of another sort. Molecules. Atoms. Alive in another deliberating life (or lives, really).
I have never existed. I've only been told I exist. The fact is we exist. We mold the mesh network that holds us together in what we tell each other is a species on what we tell each other is a planet.
Life is a mystery to me. I know what I've been told is supposed to be life and why I'm here but the fact remains I know nothing. I do not even know I exist. I see I exist through the response of the environment around me, including this unit I call myself the body.
Have you ever held a cloud in your hands? We are clouds. We are somewhat fixed in our shapes by the exterior protection we call skin wrapped about a skeletal form but we can exist in many forms and shapes, with and without appendages or other body parts.
To know I do not exist is a fallacy just like saying I exist without knowing why. In other words, I am using words, these symbols, to represent what I observe wordlessly, my thoughts organized around sounds set in sequential order, supported by my eyes and the artificial concept of time.
To exist and not exist at the same time has taken me on an interesting journey. There is me, the person with a socially-established identity, and not-me, the happenchance meeting of chemicals bouncing across the surface of a large mass slowly cooling down internally while spinning like a top around a hotter mass.
To understand both conditions means admitting understanding neither. Separating and connecting. Spreading and collecting.
Life is not sacred and life is not secular. Life is sacred and life is secular. Either. Both. Members of what we call our species will act with driven passion to firmly establish the existence of ourselves both sacredly and secularly. Loving. Killing. Reproducing. Cloning.
I do not control perception. I do not control reality. I, or it, lives. That's all I can and will do. Words and sounds exist without me. I emit and omit words and sounds that others emit and omit. My goal is not to be original because I have plenty of words and languages and sounds to repeat infinitely without repeating myself. My goal is to give what I see as similar representations of myself - my species - the opportunity to keep reproducing itself regardless of the words and sounds it reuses or invents, without me around eventually, my words and sounds lost in the noise of life in no time flat.
I am more important than anyone or anything, because without me I am not me. With me I am me and not me, but I will always not be me without me. I am me because of you so you are more important than anyone or anything, too. But am I not me because of you or not me not because of you? Perhaps not me because of not you? Thus, are you not you because of not me or not because of me?
Sounds and thoughts. Sacred and ridiculous, ludicrous and sublime. Sometimes good enough is enough good to suffice.
For years, I treated books like delicate artwork, trying not to bend the pages, crease the binding and definitely not lining the margins with handwritten notes. Every book was a treasure to me (and still is) but now I feel free to write comments when they come to me, for use later on in understanding my interpretation of the work at a certain age and how the zeitgeist influenced me.
My life is my one and only life here and now. It is no less or more important than any other life. Every word I utter, every thought I make, every symbol I scratch make me who I am and who I will be looking back at who I was and will be.
My life is life as I know life, the conversion of matter into deliberate outputs of energy. When my life here is over, I will have no deliberations to make. My component parts will be liberated. I will be free in a completely new sense, my cells decomposing into free radicals of another sort. Molecules. Atoms. Alive in another deliberating life (or lives, really).
I have never existed. I've only been told I exist. The fact is we exist. We mold the mesh network that holds us together in what we tell each other is a species on what we tell each other is a planet.
Life is a mystery to me. I know what I've been told is supposed to be life and why I'm here but the fact remains I know nothing. I do not even know I exist. I see I exist through the response of the environment around me, including this unit I call myself the body.
Have you ever held a cloud in your hands? We are clouds. We are somewhat fixed in our shapes by the exterior protection we call skin wrapped about a skeletal form but we can exist in many forms and shapes, with and without appendages or other body parts.
To know I do not exist is a fallacy just like saying I exist without knowing why. In other words, I am using words, these symbols, to represent what I observe wordlessly, my thoughts organized around sounds set in sequential order, supported by my eyes and the artificial concept of time.
To exist and not exist at the same time has taken me on an interesting journey. There is me, the person with a socially-established identity, and not-me, the happenchance meeting of chemicals bouncing across the surface of a large mass slowly cooling down internally while spinning like a top around a hotter mass.
To understand both conditions means admitting understanding neither. Separating and connecting. Spreading and collecting.
Life is not sacred and life is not secular. Life is sacred and life is secular. Either. Both. Members of what we call our species will act with driven passion to firmly establish the existence of ourselves both sacredly and secularly. Loving. Killing. Reproducing. Cloning.
I do not control perception. I do not control reality. I, or it, lives. That's all I can and will do. Words and sounds exist without me. I emit and omit words and sounds that others emit and omit. My goal is not to be original because I have plenty of words and languages and sounds to repeat infinitely without repeating myself. My goal is to give what I see as similar representations of myself - my species - the opportunity to keep reproducing itself regardless of the words and sounds it reuses or invents, without me around eventually, my words and sounds lost in the noise of life in no time flat.
I am more important than anyone or anything, because without me I am not me. With me I am me and not me, but I will always not be me without me. I am me because of you so you are more important than anyone or anything, too. But am I not me because of you or not me not because of you? Perhaps not me because of not you? Thus, are you not you because of not me or not because of me?
Sounds and thoughts. Sacred and ridiculous, ludicrous and sublime. Sometimes good enough is enough good to suffice.
13 October 2009
Another Look Back
In college, a friend of mine had a collection of humour on LP records, including those of Tom Lehrer, such as:
We often figure out we aren't saying anything new when we look back, which I hope encourages us to find new humour to get us out of our troubles today.
The sky's getting darker - there's rain ahead in the local forecast here. Are mosquitoes far behind when their bellies get fatter? Time for lunch and afternoon reading. G'day, mates!
National Brotherhood Week/When You Are Old and GrayMy parents had humour on LPs by Andy Griffith and Bob Newhart. I had humour by Cheech and Chong and Richard Pryor on LPs and 8-track tapes. Guess kids listen to humour on MP3s and mobile phone video links these days. What about tomorrow?
We often figure out we aren't saying anything new when we look back, which I hope encourages us to find new humour to get us out of our troubles today.
The sky's getting darker - there's rain ahead in the local forecast here. Are mosquitoes far behind when their bellies get fatter? Time for lunch and afternoon reading. G'day, mates!
Piano Hero
We have new electronic toy games for guitars and drums. What about one called Piano Hero? Let's start with this guy's interpretation of a classic:
Perahia Plays Beethoven
Redux Revisited
Thanks to blue-eyed Alyssa at Taco Mac for the service the other night. You and your manager (Jerry?) made our fresh kettle chips enjoyable as an after-dinner appetizer. Stephanie was quiet at Carson's last night. I didn't catch the name of our server at Barley's on Saturday but congrats to you guys on the upgrade to two bars with two sets of 48 beer taps, one smoking and one nonsmoking, just in time for 31st October celebrations. Oh, and a late nod to Naomi at Dreamland BBQ in the Atlanta area - nothing like a familiar Alabama venue near ol' Terminus.
I. Adagio sostenuto, Sonata No. 14 in C-sharp Minor for Piano, Op. 27, by Beethoven. Is the composition good, great or fantastic? I don't know. The music changes my mood, that much I can tell you. What about the other two movements? Right now, I can't remember.
Is it true that the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy is really a Douglas Adams' remake of Francis Ford Coppola's Apocalypse Now? Or is the other way around? Right now, I can't remember.
Meanwhile, changes are shaking up at EU headquarters. Word comes to me that the way it was is the fear for the way it will be. War is always a good profitmaking venture to get one out of economic doldrums, especially when others feel all warm and fuzzy about peace breaking out across the globe. As much as I desire peace, peace tends to be a break between skirmishes and wars just as quiet is the parents' break between inner-fighting and authority-rebelling children. Is there a true balance between war and peace? Tolstoy never said. Did Joan of Arc prove otherwise?
We are one species. We can cooperate in peaceful competition or take our affairs onto the battlefield. We can do both and we can do neither. The planet doesn't care. Right now, I can't remember. Any way, I'm going to enjoy the changing colors of the light passing through the tree canopy this afternoon. Happiness is seeing lichen spread on wet tree bark just as much as seeing if there's water on the Moon in the dust cloud no one saw.
I. Adagio sostenuto, Sonata No. 14 in C-sharp Minor for Piano, Op. 27, by Beethoven. Is the composition good, great or fantastic? I don't know. The music changes my mood, that much I can tell you. What about the other two movements? Right now, I can't remember.
Is it true that the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy is really a Douglas Adams' remake of Francis Ford Coppola's Apocalypse Now? Or is the other way around? Right now, I can't remember.
Meanwhile, changes are shaking up at EU headquarters. Word comes to me that the way it was is the fear for the way it will be. War is always a good profitmaking venture to get one out of economic doldrums, especially when others feel all warm and fuzzy about peace breaking out across the globe. As much as I desire peace, peace tends to be a break between skirmishes and wars just as quiet is the parents' break between inner-fighting and authority-rebelling children. Is there a true balance between war and peace? Tolstoy never said. Did Joan of Arc prove otherwise?
We are one species. We can cooperate in peaceful competition or take our affairs onto the battlefield. We can do both and we can do neither. The planet doesn't care. Right now, I can't remember. Any way, I'm going to enjoy the changing colors of the light passing through the tree canopy this afternoon. Happiness is seeing lichen spread on wet tree bark just as much as seeing if there's water on the Moon in the dust cloud no one saw.
All The Information We Think You Need
To tell you what we think you need to hear, we took a survey of experts on current topics. We present you the results of the survey:
- According to a survey of witch doctors, the smog will clear today if you remember to take your preventative purge medicine.
- According to a survey of druids, the alignment of oak leaves portends a long drought somewhere nearby while rain will cause others to change their route to success.
- According to a survey of voodoo doctors, your army of zombies will resist you in completing the stimulus recovery construction project you started.
- According to a survey of economists, with their jobs on the line for missing this world downturn, they cautiously predict an optimistic view of the future, with growth occurring sometime soon (but not too soon (and not too late, either)).
- According to a survey of futurists, the future will happen whether we want it or not.
- According to a survey of bookies, there's a 50-to-1 chance that a disaster will cause a wild bet to pay off.
- According to a survey of surveyors, a GPS unit will provide less accuracy than a plumb line when GPS satellites fall from the sky.
- According to a survey of journalists, freedom of the press equates to better pay...but not necessarily for journalists.
- According to a survey, surveys provide less reliable information than going with your gut instinct.
12 October 2009
"World Media Day" Revisited
Please read my reposted blog entry, "World Media Day." I found out that a link I posted in the blog entry contained comments in a forum that do not reflect my opinion. The link has been replaced with one appropriate to the subject and the blog entry arranged to support the new link.
Thanks for your understanding. Now back to kicking someone's butt who deserves my rebuttal. Ahh...the Internet. Where would I be without something to interrupt my view of los Dolphins y los Jets, led by Mark Sánchez? Now, back to the game!
Thanks for your understanding. Now back to kicking someone's butt who deserves my rebuttal. Ahh...the Internet. Where would I be without something to interrupt my view of los Dolphins y los Jets, led by Mark Sánchez? Now, back to the game!
Grown-up 'Tude
Ever wondered what the E*Trade baby will look like when he grows up?
Here he is now: shankopotamus
Here he is as a real man: "all growed up"
World Media Day
My apologies. I am rewriting this blog entry - someone pointed out a series of negative comments at the bottom of a forum I hadn't scanned completely, comments that do not reflect my point of view.
Sorry I missed the events of the World Media Summit. Here's the address from the Chinese leader, Hu Jintao:
http://www.worldmediasummit.org/english/2009-10/09/content_17889208.htm
As always, we are responsible for ourselves and our behaviour around others. I take responsibility for my actions in not fully reading through a forum. I leave you with this thought:
Sorry I missed the events of the World Media Summit. Here's the address from the Chinese leader, Hu Jintao:
http://www.worldmediasummit.org/english/2009-10/09/content_17889208.htm
As always, we are responsible for ourselves and our behaviour around others. I take responsibility for my actions in not fully reading through a forum. I leave you with this thought:
You're out with your friends. One of them pulls out a bag of chicken eggs and throws the eggs on a house. Another friend pulls out a bag of rocks and breaks the house windows. You have done nothing in regards to these actions because they happened too quickly for you to stop them. Are you jointly responsible?
Given In The Name Of...
A friend, Lynda Ward, started a conversation on facebook about the goal of the recent announcement of the Nobel Peace Prize. My response:
...
Nobel started this with the intent to award those who created peace congresses. In this day and age of facebook and twitter, perception is just as strong as reality, it seems. Can we say that we're creating reality by strengthening perception in awarding the Nobel Peace Prize to the current leader of the free world, who represents hope and peace for the future?
...
We can hope that this effects positive change for international cooperation and peace, no matter the reason for the premature issue of the award.
l33t / gyaru-moji
Several months ago, I read the book, The Scots-Irish in the Hills of Tennessee by Billy Kennedy, which I picked up from a Scottish Tartans museum gift shop, if I remember correctly (my memory being about as accurate as the details in the book). The book reminded me that our species has the knack of seeing what it wants to see and recording what it wants to remember.
Yesterday afternoon, I wandered the streets of a small Tennessee village, eating Sunday brunch at the McKinney restaurant in Hales Springs Inn with my wife and mother in-law, later gawking at and buying from the vendors' booths of the Heritage Days festival.
I stood with my 92-year young mother in-law, both of us leaning against a lamppost, and watched the people walking past. Across the street, a man wearing a plastic hood, leather apron and thick oil-stained gloves stirred corn seeds in a big metal pot to make kettle corn. Next to me, a young man and his family sold wooden swords and wooden shields for kids to play knights with. My wife and a former secondary schoolmate of hers visited with hometown friends further down the road. I pulled out my pocket moleskine and wrote notes, describing to myself views of the passersby...
The people occupying the roads and sidewalks represent a portion of the species to which I belong. Their history is my history, in whole and in part. Some came here of their own volition. Some were born in the area. Some are descendants of those who were brought unwillingly. Their clothing styles: denim blue jeans, T-shirts, ballcaps, all covered with familiar sports logos; "Sunday best," 'go to church' suits and dresses; goth; biker; independent; camo; Kenyan; cowboy; square/country dance; Halloween. Herb shop sellers. Woodworkers. Quiltmakers.
I know these people, having grown up them or those like them in my childhood. They rest assured in the conviction their local ways of living are right. They may or may not travel much farther than the grocery market or nearby villages. They represent the majority of our species, content with the life they inherited from their parents and other adult caretakers. They speak a language and dialect understood by a small population.
Exclusivity is elitist by nature, despite calls for inclusiveness. Rare is the person who speaks all languages, all dialects, all jargon, with complete understanding and openness.
My goal is still getting our species on other planetary bodies while giving us room to enjoy and celebrate our subcultures.
A week ago my wife and I drove through the mountains of north Georgia and north Alabama. In the middle of nowhere, we crossed the border between the states and stopped for a petrol fillup. Inside the store, the shopkeeper read an Indian newspaper and sold drinks/snacks to hungry travelers. On the outside, the store looked like any other store in the world, advertising beer, soda, and cigarettes. Inside, the Caucasian driver of a jacked-up, camo-painted pickup truck, wearing worn overalls and a ballcap with the number of his favorite NASCAR driver, stood in the store with me, a retired engineering manager, international business consultant and technical institute instructor, and spoke to the Indian shopkeeper, three subcultures easily mixing and engaging one another in the arena of commerce.
Our subcultures rain down on this planet and drown the earth with our desires, dreams, habitual practices and beliefs. We may hold up the names of individuals like gods, preserving their words and images for posterity, but we are mainly composed of those whose voices are forgotten within two generations. How many lost voices equal the words of one we praise? A rhetorical question. Every one of us is important, a concept we forget when we make celebrities and demigods out of other people.
Yesterday afternoon, I wandered the streets of a small Tennessee village, eating Sunday brunch at the McKinney restaurant in Hales Springs Inn with my wife and mother in-law, later gawking at and buying from the vendors' booths of the Heritage Days festival.
I stood with my 92-year young mother in-law, both of us leaning against a lamppost, and watched the people walking past. Across the street, a man wearing a plastic hood, leather apron and thick oil-stained gloves stirred corn seeds in a big metal pot to make kettle corn. Next to me, a young man and his family sold wooden swords and wooden shields for kids to play knights with. My wife and a former secondary schoolmate of hers visited with hometown friends further down the road. I pulled out my pocket moleskine and wrote notes, describing to myself views of the passersby...
The people occupying the roads and sidewalks represent a portion of the species to which I belong. Their history is my history, in whole and in part. Some came here of their own volition. Some were born in the area. Some are descendants of those who were brought unwillingly. Their clothing styles: denim blue jeans, T-shirts, ballcaps, all covered with familiar sports logos; "Sunday best," 'go to church' suits and dresses; goth; biker; independent; camo; Kenyan; cowboy; square/country dance; Halloween. Herb shop sellers. Woodworkers. Quiltmakers.
I know these people, having grown up them or those like them in my childhood. They rest assured in the conviction their local ways of living are right. They may or may not travel much farther than the grocery market or nearby villages. They represent the majority of our species, content with the life they inherited from their parents and other adult caretakers. They speak a language and dialect understood by a small population.
Exclusivity is elitist by nature, despite calls for inclusiveness. Rare is the person who speaks all languages, all dialects, all jargon, with complete understanding and openness.
My goal is still getting our species on other planetary bodies while giving us room to enjoy and celebrate our subcultures.
A week ago my wife and I drove through the mountains of north Georgia and north Alabama. In the middle of nowhere, we crossed the border between the states and stopped for a petrol fillup. Inside the store, the shopkeeper read an Indian newspaper and sold drinks/snacks to hungry travelers. On the outside, the store looked like any other store in the world, advertising beer, soda, and cigarettes. Inside, the Caucasian driver of a jacked-up, camo-painted pickup truck, wearing worn overalls and a ballcap with the number of his favorite NASCAR driver, stood in the store with me, a retired engineering manager, international business consultant and technical institute instructor, and spoke to the Indian shopkeeper, three subcultures easily mixing and engaging one another in the arena of commerce.
Our subcultures rain down on this planet and drown the earth with our desires, dreams, habitual practices and beliefs. We may hold up the names of individuals like gods, preserving their words and images for posterity, but we are mainly composed of those whose voices are forgotten within two generations. How many lost voices equal the words of one we praise? A rhetorical question. Every one of us is important, a concept we forget when we make celebrities and demigods out of other people.
Makes 12 oz (340 gm)
63 times the rock completed a circumference. Shedding. Melting. Leaving a trail. Unnamed. Edifice eschewing. No goals. No objectives. Existing.
Mix. Stir. Pour. Smoking or non-smoking. Standing in a vase. Clear.
Basic. Measurable. Analysis. Mass. Weight. Compound.
Mass equals knees on the lotus flower bowing to Mecca.
Helmet. Force. Acceleration. Score. Cheer. Groan.
Light reflection. Rotation. Omen. Tail. Named. Periodic.
Trail of tears. Suicide market bomber. Freedom fighting freedom. No deposit. No return.
Mix. Stir. Pour. Smoking or non-smoking. Standing in a vase. Clear.
Basic. Measurable. Analysis. Mass. Weight. Compound.
Mass equals knees on the lotus flower bowing to Mecca.
Helmet. Force. Acceleration. Score. Cheer. Groan.
Light reflection. Rotation. Omen. Tail. Named. Periodic.
Trail of tears. Suicide market bomber. Freedom fighting freedom. No deposit. No return.
Simple Answers
Two solutions provided to me in support of getting our bodies back in motion: hard work and experimentation.
They're a good start. They are some of the ideas we need to keep in mind as we seek concrete tasks to work on. I'll keep posting your ideas as they come in.
Have a great day!
- Solution One: Hard Work
- Solution Two: Experimentation
- Conclusion
They're a good start. They are some of the ideas we need to keep in mind as we seek concrete tasks to work on. I'll keep posting your ideas as they come in.
Have a great day!
10 October 2009
I Need Your Help
10 Oct 2009, 22:20
If I am you and you are me and we are millions and millions of unemployed people and growing, then I have a question for you/myself:
What are we doing?
We. That’s the word I’m concerned about. The value of the exchange of goods and services flows around the world in miniscule increments of time but nearly unimaginable bundles of wealth. We own the system we worked for, whether we know it or believe it or not. We have the solutions to the problems that make us feel trapped in the system. We own our behaviours. We are responsible for our actions and reactions. We have no one to blame for wherever we are or whatever we’re doing.
I, if I am you, look for the solution to the problem of what to do next, knowing as I do that I have unresolved issues that will remain with me while I solve the problem at hand. There is no perfect life but there are plenty of balanced lives with happiness a primary component of the life in balance.
The solution I seek is one where happiness meets peace while I’m in control of the life I own in the system I own with you. It’s seeing that instant gratification needs that are catered to by the marketing and advertising around you, both in straightforward business terms and in unintentional jealousy/envy terms (e.g., “keeping up with the Joneses”), can be overcome when we treat each other as responsible adults who seek viable solutions.
It’s not about being green or saving the environment. It’s not about giving up or sacrificing. It’s about you and your family. It’s about you. It’s about me.
The solution starts with an honest evaluation of your/our lives, our families, our backgrounds, our strengths, our weaknesses, our powers, our gifts, our humour, our sadness, our future.
The solution continues with believing we own the system and then figuring out how to put the system to valuable use in our lives in every moment, never once saying “it’s out of my hands” or “that’s not my job.”
The solution requires volunteers. The solution requires blood, sweat and tears. The solution includes setbacks. We’ll fall down BUT we’ll have each other to pick us up one at a time. We don’t have to have the right answer all the time because we can rely on our combined knowledge and capabilities to examine a problem and find the most viable solution, always keeping in mind that no one solution satisfies everyone all the time.
I need your help. I am looking at the problem of a jobless recovery [I don’t see a problem but I use the word to describe my analysis of the current situation in global economics]. As most of the major world economic centers get closer to reporting positive growth (as if “negative growth” is a real term! but who likes to use the word “shrinkage” or “contraction”?), many of us will still have no economic strength of our own in comparison to what we had or what we wanted. What we had or what we wanted is not necessarily what we have to have or have to want – it’s often what we allowed ourselves to believe because of the influence of those around us.
Therefore, here’s where I need your help. I need your help in redefining what it is that I really want. Do I really want a house full of items I rarely use? Do I really want a life where I’m running back and forth between activities that I don’t fully enjoy? Do I want to walk through life and ignore most of the people around me?
I’m standing at the edge of a ravine and can’t get to the other side. I can build a bridge halfway across the divide but need you to build the other half so we can connect the halves where I have what you need and you have what I need.
It doesn’t look easy but when we put our bodies into motion we make it easy with every movement in every moment.
I’m looking at the solutions we provide each other but I only have one pair of eyes connected to one brain that searches this giant computer system composed of seven billion people connected one way or the other. Our planet is small and sometimes our voices are very tiny. Someone out there has a piece of the puzzle that completes the image that describes the solution to unemployment. Actually, more than one person has a piece. Some of us have the same piece - when we combine our voices, we reach out to complete the solution like fans at a sporting event shouting the same name over and over.
Often, after burying my thoughts in the words of others, I see a solution that’s off-kilter, filtered through a funhouse prism. I haven’t found enough words about the constipated bank loan problem or the rising unemployment problem to give me a solution worth laughing about. I’ve only heard complaints that enough is not being done.
I don’t care that Bernanke or Summers or the IMF has firm control of the situation and is ready to take charge when things get worse. I want to hear from those who have put viable, positive solutions into place. I’m more interested in fire prevention than firefighting. I’m more interested in positive behavior reinforcement than crowd control. Action, not reaction.
I wish I had the solution to give you, but in this case the solution is in your hands and thoughts. You may be five years old or 105 years old. You may be an illiterate field worker or an academic superstar. You may have no expertise in the area of research you studied but you found a working solution.
The solution I offer is you. In doing so, I am exposing my greatest weakness, which is not wanting to admit I don’t have all the answers. It’s like admitting defeat, only I’m actually admitting you are my victory. My worst fear is my greatest triumph. I have felt mental pain and anguish these last few days because the solution, this blog entry, is the last thing I wanted to write. I’ve always been able to find a way out of a trap. In this case, I found out that you are the one who has to open the trap for me, no easy admission for a person who believes that self-sufficiency is the number one reason that life exists, due to self-preservation. Don’t know why that is since I rationally know that no one lives on an island and space is not a true vacuum.
Enough for now. I’ve got to mull on this a few more days and let you solve the problem(s) for me while I keep my mouth shut about them. You’ll find the solution(s) when you least expect them, like going to the market for bread and finding a delicious, nutritious fruit you’d never seen before, changing your diet forever and making your family stronger because you happened to glance in a different direction while talking with a neighbour at the bread booth.
09 October 2009
Concentrated Fragrance Oil
Effectual change or effective change? Defective pocket change? Hidden charges? Depth charges? Effective depth? Change depth? Dearth? Hearth? Mantel? Mantle?
Now that the word is out, are we out of words? If we see that Muslims and Jews have more in common than Jews and Christians and that Christians and Hindus have more in common than Kurds and Hans, is that enough to put in one sentence to search for effective change deep in one's hidden, charged pocket?
How heavy is a skyscraper in comparison to the ice on Greenland? Is Singapore sinking faster than Hong Kong or Manhattan? Is the Matterhorn rising faster than Everest or the Andes peaks?
I broke off a crust of bread and rubbed a sensitive spot on my gums while eating it. Volcanoes and zits pop up every day. Scabs form where scrapes occurred. Scabs cross picket lines to feed their families.
We can believe. We can belief. We can tuna in canneries and vegetables in glass jars.
Rational people will believe anything they deem rational. Reasonableness is not required. Belief. Be, leaf - photosynthesize your life-giving moment.
A moon crash and a peace prize. Totally unrelated except in time. But you'll still have those who think watches and calendars are conspiratorial, the Earth is flat, no one landed on the moon and the moon is made of green cheese.
We define the future today and then figure out how to live it. We write history backwards and forwards and forget it. Categorize a mass, motivate the mass to mass and the mass will believe it exists for its own sake - categorize with care and concern for all, including those who mass, those who don't mass, those who oppose the mass and those who don't go to mass.
Effectual and effective are not the same, no matter how great or small the desired change. Time is important and irrelevant. Those who don't want change are equal to those who want change because we're all the same but we're not. Watch for those who want to be more equal than others and find the change you made but not necessarily sought. Then you'll know the difference between effectual and effective.
I don't write the rules. I write them down. I don't know what life is all about. I trust that everyone else does and go from there. The future is always bright to me because I laugh no matter how hard I'm crying. Why be serious when the absurd is so much more interesting?
Now that the word is out, are we out of words? If we see that Muslims and Jews have more in common than Jews and Christians and that Christians and Hindus have more in common than Kurds and Hans, is that enough to put in one sentence to search for effective change deep in one's hidden, charged pocket?
How heavy is a skyscraper in comparison to the ice on Greenland? Is Singapore sinking faster than Hong Kong or Manhattan? Is the Matterhorn rising faster than Everest or the Andes peaks?
I broke off a crust of bread and rubbed a sensitive spot on my gums while eating it. Volcanoes and zits pop up every day. Scabs form where scrapes occurred. Scabs cross picket lines to feed their families.
We can believe. We can belief. We can tuna in canneries and vegetables in glass jars.
Rational people will believe anything they deem rational. Reasonableness is not required. Belief. Be, leaf - photosynthesize your life-giving moment.
A moon crash and a peace prize. Totally unrelated except in time. But you'll still have those who think watches and calendars are conspiratorial, the Earth is flat, no one landed on the moon and the moon is made of green cheese.
We define the future today and then figure out how to live it. We write history backwards and forwards and forget it. Categorize a mass, motivate the mass to mass and the mass will believe it exists for its own sake - categorize with care and concern for all, including those who mass, those who don't mass, those who oppose the mass and those who don't go to mass.
Effectual and effective are not the same, no matter how great or small the desired change. Time is important and irrelevant. Those who don't want change are equal to those who want change because we're all the same but we're not. Watch for those who want to be more equal than others and find the change you made but not necessarily sought. Then you'll know the difference between effectual and effective.
I don't write the rules. I write them down. I don't know what life is all about. I trust that everyone else does and go from there. The future is always bright to me because I laugh no matter how hard I'm crying. Why be serious when the absurd is so much more interesting?
Spring Tension
I made a breakthrough today. Most mornings I wake up, eat breakfast, shower, shave and dress in order to prepare myself to wind up the potential energy of the "motorised engine" of my automotive transportation device. The windup key has always been difficult to handle, the design engineers not putting much thought into the ergonomics but much into the aesthetics of the giant metal crank - pretty, red key but no easy grip locations.
While brushing my teeth, I looked at the windup facial hair shaving device I use. Instead of a windup key, it uses a pull-string to tighten the metal windings.
I watched the cat run around the flat and then it dawned on me!
I do not need to manually turn the windup key on the automobile springed gearing. Instead, I need an auto-mechanical device to wind it for me.
Thus, I pulled out the bicycle pump, attached it to a bellows from the fireplace and used air pressure to crank the windup key in circles, foot push by foot push.
My neighbours will no longer make fun of my windup boy-toy car. I have even found a way to remove the windup key and create a connection point for the bicycle pump/bellows winding device. Of course, I will have to stop along the roadside and pump-wind the spring every kilometer or so but I still get to work without the need for fossilised liquid fuel or horse power to accelerate my enclosed transportation device.
I think tomorrow I will find a way to install the bicycle pump/bellows winding device inside the car so that I can pump along the way, storing air pressure on an as-needed basis and getting my exercise, too. This will allow me to enjoy my morning and evening commutes during inclement weather.
My coworkers may scoff at me but I pay no road taxes because my vehicle has no federally-recognized definition of an engine/motor and my insurance company classifies my transportation device as a home use product covered by my house insurance.
The money I save I invest in more ways to redefine living within and outside of the system, just like the walls of my house are also the fields on which I grow my food crops, the roof is the power source for my electrically-powered house and yard devices, and the ceiling the place to store and dry my harvest. The only framed pictures I have are windows. The floor holds the furniture I use for clothes/drygoods storage and sitting/lying down, both aesthetic and functional in nature.
While brushing my teeth, I looked at the windup facial hair shaving device I use. Instead of a windup key, it uses a pull-string to tighten the metal windings.
I watched the cat run around the flat and then it dawned on me!
I do not need to manually turn the windup key on the automobile springed gearing. Instead, I need an auto-mechanical device to wind it for me.
Thus, I pulled out the bicycle pump, attached it to a bellows from the fireplace and used air pressure to crank the windup key in circles, foot push by foot push.
My neighbours will no longer make fun of my windup boy-toy car. I have even found a way to remove the windup key and create a connection point for the bicycle pump/bellows winding device. Of course, I will have to stop along the roadside and pump-wind the spring every kilometer or so but I still get to work without the need for fossilised liquid fuel or horse power to accelerate my enclosed transportation device.
I think tomorrow I will find a way to install the bicycle pump/bellows winding device inside the car so that I can pump along the way, storing air pressure on an as-needed basis and getting my exercise, too. This will allow me to enjoy my morning and evening commutes during inclement weather.
My coworkers may scoff at me but I pay no road taxes because my vehicle has no federally-recognized definition of an engine/motor and my insurance company classifies my transportation device as a home use product covered by my house insurance.
The money I save I invest in more ways to redefine living within and outside of the system, just like the walls of my house are also the fields on which I grow my food crops, the roof is the power source for my electrically-powered house and yard devices, and the ceiling the place to store and dry my harvest. The only framed pictures I have are windows. The floor holds the furniture I use for clothes/drygoods storage and sitting/lying down, both aesthetic and functional in nature.
08 October 2009
Famous Words of a Local Politician
While parts of the world move forward profitably, the part of the world in which I live continues to argue and fight over small matters, facing higher unemployment and slow growth. Reminds me of the "house divided" speech by a former national leader:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lincoln%27s_House_Divided_Speech
I am dizzy with anticipation, holding my breath, waiting for someone to step forward and say we are neither Democrats nor Republicans but people of the same country who belong to the same species on the same planet. The time for pointing fingers is over. Time to make snap decisions and be willing to face the consequences. Leaders. Coaches. Mentors. Not squabbling political processors.
Imagine Ted Turner and Oprah Winfrey joining together to say they're taking over the reins and driving this wagon, wiping away the mudslinging of Washington D.C. and moving us forward, joining forces with the rest of the planet instead of pushing everybody down to get ahead.
Oh well, time to wake up from that daydream and get back to work while trudging through all this donkey don't-doo flowing down the Potomac. Even my Mexican friends recognize the reticence of the leaders of this country to make progress. What if Central and South American countries formed their own EU (European Union, that is, or perhaps Estados Unidos II)?
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lincoln%27s_House_Divided_Speech
I am dizzy with anticipation, holding my breath, waiting for someone to step forward and say we are neither Democrats nor Republicans but people of the same country who belong to the same species on the same planet. The time for pointing fingers is over. Time to make snap decisions and be willing to face the consequences. Leaders. Coaches. Mentors. Not squabbling political processors.
Imagine Ted Turner and Oprah Winfrey joining together to say they're taking over the reins and driving this wagon, wiping away the mudslinging of Washington D.C. and moving us forward, joining forces with the rest of the planet instead of pushing everybody down to get ahead.
Oh well, time to wake up from that daydream and get back to work while trudging through all this donkey don't-doo flowing down the Potomac. Even my Mexican friends recognize the reticence of the leaders of this country to make progress. What if Central and South American countries formed their own EU (European Union, that is, or perhaps Estados Unidos II)?
Clasped Hands
In these moments of happiness, I take out the Book of the Future to look back upon this time and the next few years ahead.
What happens if there is not a superpower left to dictate world policy changes? What if many nations join together and abolish nationhood? Those with a clear vision to share with their followers will lead them into the new era, shedding old labels and adopting new ones.
I am a happy man. I have many friends, seen and unseen, known and unknown, upon whom I depend. They may use nonviolent protest, passive resistance, working within the system or other methods to change their place in the world. They may build businesses or break them down. They may give with no desire for receiving payment in kind. They may take without asking.
Happiness is understanding without thinking. Happiness is responsibility for no reason.
When one can enter a system with no other requirement than the ability to injure another person, the system perpetuates violent power. When overpopulation pushes nonviolence and violence together, which one survives? Happiness is seeing your potential and living up to it. If your potential involves overcoming nonviolence, then what's the matter with being happy?
I do not own the world. I see the world in which we live. Peace and happiness are mine, often joined like clasped hands. If I have to choose one or the other, which one survives? Do I want to be unhappily peaceful or happy without peace? The Book of the Future only tells me what will happen, not how I'll feel.
My thoughts are incomplete right now. I have to look at the bigger picture before I can say what's really in my thoughts. Instead, in the interim I ponder democratic tax policies versus communist joint property ownership versus the bribe/fee system used by loose government associations.
Freedom is many things, including the right to private ownership. I own myself, to begin with. I own my children, as long as they'll have me, and they own me. I own at least enough belongings to shelter myself in public. After that, my private ownership freedoms encounter those of other persons/families; then, the inter-personal/familial agreement process picks up. Private land versus public land. Private education versus public education. Open source versus trademark/patent. Lending, borrowing, buying, selling, giving, receiving.
The future is full of old ideas and new. The future is today, tomorrow and yesteryear. The future is free of words and full of words. Family, religion, politics and sports will occupy us just as much tomorrow as it does today.
The future is about ownership. The future is about freedom. Individual freedom for seven billion and growing. Freedom for one species on one planet and expanding.
I value my freedom. I value my species. How important is my freedom in consideration of survival of my species? I laugh at the enormity of that question. People die every day answering that question, their lives no laughing matter.
You are my peace. You are my happiness. You are my future. You are my freedom. You are me and I am you - we own each other because we're one species, one family. If one of us or one million of us or one billion of us has to lose freedom, or even die, to save our species, which one of us will it be? We'll never know until it happens.
Peace. Happiness. Freedom. Ownership. The Book of the Future guarantees that you can't have all four of them - which one, two or three of them will you take, if someone will be willing to offer you the choice?
What happens if there is not a superpower left to dictate world policy changes? What if many nations join together and abolish nationhood? Those with a clear vision to share with their followers will lead them into the new era, shedding old labels and adopting new ones.
I am a happy man. I have many friends, seen and unseen, known and unknown, upon whom I depend. They may use nonviolent protest, passive resistance, working within the system or other methods to change their place in the world. They may build businesses or break them down. They may give with no desire for receiving payment in kind. They may take without asking.
Happiness is understanding without thinking. Happiness is responsibility for no reason.
When one can enter a system with no other requirement than the ability to injure another person, the system perpetuates violent power. When overpopulation pushes nonviolence and violence together, which one survives? Happiness is seeing your potential and living up to it. If your potential involves overcoming nonviolence, then what's the matter with being happy?
I do not own the world. I see the world in which we live. Peace and happiness are mine, often joined like clasped hands. If I have to choose one or the other, which one survives? Do I want to be unhappily peaceful or happy without peace? The Book of the Future only tells me what will happen, not how I'll feel.
- When the new world currency emerges after 2018, what then?
- When the glaciers completely melt that feed the world's major rivers, then what?
- When fresh water and food production completely fall out of private hands, to whom do you turn for basic necessities?
- When corporations get governments to force you to pay fees for everything you do, where do you go to be free from your corporate citizens?
My thoughts are incomplete right now. I have to look at the bigger picture before I can say what's really in my thoughts. Instead, in the interim I ponder democratic tax policies versus communist joint property ownership versus the bribe/fee system used by loose government associations.
Freedom is many things, including the right to private ownership. I own myself, to begin with. I own my children, as long as they'll have me, and they own me. I own at least enough belongings to shelter myself in public. After that, my private ownership freedoms encounter those of other persons/families; then, the inter-personal/familial agreement process picks up. Private land versus public land. Private education versus public education. Open source versus trademark/patent. Lending, borrowing, buying, selling, giving, receiving.
The future is full of old ideas and new. The future is today, tomorrow and yesteryear. The future is free of words and full of words. Family, religion, politics and sports will occupy us just as much tomorrow as it does today.
The future is about ownership. The future is about freedom. Individual freedom for seven billion and growing. Freedom for one species on one planet and expanding.
I value my freedom. I value my species. How important is my freedom in consideration of survival of my species? I laugh at the enormity of that question. People die every day answering that question, their lives no laughing matter.
You are my peace. You are my happiness. You are my future. You are my freedom. You are me and I am you - we own each other because we're one species, one family. If one of us or one million of us or one billion of us has to lose freedom, or even die, to save our species, which one of us will it be? We'll never know until it happens.
Peace. Happiness. Freedom. Ownership. The Book of the Future guarantees that you can't have all four of them - which one, two or three of them will you take, if someone will be willing to offer you the choice?
Traveling Pack
I've noticed that a pack of birds seem to travel my neighbourhood - the chickadees, woodpeckers, cardinals, goldfinches and tufted titmouse birds - looking at my empty birdfeeders and then eating what they can find in the nearby trees on their way to the next feeding station. Cowbirds and wrens get in the mix and stir up the chirping.
Humour?
What's the best way to get roaches and ants into your house? Buy and strategically place around your domicile the poison-laden traps designed to attract them. The more you get rid of, the more you get. Or so it may seem? lol
People In Wood Houses Shouldn't Raise Squirrels
Do you ever sit in a place empty of all but you as a representative of your species and listen? I hear chattering woodpeckers, trees bending to the lower angle of the sun this time of year, insects buzzing, crows calling, and leaves rustling. That's the headline news in this part of the world, along with a weather report of generally cooler air temperature that draws the moths out. Red berries brighten on the burning bushes. A few leaves fall on the driveway. A slow and exciting news day.
I live on the edge of a suburban forest, my wife and I sharing an artificial cave called a house, with 19 separated areas we call rooms further labeled as bedrooms, hallways, bathrooms, closets, living room, kitchen, and more. Two-thousand square feet of living space. Two people. Two operational motor vehicles. Three nonoperational motor vehicles. Furniture. Clothes. Stuff.
We use gallons of water and petrol a day. We discard several trash bags of debris a week. We feed two indoor cats. We water a few indoor tropical evergreen plants. We pay to insure the house, belongings, vehicles and our bodies for reimbursement should disaster occur. We buy electricity to operate machinery like this computer.
Our mode of living is copied by millions of people around the world (in the billions, I guess). Our use of the planet's resources is described as middle class living, with luxuries like driving a mile to the corner store to buy grocery goods, including frozen items that we can quickly transport home without thawing and exposing our groceries to foodborne illness-causing bacteria like salmonella.
Our life is pleasant. No wars. No pestilence. No neighbourhood violence to speak of. Easy to say peace and prosperity influence our thinking. We can let others make the hard decisions about what seven billion people should do to live together without even thinking about them ourselves, if we want (them = the hard decisions and the seven billion people).
A sheltered life, influenced by family issues such as birth, death, age-specific achievements and the like.
Some people refer to this as a life to be envied while others say it is a life of inconsequential activities to be overcome. Regardless of what others say, it is the life I have led the majority of my days. I don't envy my life and I don't cast aside my life. I am who I am as well as how and where I grew up.
Thus, I cannot confidently describe how to find peace and happiness outside the lifestyle I have most fully experienced.
Just like I cannot describe to you why a yellow jacket wasp insists on landing on my leg this afternoon (the soap I use?) - I am allergic to yellow jacket venom but I am confident the insect won't insert its stinger in me for no reason.
I look at the world through my eyes and with my thoughts. I make decisions and judgments based on who I am while imagining the lives of others. I see countries like I see my neighbours - different but not needing to go to war over ideological issues.
I have read that if everyone lived my life, our planet would be used up. I accept that assessment. To accommodate a more affluent species, I have reduced my daily consumption habits, including no lawn mowing, lower food intake, less electricity used and fewer kilometers driven. I am frugal but I still enjoy a few luxuries including this blog posting.
Practice what you teach. I am not the world. I am not my neighbours. I am me. I will always be me - one with and part of the universe while part of me sees myself separate from the universe.
A leaf falls from a tree, turns into soil and feeds the tree to turn out more leaves. Is the soil the tree? Is the tree the soil? The tree and I share the same air - are we each other? What about the yellow jacket tasting my leg, the gnat buzzing my ear or the mosquito draining my blood? Perhaps I am my neighbours. Maybe I am the world. We are me and I am them.
The secret to living is no secret. We're all connected. Poison the squirrel chewing on the house and you kill a hawk. Kill the hawk and more squirrels show up to chew on your house.
I live on the edge of a suburban forest, my wife and I sharing an artificial cave called a house, with 19 separated areas we call rooms further labeled as bedrooms, hallways, bathrooms, closets, living room, kitchen, and more. Two-thousand square feet of living space. Two people. Two operational motor vehicles. Three nonoperational motor vehicles. Furniture. Clothes. Stuff.
We use gallons of water and petrol a day. We discard several trash bags of debris a week. We feed two indoor cats. We water a few indoor tropical evergreen plants. We pay to insure the house, belongings, vehicles and our bodies for reimbursement should disaster occur. We buy electricity to operate machinery like this computer.
Our mode of living is copied by millions of people around the world (in the billions, I guess). Our use of the planet's resources is described as middle class living, with luxuries like driving a mile to the corner store to buy grocery goods, including frozen items that we can quickly transport home without thawing and exposing our groceries to foodborne illness-causing bacteria like salmonella.
Our life is pleasant. No wars. No pestilence. No neighbourhood violence to speak of. Easy to say peace and prosperity influence our thinking. We can let others make the hard decisions about what seven billion people should do to live together without even thinking about them ourselves, if we want (them = the hard decisions and the seven billion people).
A sheltered life, influenced by family issues such as birth, death, age-specific achievements and the like.
Some people refer to this as a life to be envied while others say it is a life of inconsequential activities to be overcome. Regardless of what others say, it is the life I have led the majority of my days. I don't envy my life and I don't cast aside my life. I am who I am as well as how and where I grew up.
Thus, I cannot confidently describe how to find peace and happiness outside the lifestyle I have most fully experienced.
Just like I cannot describe to you why a yellow jacket wasp insists on landing on my leg this afternoon (the soap I use?) - I am allergic to yellow jacket venom but I am confident the insect won't insert its stinger in me for no reason.
I look at the world through my eyes and with my thoughts. I make decisions and judgments based on who I am while imagining the lives of others. I see countries like I see my neighbours - different but not needing to go to war over ideological issues.
I have read that if everyone lived my life, our planet would be used up. I accept that assessment. To accommodate a more affluent species, I have reduced my daily consumption habits, including no lawn mowing, lower food intake, less electricity used and fewer kilometers driven. I am frugal but I still enjoy a few luxuries including this blog posting.
Practice what you teach. I am not the world. I am not my neighbours. I am me. I will always be me - one with and part of the universe while part of me sees myself separate from the universe.
A leaf falls from a tree, turns into soil and feeds the tree to turn out more leaves. Is the soil the tree? Is the tree the soil? The tree and I share the same air - are we each other? What about the yellow jacket tasting my leg, the gnat buzzing my ear or the mosquito draining my blood? Perhaps I am my neighbours. Maybe I am the world. We are me and I am them.
The secret to living is no secret. We're all connected. Poison the squirrel chewing on the house and you kill a hawk. Kill the hawk and more squirrels show up to chew on your house.
07 October 2009
Where Do We Go From Here?
Perhaps we will find enough water vapour on the Moon Friday to justify accelerating the moon habitation schedule. And if we don't? Then what?
Meanwhile, I thank Rebecca and Jayna for taking care of the fresh banana pudding today - the grocery market was full of smiling faces. Some days, I need your smiling faces more than I want to admit (like today when I'm fighting off a depressive mood instead of working through it happily - there's a thin line between self-deprecation and self-hatred I'm trying not to cross today).
Oh well, time to work on class prep material after enjoying a sunny afternoon washing cars and putting up an outdoor tent to cover the '62 Dodge Lancer.
Meanwhile, I thank Rebecca and Jayna for taking care of the fresh banana pudding today - the grocery market was full of smiling faces. Some days, I need your smiling faces more than I want to admit (like today when I'm fighting off a depressive mood instead of working through it happily - there's a thin line between self-deprecation and self-hatred I'm trying not to cross today).
Oh well, time to work on class prep material after enjoying a sunny afternoon washing cars and putting up an outdoor tent to cover the '62 Dodge Lancer.
Two In Common?
I glanced at the news last night and found out that a talk-show host/comedian had been confessing his sins in the national spotlight. I haven't kept up with the comedian's life since I saw him live in person a year and a half ago when I was accosted in the street by a person giving away tickets to the Late Show who insisted they needed people to fill seats. I can see why - the main guest that night was an aged comedian named Charles Grodin showing bad photos of horses and the best skit the show's writers had was seeing if a tub of cottage cheese floated - typical style humour for that show.
From the news, I gather that the comedian is reverting to the same techniques used by religious show hosts when losing viewers. Do you remember Jim and Tammy Faye Baker or Jimmy Swaggert? Anyone who airs their dirty laundry on the national stage is getting desperate. But these days, desperate times call for desperate measures, eh, Mr. Letterman? Is it time to start asking your viewers to send in their seed money? Do you have gold clothes hangers or need to send your wife on a retail shopping therapy trip to save your marriage?
Of course, Johnny Carson nursed the divorce jokes for years so this is old hat, or could be, for ol' Letterman.
My wife enjoyed watching They Might Be Giants on Jimmy Fallon's show last night. She's glad Letterman is not part of her viewing routine - Letterman's humour never was her taste and an old man talking about cheating on his wife is definitely not appetizing - there's nothing funny about bragging about breaking your wedding vows, especially with a young son to inherit the braggart's YouTube swagger videos about his mother.
We all make mistakes but does that mean advertisers or viewers have to agree with you after apologizing? No. Others aren't complicit by living in the same society. We move on to something else more positive. My wife and I striked Letterman from our viewing a long time ago and now we know why. Bottom line: he's just not that funny. Time to give young kids an opportunity to save CBS from itself.
From the news, I gather that the comedian is reverting to the same techniques used by religious show hosts when losing viewers. Do you remember Jim and Tammy Faye Baker or Jimmy Swaggert? Anyone who airs their dirty laundry on the national stage is getting desperate. But these days, desperate times call for desperate measures, eh, Mr. Letterman? Is it time to start asking your viewers to send in their seed money? Do you have gold clothes hangers or need to send your wife on a retail shopping therapy trip to save your marriage?
Of course, Johnny Carson nursed the divorce jokes for years so this is old hat, or could be, for ol' Letterman.
My wife enjoyed watching They Might Be Giants on Jimmy Fallon's show last night. She's glad Letterman is not part of her viewing routine - Letterman's humour never was her taste and an old man talking about cheating on his wife is definitely not appetizing - there's nothing funny about bragging about breaking your wedding vows, especially with a young son to inherit the braggart's YouTube swagger videos about his mother.
We all make mistakes but does that mean advertisers or viewers have to agree with you after apologizing? No. Others aren't complicit by living in the same society. We move on to something else more positive. My wife and I striked Letterman from our viewing a long time ago and now we know why. Bottom line: he's just not that funny. Time to give young kids an opportunity to save CBS from itself.
06 October 2009
Too hilarious to take seriously?
Someone told me the housing collapse based economic crisis was a covert means of shifting world economic power faster than planned. If so, then continue to enjoy the show:
http://www.independent.ie/business/world/economic-balance-of-power-shifts-to-the-east-1905435.html
Jimmy Carter, do you have any poignant advice for our fed policy advisors? Bernanke may be in over his head after all the crap piles up around him.
Peace is just as tenuous for religious leaders as for political ones (or both):
I live on the only habitable planet within a lifetime's reach. If I take any of this with a semblance of seriousness, then I've lost the joy that watching a falling rain drop brings.
http://www.independent.ie/business/world/economic-balance-of-power-shifts-to-the-east-1905435.html
Jimmy Carter, do you have any poignant advice for our fed policy advisors? Bernanke may be in over his head after all the crap piles up around him.
Peace is just as tenuous for religious leaders as for political ones (or both):
I live on the only habitable planet within a lifetime's reach. If I take any of this with a semblance of seriousness, then I've lost the joy that watching a falling rain drop brings.
Discombobulated
Have I mentioned EIEIO, the Eastern Institute for Enlightenment and Intellectual Output? I had a T-shirt when I was a teenager that had that moniker on it, referring to the Hokies, the home of the Virginia Polytechnic Institute and State University, better known as Virginia Tech. From my father's experience of teaching at Viriginia Tech and my uncle's experiences teaching at Duke and Florida State, I grew up knowing what college life was about, including the T-shirt satirized logo craze. I also knew about regular college life, such as going to class, studying, watching TV, playing sports and attending sports events (not failing to mention the party life of many college coeds).
By the time I got to college, starting my gradual student career at the Georgia Institute of Technology (better known as Georgia Tech, the Yellow Jackets, Rambling Wreck, MIT of the South, et al), I was ready for all that college life had to offer.
That is, I was ready to be an adult on my own, excel or pass, succeed or fail. Here I am, 30 years later, and I'm still ready to be an adult, with successes and failures (i.e., "lessons learned") notched on my belt.
At middle age, I can no longer say I don't know what I want to be when I grow up because I've stopped growing up. Instead, I'm growing older. Wiser, too, I suppose (long ago having received the certificate of Wise Guy from the school of hard knocks).
Learning is a lifelong process. We may or may not need formal learning in our adult years in order to accomplish our goals. For instance, I'll keep learning as long as I live, whether through interaction with my environment or careful study of text and labwork in an actual and/or virtual classroom setting.
This past weekend, I attended a series of events tied to a formal wedding ceremony. The events included people from two families and out of those two families, there were a limited number of invited attendees.
Today, I feel discombobulated (a word about as big as the cigar I smoked after the wedding to celebrate the entry of my cousin and other guys into man-hood). I sense a change in the output of words from world governments. I sense a change in my understanding of my place in the universe. I sense a change in the way businesses and corporations are dividing up revenue streams. My discombobulation centers on the change I don't sense - the change in the moods of groups of people around the world.
I don't know when my last day on this planet will occur. Assuming I never leave the planet, I have approximately 14822 days to keep learning before my existence as a member of our species ends here.
I am a member of one of the groups of people on this planet. If I feel discombobulated, then other people probably feel that way, too. I cannot speak for others who feel this way. I can barely see why I do.
I admit I made a mistake this past weekend. I did not invite uninvited family members to crash a family party to which I was invited. I had the opportunity to show others that we're all the same and failed to make that point clear. The world is a little less bright this week because of my limited desire to change the world one person at a time. I cannot turn back the clock. I cannot undo what I didn't do.
I learned a lesson about myself this weekend, a type of lesson I may never be able to apply my new learning to - we are all family, all seven billion of us. If we forget that we're family, we make bigger mistakes later on, from family quarrels to nuclear war. I cannot make up for my mistake this weekend but I will eventually recover from my discombobulation. Who will I be? I'm too discombobulated at this moment to imagine if I'll be better or worse. Right now, I don't like myself so I can only see the worse side of what I'm to become - not a time to think about the past, present or future. I cannot change the past so there's no need to punish myself, just look for the lesson learned and move on.
By the time I got to college, starting my gradual student career at the Georgia Institute of Technology (better known as Georgia Tech, the Yellow Jackets, Rambling Wreck, MIT of the South, et al), I was ready for all that college life had to offer.
That is, I was ready to be an adult on my own, excel or pass, succeed or fail. Here I am, 30 years later, and I'm still ready to be an adult, with successes and failures (i.e., "lessons learned") notched on my belt.
At middle age, I can no longer say I don't know what I want to be when I grow up because I've stopped growing up. Instead, I'm growing older. Wiser, too, I suppose (long ago having received the certificate of Wise Guy from the school of hard knocks).
Learning is a lifelong process. We may or may not need formal learning in our adult years in order to accomplish our goals. For instance, I'll keep learning as long as I live, whether through interaction with my environment or careful study of text and labwork in an actual and/or virtual classroom setting.
This past weekend, I attended a series of events tied to a formal wedding ceremony. The events included people from two families and out of those two families, there were a limited number of invited attendees.
Today, I feel discombobulated (a word about as big as the cigar I smoked after the wedding to celebrate the entry of my cousin and other guys into man-hood). I sense a change in the output of words from world governments. I sense a change in my understanding of my place in the universe. I sense a change in the way businesses and corporations are dividing up revenue streams. My discombobulation centers on the change I don't sense - the change in the moods of groups of people around the world.
I don't know when my last day on this planet will occur. Assuming I never leave the planet, I have approximately 14822 days to keep learning before my existence as a member of our species ends here.
I am a member of one of the groups of people on this planet. If I feel discombobulated, then other people probably feel that way, too. I cannot speak for others who feel this way. I can barely see why I do.
I admit I made a mistake this past weekend. I did not invite uninvited family members to crash a family party to which I was invited. I had the opportunity to show others that we're all the same and failed to make that point clear. The world is a little less bright this week because of my limited desire to change the world one person at a time. I cannot turn back the clock. I cannot undo what I didn't do.
I learned a lesson about myself this weekend, a type of lesson I may never be able to apply my new learning to - we are all family, all seven billion of us. If we forget that we're family, we make bigger mistakes later on, from family quarrels to nuclear war. I cannot make up for my mistake this weekend but I will eventually recover from my discombobulation. Who will I be? I'm too discombobulated at this moment to imagine if I'll be better or worse. Right now, I don't like myself so I can only see the worse side of what I'm to become - not a time to think about the past, present or future. I cannot change the past so there's no need to punish myself, just look for the lesson learned and move on.
05 October 2009
Quit Pushing
"Have you ever heard of the Aristocrats?"
"Aristocats?"
"No, the Aristocrats?"
"Hmm...sounds familiar...are you referring to those who rule by fear and love, fear of their might and love of their lavish expenditures?"
"Could be...but have you heard of what they can do?"
"What can they do?"
"Is that the question?"
"I don't know...is it?"
"If you were called the Aristocrats, what would you do?"
"What would I do?"
"That's what I asked, isn't it?"
"Is it?"
"But what would you do?"
"What would you do?"
"If I were the Aristocrats?"
"What if you were the Aristocrats?"
"If I were the Aristocrats, what would I do?"
"Isn't that the question?"
"If I were the Aristocrats, what would you do?"
"What would I do?"
"What would I see?"
"If you were the Aristocrats?"
"If you were watching the Aristocrats, what would happen?"
"You mean, if you were watching the Aristocrats?"
"If I was performing as the Aristocrats watching the Aristocrats, what could possibly happen?"
"If I was watching the Aristocrats perform as the Aristocrats with me in and out of the performance, what would happen next?"
"But what would happen first?"
"Who are the Aristocrats?"
"Who are the Aristocrats?"
"Isn't that what I asked you?"
"But isn't that the question we're trying to answer?"
"Is it?"
"Is what?"
"Is that the purpose of the Aristocrats?"
"What is the purpose of the Aristocrats?"
"Isn't it?"
"Do you think so?"
"Do you?"
"Do I what?"
"Do you think the Aristocrats' performance is what their purpose is all about?"
"Isn't the purpose of the Aristocrats to question their performance?"
"No, isn't the performance the purpose of their purpose?"
"Is the purpose their performance of their purpose?"
"Yes, their purpose is to question their performance, isn't it?"
"But who are the Aristocrats?"
"Aren't you?"
"Aren't I what?"
"Aren't you who they are?"
"They are who?"
"The Aristocrats?"
"Why didn't you say so in the first place?"
"Why didn't you ask me?"
"The Aristocrats?"
"Very aristocratic, wouldn't you say?"
"Is it time for their performance?"
"Do you think we're ready for such a performance?"
"Do you?"
"Aristocats?"
"No, the Aristocrats?"
"Hmm...sounds familiar...are you referring to those who rule by fear and love, fear of their might and love of their lavish expenditures?"
"Could be...but have you heard of what they can do?"
"What can they do?"
"Is that the question?"
"I don't know...is it?"
"If you were called the Aristocrats, what would you do?"
"What would I do?"
"That's what I asked, isn't it?"
"Is it?"
"But what would you do?"
"What would you do?"
"If I were the Aristocrats?"
"What if you were the Aristocrats?"
"If I were the Aristocrats, what would I do?"
"Isn't that the question?"
"If I were the Aristocrats, what would you do?"
"What would I do?"
"What would I see?"
"If you were the Aristocrats?"
"If you were watching the Aristocrats, what would happen?"
"You mean, if you were watching the Aristocrats?"
"If I was performing as the Aristocrats watching the Aristocrats, what could possibly happen?"
"If I was watching the Aristocrats perform as the Aristocrats with me in and out of the performance, what would happen next?"
"But what would happen first?"
"Who are the Aristocrats?"
"Who are the Aristocrats?"
"Isn't that what I asked you?"
"But isn't that the question we're trying to answer?"
"Is it?"
"Is what?"
"Is that the purpose of the Aristocrats?"
"What is the purpose of the Aristocrats?"
"Isn't it?"
"Do you think so?"
"Do you?"
"Do I what?"
"Do you think the Aristocrats' performance is what their purpose is all about?"
"Isn't the purpose of the Aristocrats to question their performance?"
"No, isn't the performance the purpose of their purpose?"
"Is the purpose their performance of their purpose?"
"Yes, their purpose is to question their performance, isn't it?"
"But who are the Aristocrats?"
"Aren't you?"
"Aren't I what?"
"Aren't you who they are?"
"They are who?"
"The Aristocrats?"
"Why didn't you say so in the first place?"
"Why didn't you ask me?"
"The Aristocrats?"
"Very aristocratic, wouldn't you say?"
"Is it time for their performance?"
"Do you think we're ready for such a performance?"
"Do you?"
What is a species worth?
Checked Field&Stream magazine today and found this interesting post:
http://www.fieldandstream.com/blogs/fishing/2009/10/chad-love-paddlefish-warning-china
Reminds me of the thought that it's often those who fish and hunt whose gaming licenses pay for the primary support of the environment in many places.
Regardless of the food we eat or the labels we choose like meateater or vegetarian, we get our food from somewhere on this planet - if we don't know where our food comes from or how it's being grown then we lose out on who we are and where we're headed.
Speaking of which, time for lunch! Beef sausage, fried potato strips and ice cream. The three squirrels can have my share of hickory nuts this afternoon.
http://www.fieldandstream.com/blogs/fishing/2009/10/chad-love-paddlefish-warning-china
Reminds me of the thought that it's often those who fish and hunt whose gaming licenses pay for the primary support of the environment in many places.
Regardless of the food we eat or the labels we choose like meateater or vegetarian, we get our food from somewhere on this planet - if we don't know where our food comes from or how it's being grown then we lose out on who we are and where we're headed.
Speaking of which, time for lunch! Beef sausage, fried potato strips and ice cream. The three squirrels can have my share of hickory nuts this afternoon.
Addiction
Concrete solutions. Like knowing the effect of artificial food products on one's body - if positive, eat/drink in moderation and if negative, stop using. Every life form seeks growth media. When separated from the environment in which a life form naturally lives or gravitates toward...
A mourning dove flies past my head. A fox runs along the eating path left by the turkeys. No, I'm wrong. A couple of small deer chase each other through the woods with a mother following close behind. The deer are so small I thought they were foxes at first, or even dogs but their spotted backs gave them away today. Crows call out not too far away.
Where was I? Oh yeah, the feeling of substances oozing through my veins. I drank a lot of artificially flavored liquids this past weekend, despite knowing from experience that I feel lumps or clots making their way through my blood circulation system the day after drinking sweetened liquids.
Our species no longer has to worry about its existence on a day-to-day, eat-or-die level. Clumps of our species do, though, through poor environmental conditions like drought, pollution, natural disaster, war.
In general, we long ago conquered local environmental hazards and made extra-survival conditions the norm. As individuals, we can concentrate on whatever we want, no matter what happens or we know will happen.
We have placed high monetary burdens on our strongest habits yet many of us maintain our habits, anyway (alcohol/tobacco consumption and motor vehicle operation being ready examples to show). We adjust our habits to accommodate our communal need for governance and paying for governing bodies.
[Didn't mean to write another dissertation on our species but I'm here so I'll finish this up and think up another comedy skit later this afternoon.]
Is it my responsibility to pay for the habits of others? No. Thus, taxing the goods/services with which others support their habits is acceptable to me.
My goal is still the same - focus on the species and see what it's capable of and doing to/for itself. If our habits on a macroscale are destroying our capabilities, then we should develop and teach healthier addictive habits for ourselves while using monetary disincentives as a slight deterrence (with the goal of using the disincentives to fund the newer habits), knowing some people will insist on maintaining old, destructive habits because of their bodies' lifeseeking needs, negative as they may seem to observers.
A mourning dove flies past my head. A fox runs along the eating path left by the turkeys. No, I'm wrong. A couple of small deer chase each other through the woods with a mother following close behind. The deer are so small I thought they were foxes at first, or even dogs but their spotted backs gave them away today. Crows call out not too far away.
Where was I? Oh yeah, the feeling of substances oozing through my veins. I drank a lot of artificially flavored liquids this past weekend, despite knowing from experience that I feel lumps or clots making their way through my blood circulation system the day after drinking sweetened liquids.
Our species no longer has to worry about its existence on a day-to-day, eat-or-die level. Clumps of our species do, though, through poor environmental conditions like drought, pollution, natural disaster, war.
In general, we long ago conquered local environmental hazards and made extra-survival conditions the norm. As individuals, we can concentrate on whatever we want, no matter what happens or we know will happen.
We have placed high monetary burdens on our strongest habits yet many of us maintain our habits, anyway (alcohol/tobacco consumption and motor vehicle operation being ready examples to show). We adjust our habits to accommodate our communal need for governance and paying for governing bodies.
[Didn't mean to write another dissertation on our species but I'm here so I'll finish this up and think up another comedy skit later this afternoon.]
Is it my responsibility to pay for the habits of others? No. Thus, taxing the goods/services with which others support their habits is acceptable to me.
My goal is still the same - focus on the species and see what it's capable of and doing to/for itself. If our habits on a macroscale are destroying our capabilities, then we should develop and teach healthier addictive habits for ourselves while using monetary disincentives as a slight deterrence (with the goal of using the disincentives to fund the newer habits), knowing some people will insist on maintaining old, destructive habits because of their bodies' lifeseeking needs, negative as they may seem to observers.
Caution: Rotating Blades
Diving down into the shallow depths of my brain network, rarely aware I see through the windows of my soul, my green-and-gold orbs, my ocular non-nocturnal vision my all, building slabs, hieroglyphs, woven fabrics, binocular nests. A scribe bent over the scroll. A weaver bent over the loom. A potter bent over the wheel. A cook grinding grain. Open to the world, the universe just a concept. Turkeys digging through the leaves in front of me. Squirrels cracking nuts with gravity as leverage. Almost too cool for butterflies.
I have seen only a small part of what I'm told is an elliptically-round sphere on which I live with the rest of this landscape of ecospherical beings. I do not know. I don't have to know anything. I act. I react.
We complicate matters to make matter matter. Always these words, these images, these quests for quest's sake. Close my eyes to see rods and cones act/react, or so I'm told. I see red and gray and hints of blue, green and yellow, flickering and fading borders. Open my eyes to renew the optical storyline.
I've never watched turkeys dig through the forest floor. Deliberate birds. Don't seem wary of predators. Part of the overpopulating deer and turkey groups in this part of the world. One, two, three four, five, six, seven, peck, peck, peck, eight, nine, dig, eat, fluff feathers, peck, wander closer, scare out chipmunk, stop and look at me for a moment, wander on, another chipmunk on the run, squirrels high in the trees dropping nuts and scampering down to find and bury them before the turkeys get closer, Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom at my feet, five to ten pound weights on short storklike legs, gray heads, brown feather-covered bodies, taking turns looking up, a small hawk flies in and the turkeys gather and gobble in warning, one turkey flying up into the tree to scare off the hawk, another turkey flying into the tree, ten, eleven, twelve, another turkey up into the tree and figuring how to get to the hawk (chicken hawk?), a fourth flies higher and pushes the hawk further up the canopy, the first flies higher and moves the hawk to another tree, charcoal-brown feathers and walnut-brown feathers and goldenrod feathers, a cardinal calling nearby, the squirrels and chipmunks out of sight by now, a bluejay squawks, turkeys balancing on limbs designed for leaves, pecking order still being held, the hawk following this roving smorgasbord that knows how to live another day, turning around and heading back deeper into the woods, a lone turkey keeping watch, too far to tell if sick or male or just what keeps it separated from these dozen females in front of me.
Ted Turner owns just under two million acres of land in North and South America, raising bison, bear and other species. I claim one acre with my wife. Ted and I don't know each other but we know what we know - land relatively untouched by our species teaches us who we really are. I can dig into my brain connections, pull them apart and rearrange them but it's still one brain in one body of one species on one planet in one solar system of one galaxy in one supercluster of one region of one universe. We may claim ownership and jurisprudential jurisdiction of the land, sea and air but we own nothing. We belong to the land, sea and air, which owns us just as much as we own it. When we understand our relationships to this place, symbolism aside, we understand where to go in developing our species. Otherwise, we're playing with memes, thinking the color of our eyes describe what we see.
I have seen only a small part of what I'm told is an elliptically-round sphere on which I live with the rest of this landscape of ecospherical beings. I do not know. I don't have to know anything. I act. I react.
We complicate matters to make matter matter. Always these words, these images, these quests for quest's sake. Close my eyes to see rods and cones act/react, or so I'm told. I see red and gray and hints of blue, green and yellow, flickering and fading borders. Open my eyes to renew the optical storyline.
I've never watched turkeys dig through the forest floor. Deliberate birds. Don't seem wary of predators. Part of the overpopulating deer and turkey groups in this part of the world. One, two, three four, five, six, seven, peck, peck, peck, eight, nine, dig, eat, fluff feathers, peck, wander closer, scare out chipmunk, stop and look at me for a moment, wander on, another chipmunk on the run, squirrels high in the trees dropping nuts and scampering down to find and bury them before the turkeys get closer, Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom at my feet, five to ten pound weights on short storklike legs, gray heads, brown feather-covered bodies, taking turns looking up, a small hawk flies in and the turkeys gather and gobble in warning, one turkey flying up into the tree to scare off the hawk, another turkey flying into the tree, ten, eleven, twelve, another turkey up into the tree and figuring how to get to the hawk (chicken hawk?), a fourth flies higher and pushes the hawk further up the canopy, the first flies higher and moves the hawk to another tree, charcoal-brown feathers and walnut-brown feathers and goldenrod feathers, a cardinal calling nearby, the squirrels and chipmunks out of sight by now, a bluejay squawks, turkeys balancing on limbs designed for leaves, pecking order still being held, the hawk following this roving smorgasbord that knows how to live another day, turning around and heading back deeper into the woods, a lone turkey keeping watch, too far to tell if sick or male or just what keeps it separated from these dozen females in front of me.
Ted Turner owns just under two million acres of land in North and South America, raising bison, bear and other species. I claim one acre with my wife. Ted and I don't know each other but we know what we know - land relatively untouched by our species teaches us who we really are. I can dig into my brain connections, pull them apart and rearrange them but it's still one brain in one body of one species on one planet in one solar system of one galaxy in one supercluster of one region of one universe. We may claim ownership and jurisprudential jurisdiction of the land, sea and air but we own nothing. We belong to the land, sea and air, which owns us just as much as we own it. When we understand our relationships to this place, symbolism aside, we understand where to go in developing our species. Otherwise, we're playing with memes, thinking the color of our eyes describe what we see.
03 October 2009
Family Entertainment
New version of sitting around the television with family during gatherings, reunions and parties - watching YouTube. Some phrases thrown out last night while participating in this new old-style event: "Windows Song," "Miranda," and "Frozen Munich"; also, videos of wedding dances, laughing babies and crying cats. Thanks to Steve, Jennifer, Anna, Tory and my wife for suggestions (others, too, I'm sure).
And congratulations to Steve and Amy for tonight's main event. The best is yet to come!
And congratulations to Steve and Amy for tonight's main event. The best is yet to come!
Liopu Thnjedcty
Liopu looked at her son, wondering what he would look like 20 years from now, when he would be 25 and she 41. She watched him playing in the street with the other neighbourhood kids, kicking a small ball made of scrap pieces of canvas sewn together and stuffed with old clothing.
Liopu smiled. She looked at the text on the mobile. Her buyer would arrive soon.
She grew a small patch of specialty herbs in the windows of her flat, taking up the kitchen, bedroom and toilet with plants potted in whatever containers she could find, including hubcaps, coffee cups, discarded sheets of aluminium foil, lampshades, street signs and vinyl shower curtains.
Liopu sat on the curb and mentally counted her sales for the week. Three more weeks and she would have enough money to buy new clothes for her son, Fexcvit. He never complained about his looks despite the chiding from adults and jokes from kids who made fun of him.
Liopu walked back into the flat and began bagging up more herbs for her next customer, a blend of Nicotiana palm d'anise, Hypericum capsaicin, and other hybrids she had inherited from her mother.
Growers had tried to steal her secrets for propagating the plants, never successful. She carefully guarded the germ that was required to cause the plant seeds to pop open and grow. She knew the places to gather the soil that contained the algal film which acted as a growth medium for the germ.
Her mother had never told Liopu the name of the germ or who shared the secret with Liopu's mother so she did not name the germ, either. She trusted that her mother's decision to store no identification of the germ in her thoughts was key to keeping others from discovering the secret. Liopu also knew that her son would not want to learn the secret so Liopu was growing and selling the plants as quickly as she could to find a new means of making a living.
Liopu did not care about the secret's worth to the rest of her extended family or to the people of her country. In fact, she did not think about others besides her son. The father of her child had shown up one evening while her mother was away and promised Liopu many treasures in exchange for one night alone together. He left with her treasure and never returned. After returning and learning what happened, her mother kicked Liopu out and died within a year from loneliness. Liopu had only her son left, as far as she knew. That and the secret with which she mothered herself and her son. Nothing else mattered.
Liopu smiled. She looked at the text on the mobile. Her buyer would arrive soon.
She grew a small patch of specialty herbs in the windows of her flat, taking up the kitchen, bedroom and toilet with plants potted in whatever containers she could find, including hubcaps, coffee cups, discarded sheets of aluminium foil, lampshades, street signs and vinyl shower curtains.
Liopu sat on the curb and mentally counted her sales for the week. Three more weeks and she would have enough money to buy new clothes for her son, Fexcvit. He never complained about his looks despite the chiding from adults and jokes from kids who made fun of him.
Liopu walked back into the flat and began bagging up more herbs for her next customer, a blend of Nicotiana palm d'anise, Hypericum capsaicin, and other hybrids she had inherited from her mother.
Growers had tried to steal her secrets for propagating the plants, never successful. She carefully guarded the germ that was required to cause the plant seeds to pop open and grow. She knew the places to gather the soil that contained the algal film which acted as a growth medium for the germ.
Her mother had never told Liopu the name of the germ or who shared the secret with Liopu's mother so she did not name the germ, either. She trusted that her mother's decision to store no identification of the germ in her thoughts was key to keeping others from discovering the secret. Liopu also knew that her son would not want to learn the secret so Liopu was growing and selling the plants as quickly as she could to find a new means of making a living.
Liopu did not care about the secret's worth to the rest of her extended family or to the people of her country. In fact, she did not think about others besides her son. The father of her child had shown up one evening while her mother was away and promised Liopu many treasures in exchange for one night alone together. He left with her treasure and never returned. After returning and learning what happened, her mother kicked Liopu out and died within a year from loneliness. Liopu had only her son left, as far as she knew. That and the secret with which she mothered herself and her son. Nothing else mattered.