Tuesday, January 30, 2007
mohawk
This morning, on Maple, I saw a kid waiting for the bus sporting a Mohawk and wearing big 1980's looking RayBan styled sunglasses.
What do you think I thought? How do you think I reacted? I laughed out loud. But not for the reasons you might think. I didn't laugh AT the kid, I laughed because I get a little joyful thrill when I see a kid like that. Why? I see myself in that kid, and kids like him. It sparks my memory. I remember when I shaved the side of my head and let my bangs drift down past the end of my nose when I was in High School, much to the annoyance of my conservative parents (sorry mom!). I remember the giant paisley shirts buttoned all the way to the top where there would be a iron cross brooch attached. I remember spiking my hair and wearing the Frankie Goes to Hollywood baggy shirt that said "Frankie Say: Arm the Unemployed". I remember the 1980s, and all their gaudy weirdness. I remember it all, like it was yesterday.
I also remember having to change into the dull uniformity of adulthood, just to get a job. That's why I laughed at that kid at the bus stop on Maple this morning. Not because he's dressing weird and has cut his hair into a spiked Mohawk, but because he's living it up right now. More power to him, and his kind. Too soon, it seems, he'll have to descend into adulthood because of the perceived and falsified norms tell him that if he doesn't dress a certain way, or wear his hair a certain way, he won't get a job.
Live it up kid, before you have to put on the dull gray uniform of adulthood.
secret knowledge...part III...too close
I awoke with a splitting headache. It was dark and cold, and the floor was hard. I slowly raised myself and assessed my situation. A single bulb hung from a distant invisible ceiling over a cold metal table with one chair. There was one feature to this cold concrete block of a room, a mirror.
With some difficulty, I dragged myself to the metal chair, and raised myself into it, and laid my head under the bulb, soaking up what little warmth it gave off. What had happened to me? My memory of the past few hours was vague. I remember being in the library, researching... something. What was it?
"How are you feeling?" came a soft, but authoritative male voice.
I raised my head and instinctively looked at the mirror in front of me.
"Who are you?" I asked.
"How are you feeling?" came the voice again.
"My head feels like it's going to split." I acquiesced, and laid it back down on the table, unable to be too concerned now, due to the pain.
"What do you remember?" queried the voice.
"About what?"
"What do you remember?" came the persistent reply.
I closed my eyes and looked around in the wrecked shambles of what was left of my mind, and my memory, and tried to piece together everything that had happened to me. What was I doing before this moment. Had I always been here? I assessed how my body felt. A bruise here, a pin prick there. I'd been through alot, but I couldn't actually remember any of it.
"I remember..." I started...then I paused. At the sound of these words issuing from my own mouth, my body winced as if it were preparing for more pain. "I don't remember anything." I finally said.
"That is very good." said the voice, with only a slight change in tone...like the lilt of a parent talking to an obedient child.
Then, as if the floodgates of my mind opened, all was clear to me. I did remember. Everything. But I couldn't say what I found. It was too much for human consciousness to divulge what I'd found out. The world wasn't ready. Then all went dark. I heard myself scream as the pain had returned. The next thing I remember, I was looking up into a face I didn't recognize.
"It's ok sir, you're going to be ok. You've had a car accident."
I knew this wasn't true, but I let it be my truth, for now. Truth had suddenly become even more subjective. Knowing had become vague. What we know, and what really is, had suddenly become two different things. Some things we aren't given to know, some things we aren't ready to know, and some things, we will never know.
secret knowledge...part II...contemplation
Secret knowledge isn't something you can easily attain. For some, it is thrust upon them, for others, it takes time to search and contemplate until the epiphany strikes hard like the cobra of knowledge.
There have been those in our world, and through out history, and in literature, who have had knowledge of things that we lesser beings do not. Gandalf knew. He knew much more than he ever let on, about the world around him and about the world beyond this one. Other had knowledge as well. Leonardo definitely knew more than the rest of us. Newton, Tesla, the greats. Led Zeppelin also had cryptic knowledge. Everybody agrees on this.
So how am I to attain the secret knowledge that I have been tasked to learn? The deep mystery of the thermos is something of an enigma to us all, is it not?
I decided, first, to study the cultural influence the thermos has on our modern world. I viewed The Jerk, with Steve Martin numerous times, as a part of my research for this project. Many of you might not remember, but I do, that a thermos played an integral role in the film, being one of the few treasures that The Jerk kept with him at all times. So, it is clear to me that the thermos is a very important part of our society who is constantly desirous of warm or cold beverages on the go.
I also searched an searched for quotations about the thermos. My thought was that perhaps someone who had a bit more of the cryptic knowledge of the thermos than I, would mindlessly slip some of that mysterious knowledge into their riddle-like quotations. However, an extensive search yielded only one solid quote about the elusive and mysterious, thermos:"Phrases and their actual meanings: "My teacher has never liked me." Expect a phone call before lunch from the teacher informing you that your child has been launching hot dogs by compressing them inside a small Thermos and then removing the lid quickly."
Erma Bombeck quotes (U.S. humorist, 1927-1996)
You see? Cryptic. However, Erma let's slip something very important. Compression. That's one key bit of information from beyond. We must look into it, if we are to know more about the thermos, and unravel it's magic.
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
secret knowledge...
Some say that it's magic, but I don't. I'm more rational than that, I think. Magic is fun to use in literature, movies, even allegory. But in our everyday world, the only magic is the smile and laugh of a child, the colors of a sunset or a sunrise, and the power of love. Those things are real magic anyway.
Arthur C. Clarke once wrote:Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.
Arthur C. Clarke, "Profiles of The Future", 1961 (Clarke's third law). English physicist & science fiction author (1917 - )
I have to ask, though, "sufficiently advanced technology" according to who, or whome? I suppose he means, to us, to humans.
For a while now, I've been seeking knowledge of how something works, how something "knows". I could have just gone to How Stuff Works dot com, but I decided to eschew the internet, and learn on my own. Learning is a process. Learning, when done right, becomes "knowing." That's what I wanted to do anyway. For what have we learned about a thing, if we do not know that thing?
Where to start? In my own mind, I suppose. What is the subject of this internal search? A thermos. That lowly device that magically "knows" when to keep the hot drink hot, and the cold drink cold. It is the stuff of legend, this ability to maintain a constant temperature over an extended time period. How does it "know" though?
I quickly developed some theories on the subject. They were, to say the least, a little on the odd side, however. I will present them in my next post.
bad poetry...i mean, really bad...
I'm not funny,
I don't cue the ducks
If I had a gnome
I'd count myself lucky
I write stuff semi-daily
but it's not that good
I can't write good poems
or make you laugh gaily
I know the meter
is bad in these stanzas
and I know that I've changed
each pseudo-rhyming line
I also know
that I didn't even include
one single similar sound
in the stanza before this one
and this one too.
So, forgive me my failings
and I'll forgive yours
don't toss me over the railings
and we'll be free
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
can you see me now?
You see that picture, there to the left? See that rough looking fellow in that picture, who looks young, fit, and alive? That's me. That picture hangs in our house. It's a picture of a picture, because, well, I don't have a scanner, so I took a picture of it with my digital camera a while back. It looks a little distorted, because I had to take the picture from an angle to keep from getting glare off the glass. Click on it to see it bigger.
Do you know where I'm standing in that picture? I'm on what is called the "saddle," between the dual peaks of Kilimanjaro. Kibo, the large flat glacier covered peak, is what I'm looking at in the picture, Mawenzi is the name of the eroded lava cone peak behind me. Here's a picture of Kilimanjaro that includes both peaks. It was hard to find online because people usally only take a picture of Kibo.
This picture was taken in late December of 1990. Over sixteen years ago. I was twenty years old. When I look at my late teens and early twenties, I am amazed at some of the rare traveling opportunities I had, and I'm very thankful. In the summer of 1988, I went to Hawaii. Later that same summer, I spent a week in Paraguay. It doesn't sound like much, now that I write it down, but all these trips combined have shaped who I am today, I think.
When I was in college, I considered the study abroad program, but it was too expensive. I hope my kids want to travel abroad one day. I'll do my best to help them get wherever they want to go. I hope people who do get to do alot of traveling, know how priveledged they are to see the outside world. I know I feel that way, even if my traveling days were so brief. I once told someone that I don't think there's any place on the planet that I wouldn't like to visit, at least once. I know, I'm weird. But it's true. I want to see it all.
Now, look back at that picture. You see that young, handsom, rough looking fellow that used to be me? Do you think he made it to the top of Kilimanjaro the day after this picture was taken? If you do, you'd be wrong. I almost made it, but my lungs gave out in the thin air. It's one of the only regrets I have about the two month trip. I hope that someday, I'll be able to make it back to Kili, and try for the summit again. This time, with my wife and my children to help push me along. When I get there, someday in the distant future, I'll give you a call. I recently read that along with being the highest point in Africa, and the largest volcano on the planet, Kilimanjaro has recently become the highest point on the planet that has cell phone coverage. Weird.
Heh...Where do you want to go today?
blue monday?
I can't say that I'm an enormous fan of Mondays, but I'm not really against them altogether. I mean, there's something to be said for getting back into the routine, right? Still, we like to complain about Mondays, do we not? We do.
There are some who have decided that today is to be called Blue Monday. As if we needed a specific day in this, the first month of the year, in which to suddenly realize that Winter is not over (still dark and gray out), we overspent at Christmas (oh man), and against all our good intentions and resolutions, we've gained three pounds since the new year (maybe more).
Today, I'm not necessarily happy, and I'm not exactly sad. I mean, I have some "issues" going on this Monday morning, that are my own to deal with. Some issues that make me a tiny bit cranky and irritable. I also have to deal with the fact that we are still living check to check, even though I'm being paid more than I ever have in my life and our debt is shrinking rapidly (by comparison of a few years ago, that is). The proverbial light at the end of our financial tunnel is looming. I have to deal with the fact that I'm more overweight right now than I've ever been in my life, and because of this I might be getting a gallstone. Not to mention the fact that the Plantar Fasciitis that I developed a few months back, hasn't gone away yet, despite my best efforts.
This stuff is just life stuff. It happens, and we try our best to deal with it without succumbing to depression, or anger. I'm not perfect (I have never professed to be such). I succumb to both of these more often than I'd like to admit (which is why I don't admit it.. heh). Self loathing and self pity are things I try not to engage in, but I still find myself, on occasion, wallowing in my own woes. That only makes things worse.
So, I'm going to try and eschew "Blue Monday," the best way that I can. If anyone has any ideas about what the best way is, please, let me know. HA!
...life, liberty, and the persuit of park benches...
Capitalism and the free market system provides opportunity for many of us. It provides us with neat things like flat screen televisions,iPods, and a dizzying variety of potato chip flavors. It's all based on the fact that people want, want, want.
But what about what people need?
People don't need flat screen televisions. People don't need iPods or piles of Blazin' Buffalo Wing flavored Doritos. People need things like, a place to sleep. Something to eat, and adequate health care. The problem is money. In a system like ours, money is needed for everything. You need money for food. Money for a place to sleep. You need gobs of money to get goodhealth care.
Don't get me wrong. The capitalist system is a pretty good one (I like Doritos, even though they all kinda taste the same anymore.). I don't advocate a complete red shift, but I think it would be nice to see if capitalism could, well, find it's heart and stop being so cold and unfeeling. So far, private institutions have taken up the slack where capitalism has slipped. Churches and non-profit (a curse word to the die hard capitalist) organizations have feed the hungry, housed the hungry, and tended to their health needs. The government has also given a little bit of support. But capitalism itself remains cold and unemotional about it all. "They are Man's," said the Spirit, looking down upon them. "And they cling to me, appealing from their fathers. This boy is Ignorance. This girl is Want. Beware them both, and all of their degree, but most of all beware this boy, for on his brow I see that written which is Doom, unless the writing be erased. Deny it!" cried the Spirit, stretching out its hand towards the city. "Slander those who tell it ye. Admit it for your factious purposes, and make it worse. And abide the end."
"Have they no refuge or resource?" cried Scrooge.
"Are there no prisons?" said the Spirit, turning on him for the last time with his own words. "Are there no workhouses?"
There are workhouses. The houses of the working poor are minimum wage jobs. Ever dreaming, ever
cycling back into poverty because of the temptations of capitalism. Is this a moral dilemma? I suppose it is. Ignorance destroys. Want destroys. Capitalism creates want, that can't be denied. Ignorance is the worst of the two, though. For with ignorance, want takes over, and the cycle continues.
How do we stop it?
When I see that man on the park bench, I don't just think about his past, and how he got to where he is. Surely, he's made some mistakes, used his money unwisely, lost it to gambling, drinking, smoking, or some other capitalistic sin. Perhaps he's become unemployable because of some character flaw, who knows. After I think about all this, the next thing that comes to mind is this: Are these not of the human race? He is a fellow human, in need of common comforts that many of us take for granted. His past becomes a non-issue. His bad decisions wiped clean. Right now, he just needs help, and that's what matters.
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
when all things beautiful and bright, sink in the night...
you know the way that things go
when what you fight for starts to fall
and in that fuzzy picture
the writing stands out on the wall
so clearly on the wall
Can you hear it? Just below the noise of the traffic, the politicians, the internet, the screaming babies and the carousing house guests. It's there just below the braying of the ass and the screeching of the elephants, right down where it's almost imperceptible. Do you know what it is? I think I do. I think it might be the end.and in this place, can you reassure me
with a touch, a smile - while the cradle's burning
all the while the world is turning to noise
oh the more that it's surrounding us
the more that it destroys
But we won't listen. Our hubris rules the day and we surge forward, throwing more money, more people, more equipment, and more blood, at our perceptions. Light the cigarette, watch it burn and see the smoke curl out of sight, like the lives of our loved ones. But take it in, and let it invest itself in your own blood, and don't forget. Not again. Not this time.i'm losing sound and sight
of all those who can tell me wrong from right
when all things beautiful and bright
sink in the night
yet there's still something in my heart
that can find a way
to make a start
to turn up the signal
wipe out the noise
I'm afraid to disagree. Afraid to say I think it's wrong. But deep down, I have the feeling that there's something wrong, something we're missing, something we're not hearing. We need to be quiet and listen. Among all the noise of life, the noise of our own pride and arrogance, something is getting lost, and I don't know what to do to change it. Do you?
Note: This post is dedicated to a fellow blogger who writes under the name Milo Freeman, who is on assignment by the United States Military, in Northern Iraq.
powered by ODEO
Peter Gabriel - Up - Signal to NoiseLabels: war
the belated 2006 narcissistic blog post retrospective...
When I look over the archives of this blog, I see a lot of things. Some things I like, some I don't. Some that could have been better, and some that just didn't work. This little blog is a hobby for me. I like to write. That's my hobby. I've never been paid one cent for what I write, and I don't suspect I ever will be. I just write what I do out of the enjoyment I get from it. Sometimes I write things that move even myself. I think it's ok to admit that. Because, really, sometimes I don't even know where what I've written comes from. The dark recesses of my brain are often a mystery to me. There are a few things that I've enjoyed writing over the past year or so, that I'd like to point out to you in this post. I've added "categories" to my blog template, to make this endeavor easier for both myself, and my loyal readers (all five of you, including my mom. Hi Mom!).
First, most recently, I wrote a series called Taking Flight. I enjoyed writing this because I had recently finished reading a book by George McDonald, for the third or fourth time, called At the Back of the North Wind. After reading the book, I was obsessed with the other possible story lines contained in the book that McDonald didn't cover. The one I was most obsessed with, and I suppose the one I most identified with, was the reaction of the father in the story. I've labeled these posts diamond, because that was the name of the child in McDonald's story, and in the story I wrote, that had passed away. How we deal with pain and anguish of this sort has always interested me for some reason, though I would never wish that sort of experience on myself, or anyone else. Click HERE to see the whole 'diamond' series again, if you like. Remember to read from the bottom post, to the top post. I'd organize them differently if I could, but I'm too lazy for that this afternoon.
Second, and quite some time ago this past year, I wrote a series while I was out of town, called Listen. I enjoyed writing this as well. I suppose I enjoyed it because it took my mind off the fact that I was away from my family, and my children. I think I also enjoyed it because I tend to focus on things that seem out of place. In the story, I had a conversation with a small bit of nature in a big noisy urban center. It was also on this series that I received one of the most wonderful comments and endorsements ever. Fellow blogger Peefer, who's writing I respect greatly, said he really liked the piece. When writers who I respect as much as Peefer say they think my writing is good, I am usually awestruck for days. Peefer even went so far as to point people to the posts from his blog, Peefers Home. Click HERE to see the Listen series again, if you like. Again, remember to read from the bottom to the top.
I intend to keep on writing this coming year, even if, as all the polls say, the age of the blog is coming to a close. I don't care. This has always just been a place for me to engage in my little hobby, and see if anyone else likes what I write, or not. I look forward to continuing my less than regular posts into the unforeseeable future. I hope some of you stay with me for the ride.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
cure for writer's block...
I left too early this morning. No snow plows about town yet, and snow still coming down a bit. Really slick. So I gave it up and stopped for a coffee so the machines could do their work.
There's a place in Spokane called Dolly's. It's that Pepto Bismol pink catercorner building on the corner of North Washington and West Indiana. It's small. Very small. Back before the indoor smoking laws went into effect in Washington State, the greasy smells of bacon and eggs would have been mixed with hazy cigarette smoke on a morning like this, a morning with blowing snow that's piling up on the streets, and temperatures in the lower teens. On mornings like this, Dolly's is a haven for the cold and the hungry.
I walk into the place early. It's dark outside. I find a seat at the bar. I like to sit at the bar in diners like this, because you get to observe more. Dolly's is so small it only needs one waitress. She's fast paced, dressed in a black turtleneck this morning, and calls everyone sweetie. The bar is slowly filling up this morning with old men, old men with white, or whitening beards, who walked in removing snow covered wool lined bomber hats. These men all know each other, or at least talk with each other like they know each other. They laugh about the cold, warm their hands on the coffee cups, and order eggs, bacon, hash browns, toast and gravy. From the bar I can also watch the cook. She's a large woman, easily six foot two and broad shouldered. Her short cropped hair can only be described as 'butch.' She cooks breakfast for old men who don't know what the term 'butch' could possibly mean other than the name of a loyal dog.
The waitress rushes around, topping off coffee cups, chatting with the customers, and continuing a good natured debate with a white bearded fellow at the other end of the bar from me, as she has done for the last twelve years, she says. "Maybe someday you'll win." I say. "That's not the point," she replies, "the point is just to have my own opinion." I think she's right. Here in this little place, that some would call a greasy spoon, or a dive, nobody puts on airs. Nobody is richer or poorer than the next guy. We're all just people, living in the world together, trying to make our way.
I pay for my coffee, put away my newspaper so the next customer can use it, and walk back out into the snow, which is thickly covering the parking lot. The snowplows have made one pass now, so I get back on the road, following in their wake. Out here it's cold, forbidding, and unfriendly. Back their in Dolly's, someone I don't even know just called me "sweetie." I like that.Labels: spokane
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
Harry Potter and the Latest Magic and Snacks!!
Ok, so I was having trouble sleeping last night, (as usual) and decided to get up and read a bit (which didn't help as much as I thought it would). I finished the Goblet of Fire last night.
My review? It was a fun read. There are things I might have done differently were I writing the book, but still, it was a fun read. Voldemort seemed a little too talkative for my taste though, that's all. I mean, do villans really have to talk that much? C'mon, get with the killing already!
Also, I sometimes get tired of the way Rowling writes...not sure if it's right, but I call it "forced perspective." It's that thing where we only "see" and "experience" what Harry does. We only know what he does, you know? I sometimes want to know what's going on other places at the same time. Like, while Harry had gotten sucked away through the port key at the end of the tournament, what was going on back at the school? Surely they were having discussions and trying to see where he went, right? But no, we don't get to know that. Oh well.
It's easy to see why these books and movies are wildly popular, however. They are, as I've said, fun and action packed, and also full of happy magical snack times. I love happy magical snack times, doesn't everyone?Labels: book reviews
Le Miserables and a world of razor wire...
Who is the greater criminal, a man desperate enough to steal a loaf of bread for the survival of his family, or the man who doesn't offer that same man a loaf freely? Perspectives of right and wrong get skewed and distorted where desperation is involved. What if the store owner had just given the desperate man a loaf of bread? What if the store owner had tried to make the world where the desperate man came from a better place, so that he wouldn't find himself in a situation where he needed to steal in order to survive? What if?
I don't want to live in a world where razor wire separates the desperate from hope. I want to live in a world where hope is exported. Where hope keeps men from having to brave razor wire and rivers and deserts. I want to live in a world where a man doesn't have to steal a loaf of bread in order to help his family survive.
I don't want to live in a world of razor wire. Do you?
Thursday, January 04, 2007
something kinda cool...
I was recently sent something that looked like so many other forwards, but I checked it out, and it seems to be legit. It's a live webcam of a watering hole in South Africa. Download the zipped .asx file here (http://www.penguinhosting.net/~toadman/blog/ATT2F.zip), unzip it, and play it in Windows Media Player. Oh, and their's sound also.
Or, you could just click HERE and then click on the live video feed link. It's the same place that the other file goes to...have fun!
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
into the new...
Nothing is more forced sounding than ruminating about the new year. At least, it sounds that way to me sometimes. Still, I suppose it must be done in order to wipe away the foggy old, so that the clarity of the new can glisten on our newly bought souls.
Years pass faster and faster it seems. That's a common saying as you get older and you hear people say it often. Too often, in fact. They continue to say it, knowing full well that nothing about time has changed. Time passes at the exact same rate today, as it did when you were seven and a day seemed like a lifetime. Remember those days, when you'd think waiting for an hour to see a show, or to be allowed to play a game, was almost more than you could bear? These days, however, waiting an hour is almost inconsequential, barely perceptible.
Walking to the pharmacy this morning, to pick up a refill of a much needed medicine, I realized that nothing, really, had changed over the past year. To be sure, my children have grown, we're having another baby, my hair is longer and my beard whiter. But nothing else has changed with me. The gray sky and the melting snow seem to enter my psyche and work their cold icy will as I walk back up the hill, to my office, with my precious medicinal cargo. I've gone through no major ideological changes this year. I've had no shifts of focus this year. I am on the same medicines I was on last year. I am, for all intents and purposes, the same man I was a year ago today.
But, in so many ways, this is to be expected. I have become 'reliable.' Something many men are not, it seems. Someone once said I was a 'rock,' and I'm sure they weren't talking about my flabby abs. I've been called a 'constant' in our department. Dependable. All of these unexciting terms have been applied to me over the past year, but I will not turn them away. I have become these things of my own free will. I have wanted to be these things for my family first, and for my job. I hope that I really have become what others envision me to be, because I'm not so sure about myself as they seem to be.
My soul has gone through nothing new this year. I still own the same one I did years ago. It's showing it's age, but it remains mine. Maybe I should have sold out, gone for broke, taken more chances. Deep down, I'm glad I haven't. I'm not a thrill seeker, or a wealth seeker. I'm a contentment seeker. With a few more years of work, I think I will have achieved this. I didn't plan my life this way. I didn't plan my life at all. It just came at me like surprise chapters in a never ending book. And I let it happen, year after year.
I'll close this lengthy and forced sounding post with a nice song for the new year. It's not exciting, it's not fast or loud, it's ruminative, and best listened to on headphones. It's a bit lengthy, and may take a while to download if you're on a slow connection, but I hope you enjoy it if you listen, nonetheless. Happy New Year all!
powered by ODEO
