Hate is a strong word, but I think it's the way I really feel about money. I hate not having money. I hate having money. I hate spending money. I hate not spending money. I hate how I mismanage the money I make for my family most of all.

But, of course, we need money, or some other means of trade by which we get goods and services. Were we a more enlightened society, perhaps we wouldn't need money. Worth would be valued differently, probably more tangibly. But for now, we equate "value" with "worth," right?

Anyway, back to how I mismanage money. I screwed up this pay period, and it's really angered me. I have a problem, you see, with neglecting our accounts. I should keep closer track, think about everything that affects them. Instead of seeing a balance, when I look at them, I need to see how it's divided up. When I see a balance, I get confused and forget that 90% or more of that balance is already spoken for by auto-paying bills, and other expenses. This pay period, I forgot, and we're in the red until next pay period.

Why should I lay this out there for all of you to see? Why should I admit to the world that our accounts are less than zero from now until the tenth of March? Because if you live check to check like we currently do, with very little savings, you need to go check your accounts more often. You need to be sure you don't do what I do. Learn from my mistakes, not your own, for that would be too costly.

it's too hot...it's too cold...it's too snowy...it's too rainy...it's too flat here...it's too mountainous here...it's too windy here...it's too stagnant here...

I once suggested a great little Mexican food place to eat for a group of people in San Antonio, and immediately regretted it...Not that the food was bad, but because the atmosphere, the food, the language barrier, all of that, was too much for my complaining guests.

this is too spicy...this is too cold...this is too hot...this food looks weird...this food looks greasy...I can't understand the waiter...

Entitlement issues. I'm pretty sure all of us have a certain amount of entitlement issues. What do we, as regular run of the mill day in day out human beings actually deserve out of life? What should we expect out of others who serve us? I'm no saint, it's true, but I try not to expect too much. I rarely want to trouble anyone with a petty problem with an order, or anything else, because, well, there are larger issues in the world than whether my taco has too much spice on it, or not enough cheese. Besides, maybe that's the way they're supposed to come.

...please send this back...can I talk to the manager...I've been treated unfairly...

Entitlement. When one goes through life expecting things to be the best, then one goes through life disappointed. When one goes through life complaining about their own petty problems, one goes through life depressed, and unhappy. When one complains about things day in and day out, one can never find joy. Joy becomes an elusive and distant element that is clouded by cynicism.

This is unfortunate. There is so much joy in the world to be had. My father always said, "wherever you go, that's where you are." What does that mean? I've always wondered, but I think I've come up with a meaning...at least one that works for me. Wherever you go, whatever you do, whoever you're with, it's up to you make your own happiness. It's up to you to find the good, the beautiful, the lovely.

Oh sure, I don't deny that there's wrong in the world that should be brought up...but it has nothing to do with how well your breakfast was cooked or how slow it took the waiter to bring it to you this morning. Those things are meaningless, in the grand scheme. You can't do anything about the temperature or the weather, complaining about it only blackens your soul.

I think my father would agree with me if I changed his saying to "wherever you go, that's where you need to be."

Sometimes my children will come upstairs in a flustered state of contention saying "he hit me" or "it's not fair" or words to that effect.

Eventually, I'll root out what I think might be something close to the truth. Of course, the perpetrator of the incident will say something like "well, they started it" or "he hit me first." At that point, it's over. All discussion is over. Nobody wins when that happens, and both kids get punished for the incident. No, it's not fairness that I'm looking for, it's the ability to admit wrong doing. Being able to say "I shouldn't have done that, and I'm sorry" is more important to me than the "he started it so I hit him back" mentality. The ability to admit mistakes shows maturity, and integrity. Continually crying foul or "unfair!" shows quite the opposite, in my opinion.

To wit, Clinton and Obama have crossed a line with me this week. They've been fighting with each other when it's nonconstructive for both the party, and the nation. Tearing each other down, and both saying "he/she started it first" in their attempt to justify their actions. It doesn't matter if the matter of contention is correct or incorrect. I don't care. It doesn't matter if words or pictures are taken out of context or not. I don't care. In my opinion, they're both being childish. This is exactly what I feared would happen when I posted THIS a few days ago.

My message to them both? Stop it! Now! Or I'm grounding you both until the end of the nominations! Oh...and, GROW UP!

Think that'll help?

it was subtle...happened over eons...
the flicker...like moths we've become...
culture popular...culture homogenized
culture molded...culture clubbed

was this the apple that we were given?
was this the future that we released?

it was pretty...colors were bright...
the sounds...the faces we saw...
incredible togetherness...incredible differences
incredible distances...incredible Incredibles

let's watch martha make applesauce...

Art courtesy: smithcman

Thinking out loud about getting my hair dreaded has had the unintended consequence of generating artwork. Interesting, no? I thought so.

Still, I like this picture. It's good. My friends like to take my images and distort them, modify them, and occasionally desecrate them. But I'm ok with that. If it gives them joy, that's good, for the guys of which I speak need all the joy they can get out of life. (ZING!)

Art courtesy: cybermanikan

This thing could get ugly. This whole dust up between these two people could stress the party so much, it could come unraveled. The democrats could easily snatch defeat from the clutches of victory, if they let this thing go as sideways as it could.

What I'm saying, is this: One of these two people is NOT going to get the nomination. That's a given. We'll have to face it...together we're strong. Divided, we'll fail. Divided, we'll have a 73 year old moderate war hero as a president. Not such a bad thing, I suppose.

Moderate? Yeah...of course, according to Fox (Faux) News, McCain is a Birkenstock wearing dirty liberal hippie in a suit and tie...and don't EVEN get them started on Obama or Hillary. According to Faux News, one is the anti-Christ, and the other one, a Muslim extremist.

After all the giant walls of pie charts are gone, the panels of talking heads behind useless laptops have been paid and go home, and the projections and the caucuses have been cleaned up, it'll just be us, the American people, left to sort out what's real, and what's not.

This will be a "where have we gone wrong!" moment for my mother, but I'm considering getting dreadlocks.

What do you think?

My hair is now about half way down my back, and is big, coarse, wavy, and has many broken bits. I've considered cutting it all off. But I thought, before I do that, I'd try a hairstyle that I've never tried before. Something wildly different.

I'm at a place now, in my career, where I can dress how I want to...my image isn't important as I don't interact or engage with end users very often at all, except via email and telephone. But the cost might be a bit prohibitive, if I have them professionally done. Also, what if I don't like them, or they don't work well? What then?

I've researched all the myths (they smell, they use cow dung to make the rolls, they use mayonnaise, they get moldy, you can't wash them)...all completely false myths. Modern methods of creating the locks are clean, washable, and do not use excrement or condiments in their creation. I'm seriously considering it...

What do you think?

Note: I probably WON'T look like the nice fellow in the picture accompanying this post...HA!

Scene: Capone's Bar and Grill
Coeur d' Alene, ID.
February, 16th, 2008
Hucklberries BlogFest '08

The toadfamily walks in to see a gaggle of people who's only experience with us is through this tiny window of the internet. Our FlickR pictures, and my occasional words. Yet, we are greeted warmly, hands shaken, and laughter and camaraderie between Right wing and Left wing alike, between agnostic, baptist, devout catholic, and pagan. Can you imagine that? In this divisive time in history? It's amazing.

We don't have to agree with each other to be at peace. We don't have to subscribe to the same views as each other in order to have mutual respect for one another. So many groups would tell us otherwise, groups on every side of the political and social spectrum. They would tell us that we cannot get along. They would tell us that we should be at odds, that we should be contentious and argumentative with each other. But we don't have to be.

This doesn't mean that we won't maintain our positions, or our beliefs. It doesn't mean that we won't have good spirited discussions from time to time. But we shouldn't allow things to descend into personal attacks and ad hominem anger. We proved, last Saturday, that it's possible for a group of people without like minds to come together in a spirit of friendship and mutual respect, without having a food fight.

I've written about it before. It's a recurring theme here, it seems. But it happens every so often, that I'm hit with it again.

Every day, up, awake, stumble out the door, and off to work. A day full of wires, cables, computers, machines and their constant humming. My music and a few cups of coffee. Talking, planning, meeting, talking some more. It happens every day, in my office, in the hallway, in the kitchen area, outside, or in the Union building. Repetitive, constant, the means by which we make ends meet drones on from day to day. It's not uninteresting, it's not boring, it's not meaningless, but it's also not at the top of the list. In the end, what matters, is at home. What matters is the faces that greet me when I walk in. In the end, what matters is the sigh I let out when I walk in the door, take off my back pack and my coat, remove my heavy snow boots, and take up my youngest child and blow a zerbert on his pudgy cheek.

That's what matters in the end. All that other stuff is just making ends meet. All that other stuff will go away. In the end, I won't care about that other stuff, that work stuff. In the end, I'll care about the ones I love.

First, let me be perfectly clear. I am generally a-political. I do not like to talk about politics to friends and family because where conflict of opinion is concerned, I am extremely avoidant. Do not try to engage me in political talk. I won't do it. Politics is divisive and contentious, and I avoid those things like the plague.

Having said that, I've become curious, in my own way, about this year's events. So much so that last Friday, I went to hear Michelle Obama speak at the Fox theater in Spokane. I was one of the last ones to get into the theater, so I had to stand at the back and sit on a bench and look through a window to see the proceedings. There was a lot of banner waving and cheering inside the theater, but it was quiet in the lobby, so we could hear things over the speaker system, I suppose. Mrs. Obama's speech was inspiring, but general. It was very well done, but non-specific. I did learn more about her, and her husband. I liked what I learned, and what I heard. She seemed genuine, likable, and human. I felt just inspired enough after her speech, to attend a caucus the following day, at Glover Middle School.

The caucus was confusing, but interesting. This system we have is strange. Our democracy seems to have so many points of failure and complexities built into it right now. I don't know why that is. However, within all the confusion and the complexity, there seems to be a rhyme and a reason, of some sort. That rhyme and reason is so that everyone who wants to participate, can have an actual "say" in what happens. Each person, if they desire, can go to the caucus and speak their mind. That's what it's for. Sway. Discussion. Participation. The complexities and confusion aside, it does serve a purpose, it seems.

And so, after two hours, I'd made my final presidential selection and walked out of the my first caucus knowing that this was probably the only time my individual vote would actually make any difference, in the larger picture. If I hadn't been there, our precinct would have had one less delegate to add to my choice for president. I'm glad I was there.

"Where am I?" I asked again. He just sat there and continued to whittle away at what looked like a canyon or gorge.

"More coffee?" he finally said.

"No thanks." I replied, putting down my knives and tools. All this time, there'd been a path in front of us, beyond the fire, through the trees. The sunlight always penetrated the trees on that path dappling the ground in golden rays. "Where does that lead?" I asked. He stopped. I was almost stunned by the silence that resulted. He looked up at the path, slowly.

"It leads that way." he said, simply, motioning his head toward the path. He looked at me for a moment, then turned back to his work. I had questions I wanted to ask him, but I didn't. I looked at his form, watched him at his task for a moment, and then knew, he was only a part of this place, just like the trees, the house, or the motorcycle, nothing more. He was a force, like the wind, trying to find it's way through a crowded grove of trees, trying one way, then swirling around another way, always creating something. There was no direction or form, just mindless mechanical creation.

I walked toward the sunlit path. I was barefoot, and the ground felt warm and moist under my feet. I could feel the light breeze of my own movement on my face, something I hadn't felt in what seemed like an eternity.

Labels: don of the universe

It's Fat Tuesday. Some hipsters my age like to use the word phat, however...so, I'm officially calling today, Phat Tuesday. I dunno why, I just like it, like that.

I'm not Catholic, but I like the idea of going crazy right before tomorrow (Ash Wednesday). It's all about getting your wiggles out, or at least that's how I understand it, though I've never really known. God knows his children need to get their wiggles out sometimes, right?

Also, one embarrassing story. Once, when I worked for a museum in Fort Worth, TX, I attempted to clean the ash off of a devout Catholic's forehead on Ash Wednesday. I really didn't know what it was for, and thought she'd rubbed something on her head unknowingly. Now, I know better.

Today is also Super Duper Tuesday. Washington State, however, having a pretty strong independent streak, refuses to take part in any voting throng the likes of which is happening today. That means that I won't get my chance to vote for Obama until the 19th. Oh..oops.. did I say I was voting for Barak Obama? I suppose my vote should be a secret. Oh well, it's out there now. Why Obama? Why not Clinton or McCain or any of the other guys? Well, because of this: I'm almost 38 years old and have never voted in ANY presidential election where there wasn't a Bush or a Clinton on the ballot for me to chose from. That's why, really...well, also I like Obama, he's really cool. I hope he does well today. If he doesn't, well, I might just give up on politics altogether. Do you think the nation will miss me? Nah.. me either.

Anyway, for my Catholic readers/reader, have a happy Phat Tuesday and a very introspective and thoughtful Ash Wednesday tomorrow (If I don't get a chance to post tomorrow).

Oh, and for the undecided people in the states who are participating in today's primary voting, VOTE OBAMA! Did I say that out loud? Oooops.

I think we're in the clear now, but they say we could get another four inches tonight. (click picture at left to see more snow pictures)

It's been amazing, dealing with all this snow. I haven't seen snow of this type since I went snow skiing in Crested Butte, CO. when I was a teenager. Last week, our car was stuck in the driveway for the entire week. Covered in snow, and wheels spinning on the ice. I was able to get it out of it's hole Saturday morning with the help of a couple of brawny youths from down the street. Just a little shove and I was on my way. Then, on Sunday as I was taking the boys down to the park to do a little sledding, I backed into one side of the two snow berms that are slowly shrinking the size of my driveway entrance. What's a "berm," you ask (for my southern readers)? It's a massive pile of snow that you've moved off your driveway or walk. This one is easily five feet tall, and not easily missed...and yet, miss it, I did not. Digging out ensued...and release was the result...and sledding could commence.

They say we're to get more snow tonight, maybe four inches (bah..kid stuff..a mere skiff, that.). They say we're in a state of emergency, but I haven't noticed anything different. Am I supposed to notice something? I don't feel "emergency-ish." Should I? Oh sure, I'm concerned that a tree might fall on me. I noticed a lot of trees crumbling under the strain this morning as I skidded to work. The campus is littered with limbs and looks like a very selective tornado has bounced around the area.

So, that's northern life, is it? I suppose it is. It's just something to deal with, right? I try not to complain about it because it's my opinion that complaining doesn't do any good, and only serves to make you feel worse about the situation. As we get more snow tonight, I expect to go right on dealing with the weather the best that I can.

Sometimes, what's written on a screen looks different to the person at the other end reading it. This is why the internet is a poor tool for personal communication.

Sometimes we hurt without knowing we've hurt.

Sometimes we say things that mean one thing to us, and mean something hurtful to someone we respect deeply.

I'm convinced that this happens to me more often than it does to others. I look back over my writing and see, occasionally, an ugly preachiness that I don't like. It could foster guilt in my readers, or even anger, and I don't want that. Not at all. I want to stop trying to dictate to the world around me what I think is moral, what is giving, what is understanding, or even what is love. It's none of my business. I'd rather say nothing at all than to hurt someone else with ill-chosen words. Just please let there be peace and understanding between us all.

...written etirly fromthe bus (mistakes included)

I type, people bounce
people iPod, people stare
loud people laugh, others no.

this is the bus..and Iam on it]
right now..my words are jumbled\
my istakes are many,
typeing illudes ,e

dink, don]ink.