This is my sixth post - the most ever for a single blog. And already I've decided to move to a different blog platform. Sure, I really enjoy bringing lots and lots of timely information here, but I need something that's more moody. As soon as I find the place I'll let you know. Meanwhile I'm accepting ideas for the unsung blog topic. What on earth hasn't been blogged to death? If you have a good idea, send it to me.
Monday, April 7, 2008
Monday, February 25, 2008
To the Adults of the World (Mortified)
Why?
Why can't there be a place for kids my age? No goddamn laws against us. No goddamn curfews to get in at a certain time. A place you can forget about all those shitty "supervisors" and they're called, you could do anything you wanted to as long as you had the equipment and money.
You could bring up friends and forget all the damn worries in life. There would be nothing anyone would "have" to do, people would be glad to do it. You wouldn't have to worry about that bitchin school, no deadlines. All you would do is have fun. Shoot guns, ride cars, go hiking, swimming, light all the fucking fireworks in the world, you could listen to music as loud as you want to, party all night.
If there is ever the opportunity to do this, and if it's in my power to do it before I get much older. I'll show every goddamn adult that I can be trusted and on my own. I pray that I will have the opportunity. I'll show them. Then they will wish that they let me do these things before!!!
Why can't there be a place for kids my age? No goddamn laws against us. No goddamn curfews to get in at a certain time. A place you can forget about all those shitty "supervisors" and they're called, you could do anything you wanted to as long as you had the equipment and money.
You could bring up friends and forget all the damn worries in life. There would be nothing anyone would "have" to do, people would be glad to do it. You wouldn't have to worry about that bitchin school, no deadlines. All you would do is have fun. Shoot guns, ride cars, go hiking, swimming, light all the fucking fireworks in the world, you could listen to music as loud as you want to, party all night.
If there is ever the opportunity to do this, and if it's in my power to do it before I get much older. I'll show every goddamn adult that I can be trusted and on my own. I pray that I will have the opportunity. I'll show them. Then they will wish that they let me do these things before!!!
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
the oldest game
What is Enlightened Man's oldest battle? E-man vs. squirrel, of course. I have the Google stats to back it up:
man vs. squirrel = 1,580,000 pages
man vs. "all other battles" = 47 pages
woman vs. squirrel = 845,000 pages
(woman vs. man = 59,500,000 pages, but that doesn't count)
This battle has been going on ever since tree rats came down from their trees and began stealing food from man's devices intended to feed only the birds, which also live in trees.
There have been many inventions since then to solve this problem:
The bottom line being squirrels have limits and so does man.
man vs. squirrel = 1,580,000 pages
man vs. "all other battles" = 47 pages
woman vs. squirrel = 845,000 pages
(woman vs. man = 59,500,000 pages, but that doesn't count)
This battle has been going on ever since tree rats came down from their trees and began stealing food from man's devices intended to feed only the birds, which also live in trees.
There have been many inventions since then to solve this problem:
The bottom line being squirrels have limits and so does man.
Cyclical Rant
Life is a series of cycles that ebb and flow, or pendulate between the states of comfort and discord; alignment and dissonance. Biorhythms claim to measure our physical, emotional and intellectual cycles, and I don’t doubt that they do, but life offers so many more complexities and influences of different duration. Biorhythms sing to a somewhat monthly tune. But what about my coffee cycle? Right now I’ve enjoyed a good cup of coffee each morning for the last four months, but I was in a lull for months before that.
The seasons affect me cyclically, which also impacts my state of well being. My attachment to others ebbs and flows. My needs of fitness and rest. My need for savory vs. salt. My need to drum; my need for new music; my need for retail therapy.
These all have different cycles that dance to a different set of variables. Assuming that therapy and self work will never result in a steady state of being – perhaps that’s the antithesis of being alive – then my life will continue to respond to a series of cycles where every once in a while all things are trending up, and there will be attendant days where trends are moving down. I’ve experienced both, and I suppose the goal is to make the transition as gracefully as possible.
(The problem for me is that often those days of maximum height are quickly followed by the common cold. Sometimes when I feel on top of everything my body is firing on all cylinders trying to kill of some invasion. I need to remember that.)
So what’s the take-away? Appreciate the days when we are high, and be patient when we are not. But that’s not why I wrote this. These musings are based on the one cycle that I have the greatest difficulty with – the election cycle.
This is a time when the media circus unfurls its biggest tent to proclaim in both tacit and grand terms that the most important thing our nation faces is the selection of a new set of leaders. I’ve seen enough cycles of years to report that this is not true. That this is a show. A chimera that we are a democracy.
The issues this nation faces are beyond the scope and power of our supposed leaders. We as a nation need to turn inward if we’re ever to pull ourselves out of this mess, and the systematic dumbing-down of our nation’s discourse (and thus, citizens) will probably preclude such an outcome.
I could fill a bucket of blogs voicing my discontent with the way our system works, and this feeling I have is brought about because the level of noise and lies paraded in the media. I look forward to the end of this cycle. Then, we can go back to our villages and pretend the monster is dead. We can turn our attention to the pockets of light and hope that persist in the culture, in our towns and neighborhoods, that are more truthful and effective than any fabricated great hope.
My problem is that we seemed to have reached what amounts to an almost perpetual election cycle. Faced with that I just don’t know how I’m going to balance it out. If the way to ameliorate the effects of a strong negative cycle is to entertain an equally strong positive cycle, then I need to find the antidote to politics. What is that? Turning off the news. Gee, I hate not knowing, but perhaps that’s the best way. Then I can stop encountering the frustrating positionings and lies, and I can once again focus on what really matters. My family, the weather, the promise of bulbs I planted last fall, my coffee.
Maybe the antidote to politics is art; the brave act of creation that results in tangible changes to the world, almost always for its betterment.
The seasons affect me cyclically, which also impacts my state of well being. My attachment to others ebbs and flows. My needs of fitness and rest. My need for savory vs. salt. My need to drum; my need for new music; my need for retail therapy.
These all have different cycles that dance to a different set of variables. Assuming that therapy and self work will never result in a steady state of being – perhaps that’s the antithesis of being alive – then my life will continue to respond to a series of cycles where every once in a while all things are trending up, and there will be attendant days where trends are moving down. I’ve experienced both, and I suppose the goal is to make the transition as gracefully as possible.
(The problem for me is that often those days of maximum height are quickly followed by the common cold. Sometimes when I feel on top of everything my body is firing on all cylinders trying to kill of some invasion. I need to remember that.)
So what’s the take-away? Appreciate the days when we are high, and be patient when we are not. But that’s not why I wrote this. These musings are based on the one cycle that I have the greatest difficulty with – the election cycle.
This is a time when the media circus unfurls its biggest tent to proclaim in both tacit and grand terms that the most important thing our nation faces is the selection of a new set of leaders. I’ve seen enough cycles of years to report that this is not true. That this is a show. A chimera that we are a democracy.
The issues this nation faces are beyond the scope and power of our supposed leaders. We as a nation need to turn inward if we’re ever to pull ourselves out of this mess, and the systematic dumbing-down of our nation’s discourse (and thus, citizens) will probably preclude such an outcome.
I could fill a bucket of blogs voicing my discontent with the way our system works, and this feeling I have is brought about because the level of noise and lies paraded in the media. I look forward to the end of this cycle. Then, we can go back to our villages and pretend the monster is dead. We can turn our attention to the pockets of light and hope that persist in the culture, in our towns and neighborhoods, that are more truthful and effective than any fabricated great hope.
My problem is that we seemed to have reached what amounts to an almost perpetual election cycle. Faced with that I just don’t know how I’m going to balance it out. If the way to ameliorate the effects of a strong negative cycle is to entertain an equally strong positive cycle, then I need to find the antidote to politics. What is that? Turning off the news. Gee, I hate not knowing, but perhaps that’s the best way. Then I can stop encountering the frustrating positionings and lies, and I can once again focus on what really matters. My family, the weather, the promise of bulbs I planted last fall, my coffee.
Maybe the antidote to politics is art; the brave act of creation that results in tangible changes to the world, almost always for its betterment.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Where Fresh Comes First
This appeared to me as an Advertisement of Concern. What is that man's salad doing? It's leaping from his bag onto her plate.He's the candy man come during the day to the stay-at-home mom to deliver the goods. He's young with gray hair so appeals to a broad audience. And she likes it. She's receptive to his salad explosion, but she's in charge here - he's just a visitor. Doubt that? Maybe his knife is is pointed in her direction, but look at the carrot. The tip has been cut off. A deferential move for even the savvy chef.
Hope it's not my last
Where there is spice in life, there is usually a forest to harvest the spice. Where there is forest, there are usually tire tracks. I’m not opposed to this and consider the human race as good as any other species, but by golly god, what do I have to do to find a little privacy.
In Vermont you can hike up the side of a mountain to a protected, eco-island; sit on the rocks, and with a good pair of binoculars, pick out a gas station down in the valley. My idea of a wilderness experience, in contrast, is being in a place so remote that if you yell all day the only things you’ll disrupt are the javalinas who smell like skunk but have decent manners.
This is why I’d like to take up meditation.
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