Wow, it's been quite a while since I have written. Many things in life diverting me from what should be my focus. It's not that these things are trivial, in fact, they are quite important; but they are not the true goal.
It's hard to know sometimes what is and is not worthy of your concern. Work is important. Without it we can't pay our bills and more importantly we lose our self identity. Work is who you are, what you are passionate about. It isn't necessarily your 'job' but it could be. We should all be working harder to do more, achieve more, set new goals. It is what gives you purpose and more importantly gives you a sense of self and accomplishment. Without it you are rudderless, adrift in the sea of life, cast about and miserable.
Given all these things, it is understandable to focus on work, focus on your art, focus on your goals; as well you should! But is there something more? There might be. Family right? I'm gonna say some crap about family or spirituality and then hand you a pamphlet about Jesus. No. For some it is about that. And I think keeping an open mind about spiritual things is wise. And family is important, but I don't think it is as easy as all that.
I think it might be how you focus on these things. Yes, take care of your family, but do you appreciate the time spent with them? Yes, focus on your career, but are you aware of setting a balance? Life is a marathon, not a sprint. Rome wasn't built in a day. You probably aren't the A Number 1 at whatever you do, but who the hell is?!? Are you nice? Do you think about others? Are you good to your family and friends? Well then I'm sure people appreciate you. Maybe even more than the successful prick in the corner office. And try and be nice to that prick, he probably doesn't have many friends. He's lonely. He lashes out sometimes.
I've had a couple months of slight medical issues recently, and it really changes your view. Your body is the one vehicle we have for life, and yet we rarely listen to what it is saying to us. It's like driving your car without ever looking at your gauges. I know some of you ladies right now are wondering, "What are the gauges?" They're the things just beyond your Iphone screen, stop texting for a minute and look down at your dashboard...theeeerre they are. :D
Listen, I'm the worst, I've been runnin' this 'ole clunker on bad gas fer as long as I kin remember. But being the best isn't gonna matter if you're not around to enjoy it. As the Buddhists say,"Take the middle path." All things in moderation. I'm not ever going to be the best, and it has taken many years for me to swallow that bitter, bitter pill. But my kids still think I'm pretty cool, and until they find out otherwise, I'm going to enjoy it.
And so I'm going to try and take it easy now. If my hair ain't on fire, then my hair ain't on fire, so I'll try and relax and enjoy the things around me. I appreciate my wife, she really loves me. My kids are pretty cool, and they are glad to see me when I come home. My grandfather was pretty even keel for the most part. I appreciate what he learned me; I'm gonna practice what he taught. And if you are reading this, then I appreciate you too. Try and take it easy on people, they're doing the best they can. And try and take it easy on yourself, it's gonna get better, it always does.
Now go out there and ride your bike.
Friday, June 21, 2013
Monday, December 10, 2012
Why Grooming Matters and the Joys of a Clean Cage
Depression sucks. By definition, it is depressing. I am not a physician, but I do think clinical depression is a thing. It's probably not as ubiquitous as skinny jeans on hipsters, as pharmaceutical ads might have you believe, but I'm sure it's out there.
But this isn't a virus we're talking about here. You don't just show up at your buddy's house from high school that looks like an episode of 'Hoarders' and get it from direct contact with the bongwater in the rug. These things are cultivated, grown carefully over time and at such a slow rate that you won't see it until it has overtaken you. The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step and so too does negativity. It is insidious and as banal as a bad attitude. Constant vigilance, the only defense.
This may be, but what has it to do with grooming? Cleanliness is next to Godliness. Ever hear that? Well it's true. When were you the most unkempt? Your twenties? When you would dress like a member of Pearl Jam and drink all night and sleep all day? No one goes to the market in their jammies buying hangover remedies and feels good about it. Nobody shame walks two miles back to their car, smelling like whiskey and B.O. and thinks, "That was totally worth it!"
Okay, sometimes, but it's pretty rare. My point is, that grooming can be a good indicator of virtue. Do you smell good? Well then you probably haven't committed any recent crimes. Therefor you might feel pretty good about yourself. See?
When you're dressed nice, you don't sit home watching 'It's Always Sunny' eating ice cream from the container, screening your calls. No, you go out. You want people to see you. You interact. You have fun. When you dress well, you're early. When you're unkempt you're late. Or, you never even show up at all. Begin shame spiral.
Afraid someone might question your motives for dressing nice?
"Why are you so dressed up, are you going to court?"
"Just because you dress like a hobo doesn't mean I can't look nice."
This is also true of your living space. How many visitors do you have over when your house is a shit sty? Not many. And if anyone does show up, you block the view from the door with your terry cloth robe. The one with the Kool-Aid stain and the dried hard spot.
I know, I know, it's fucken hard to stay on top of things like manner of dress and household chores when you have so many other things to contend with in your life. But it has been my experience that if you make the time for cleaning and grooming, the result in your attitude enables you to better affect those other areas. Good begets good. And vice versa. Clean yourself up and scrub your cage, and you'll be amazed at the energy you'll find.
So go take on the day and discover the joys of a nice shirt.
But this isn't a virus we're talking about here. You don't just show up at your buddy's house from high school that looks like an episode of 'Hoarders' and get it from direct contact with the bongwater in the rug. These things are cultivated, grown carefully over time and at such a slow rate that you won't see it until it has overtaken you. The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step and so too does negativity. It is insidious and as banal as a bad attitude. Constant vigilance, the only defense.
This may be, but what has it to do with grooming? Cleanliness is next to Godliness. Ever hear that? Well it's true. When were you the most unkempt? Your twenties? When you would dress like a member of Pearl Jam and drink all night and sleep all day? No one goes to the market in their jammies buying hangover remedies and feels good about it. Nobody shame walks two miles back to their car, smelling like whiskey and B.O. and thinks, "That was totally worth it!"
Okay, sometimes, but it's pretty rare. My point is, that grooming can be a good indicator of virtue. Do you smell good? Well then you probably haven't committed any recent crimes. Therefor you might feel pretty good about yourself. See?
When you're dressed nice, you don't sit home watching 'It's Always Sunny' eating ice cream from the container, screening your calls. No, you go out. You want people to see you. You interact. You have fun. When you dress well, you're early. When you're unkempt you're late. Or, you never even show up at all. Begin shame spiral.
Afraid someone might question your motives for dressing nice?
"Why are you so dressed up, are you going to court?"
"Just because you dress like a hobo doesn't mean I can't look nice."
This is also true of your living space. How many visitors do you have over when your house is a shit sty? Not many. And if anyone does show up, you block the view from the door with your terry cloth robe. The one with the Kool-Aid stain and the dried hard spot.
I know, I know, it's fucken hard to stay on top of things like manner of dress and household chores when you have so many other things to contend with in your life. But it has been my experience that if you make the time for cleaning and grooming, the result in your attitude enables you to better affect those other areas. Good begets good. And vice versa. Clean yourself up and scrub your cage, and you'll be amazed at the energy you'll find.
So go take on the day and discover the joys of a nice shirt.
Saturday, July 14, 2012
But You Didn't Have to Cuuut Me Off
Some of you may have noticed a rather Zen bent to my recent blogs. That's because I have been actively chasing my enlightenment. I feel at this stage of my life I need to be focused on my fellow human beings and how I can better love them and myself. Y'know what makes doing that difficult? Asshole Fuktard Drivers.
Some of my Favorites:
1. Line Cutter These people are obviously special and their time cannot possibly be wasted waiting in line for the on-ramp like every other mother effer in a mile long line. No. They need to zip up all the way to the front and wedge their special ass in at the last minute. Neat.
2. Weaver Traffic is moving, sometimes even at a decent rate, but it's never fast enough for these folks. Everybody else is going with the flow, following a reasonable amount of car lengths behind the person in front of them, no one making any more progress than the next guy, but these fuckers aren't havin' it. They're blasting up to the rear of whoever is in their lane and then darting over at the first chance, hopping around like a flea on speed, not really getting ahead, but thoroughly pissing everyone off in the process.
3. Day Dreamer These people are truly blessed. Their lives are so unencumbered that they have all the time in the world to be in front of you. With no agenda whatsoever, it begs the question, "Where the fuck are they going anyway?!?" With an amazing gift for forward thinking, they never check their rearview, especially because the only thing in it is a string of angry commuters behind them. God help you if two of these arses 'link arms' in adjoining lanes and cavalierly meander down the highway.
4. Teenage Texter Like a daredevil who's tired of living, these carefree souls drift in and out of their lanes, too engrossed in the riveting dialogue they are having with their complexion challenged boyfriends to pay attention to their impending fate, or those around them. They care not for human life, only for status updates of their pajama wearing friends and where they will be hanging out later, murdering the English language.
5. The Terminally Polite Oh sure, they sound harmless, and they are if you meet up with them, one on one, at a four way stop. But behind a pair of these, you can easily lose your mind. Riddled with indecision and good manners, they can clog an intersection or turn lane for what seems like hours. The insidious nature of their evil is that they appear polite whilst driving you crazy, thereby making you look like the asshole, what with your screaming and flailing of arms.
I have tried to find love in my heart for these people, but alas, it is beyond me. They have tested my better nature, and have won. I fear I will never attain my goal of enlightenment until these motherfuckers are scraped from the face of the planet. It's a long road ahead.
Some of my Favorites:
1. Line Cutter These people are obviously special and their time cannot possibly be wasted waiting in line for the on-ramp like every other mother effer in a mile long line. No. They need to zip up all the way to the front and wedge their special ass in at the last minute. Neat.
2. Weaver Traffic is moving, sometimes even at a decent rate, but it's never fast enough for these folks. Everybody else is going with the flow, following a reasonable amount of car lengths behind the person in front of them, no one making any more progress than the next guy, but these fuckers aren't havin' it. They're blasting up to the rear of whoever is in their lane and then darting over at the first chance, hopping around like a flea on speed, not really getting ahead, but thoroughly pissing everyone off in the process.
3. Day Dreamer These people are truly blessed. Their lives are so unencumbered that they have all the time in the world to be in front of you. With no agenda whatsoever, it begs the question, "Where the fuck are they going anyway?!?" With an amazing gift for forward thinking, they never check their rearview, especially because the only thing in it is a string of angry commuters behind them. God help you if two of these arses 'link arms' in adjoining lanes and cavalierly meander down the highway.
4. Teenage Texter Like a daredevil who's tired of living, these carefree souls drift in and out of their lanes, too engrossed in the riveting dialogue they are having with their complexion challenged boyfriends to pay attention to their impending fate, or those around them. They care not for human life, only for status updates of their pajama wearing friends and where they will be hanging out later, murdering the English language.
5. The Terminally Polite Oh sure, they sound harmless, and they are if you meet up with them, one on one, at a four way stop. But behind a pair of these, you can easily lose your mind. Riddled with indecision and good manners, they can clog an intersection or turn lane for what seems like hours. The insidious nature of their evil is that they appear polite whilst driving you crazy, thereby making you look like the asshole, what with your screaming and flailing of arms.
I have tried to find love in my heart for these people, but alas, it is beyond me. They have tested my better nature, and have won. I fear I will never attain my goal of enlightenment until these motherfuckers are scraped from the face of the planet. It's a long road ahead.
Saturday, July 7, 2012
The Beauty of Daddy
I have been many things in my lifetime, not all of them noble. As a matter of fact, I hesitate to recall my past too often, for it pains me deeply. I look horrible on paper. My past is an embarrassment and I wasn't raised that way; I have no excuse. I have heard many times that, whatever road has brought you here was worth traveling, in that all your experiences make you who you are today. I guess this gives me a bit of solace. But no achievement has given me close to the satisfaction than that of the love of my children.
Y'know, your kids don't have to love you. Ask around, there are plenty of people who will tell you there is no love lost between them and their parents. Children are amazing barometers, they're absolutely unjaded. Poor kids love their folks; they care not for material excess, just for love. Kids with disabled parents, uneducated parents, fat parents, even ugly parents, all love them just the same. But you have to earn that shit. You can't buy it, you can't steal it, and you sure as hell can't demand it. There are people that force their kids to respect them, or at least show respect to them. I would argue that this is more fear than respect, but people that bully their own kids won't see that distinction.
Kids come out clean, well, once you wash them off, and they will react to you in an amazingly honest way. You ever have a cat that didn't like anyone, and there is always that one friend that comes over and the damn thing is rubbing all over him. Kids are the same way, well, without the rubbing part, that would be weird, but you know what I mean; they can just sense that this is a good person. Ever try to bullshit your kids about something? They're not buying it. They may be too young to know what the real story is, but they know you're full of shit. Don't worry, they probably love you enough not to call you out on it, but still, they're watching you.
I try not to impart wisdom on my kids too much, mostly 'cause I ain't got none. But I find that they impart wisdom to me all the time. Little truisms that I have forgotten along the way. Stuff my grandfather taught me but has been lost in the shuffle of adulthood. It's amazing what they can see through their tiny unfiltered lenses. Their world is much less complicated than ours and it allows them a tremendous freedom of observation. For one, they are not concerned about how they appear to others. That is something you will undoubtedly dump on them later. Thanks. Ooohh, put this one on, don't you look cute! Fix your hair, oh, that's cute! Look cute! Look cute! Look cute!
Geezus! Will you fucken get off me lady?!? I'm just tryin' to ride my fucken bike! Sheesh.
I do a lot of watching of my kids, and they in turn watch me. And without trying, without manipulation, without any effort at all, you parent. They aren't looking for much, just a little love and mutual respect. That's right, you have to respect your kids. You thought they just had to respect you, right? Fuck no. They are you. And if you don't respect yourself...nobody else will either. They want you to be good. To them, to others, to the World. If you are a good person, you don't have to tell them, they'll see it. Tough guys don't tell you how tough they are, they just knock the shit out of you when you fuck up. Likewise, good parents don't do a lot of talking. Don't tell me, show me.
My grandfather was a great man. I can hardly even think about him without crying. You can't buy that shit. He never told me to love him like that. He would never. He only told me what was necessary to know, the rest he showed me by his actions. The way he loved my grandmother. The way he treated other people. The way he treated himself. I'll never be my grandfather, I don't think anyone could. If I could be half the man he was, and live that for my children, I would die a happy man.
Now go ride your bike.
Y'know, your kids don't have to love you. Ask around, there are plenty of people who will tell you there is no love lost between them and their parents. Children are amazing barometers, they're absolutely unjaded. Poor kids love their folks; they care not for material excess, just for love. Kids with disabled parents, uneducated parents, fat parents, even ugly parents, all love them just the same. But you have to earn that shit. You can't buy it, you can't steal it, and you sure as hell can't demand it. There are people that force their kids to respect them, or at least show respect to them. I would argue that this is more fear than respect, but people that bully their own kids won't see that distinction.
Kids come out clean, well, once you wash them off, and they will react to you in an amazingly honest way. You ever have a cat that didn't like anyone, and there is always that one friend that comes over and the damn thing is rubbing all over him. Kids are the same way, well, without the rubbing part, that would be weird, but you know what I mean; they can just sense that this is a good person. Ever try to bullshit your kids about something? They're not buying it. They may be too young to know what the real story is, but they know you're full of shit. Don't worry, they probably love you enough not to call you out on it, but still, they're watching you.
I try not to impart wisdom on my kids too much, mostly 'cause I ain't got none. But I find that they impart wisdom to me all the time. Little truisms that I have forgotten along the way. Stuff my grandfather taught me but has been lost in the shuffle of adulthood. It's amazing what they can see through their tiny unfiltered lenses. Their world is much less complicated than ours and it allows them a tremendous freedom of observation. For one, they are not concerned about how they appear to others. That is something you will undoubtedly dump on them later. Thanks. Ooohh, put this one on, don't you look cute! Fix your hair, oh, that's cute! Look cute! Look cute! Look cute!
Geezus! Will you fucken get off me lady?!? I'm just tryin' to ride my fucken bike! Sheesh.
I do a lot of watching of my kids, and they in turn watch me. And without trying, without manipulation, without any effort at all, you parent. They aren't looking for much, just a little love and mutual respect. That's right, you have to respect your kids. You thought they just had to respect you, right? Fuck no. They are you. And if you don't respect yourself...nobody else will either. They want you to be good. To them, to others, to the World. If you are a good person, you don't have to tell them, they'll see it. Tough guys don't tell you how tough they are, they just knock the shit out of you when you fuck up. Likewise, good parents don't do a lot of talking. Don't tell me, show me.
My grandfather was a great man. I can hardly even think about him without crying. You can't buy that shit. He never told me to love him like that. He would never. He only told me what was necessary to know, the rest he showed me by his actions. The way he loved my grandmother. The way he treated other people. The way he treated himself. I'll never be my grandfather, I don't think anyone could. If I could be half the man he was, and live that for my children, I would die a happy man.
Now go ride your bike.
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
A Good Right Spot
It's hard to find your place in this world. I've been searching for almost forty four years now and I still haven't found it. Mainly because the place I'm looking for keeps changing. This can make searching exceedingly difficult. I'm convinced my car keys do something similar sometimes.
When I was a kid, I wasn't concerned with where my place was. I was in it. I wish I had been more aware of how Zen I was then, but maybe that's the key, I was just 'being' I wasn't worried about destinations or futures or any of the other myriad things that seem to dominate the adult mind. I never troubled over taking tests in school, I always assumed I'd do alright. So confident in this was I (and given to daydreaming) that I would dawdle about till the end, then feel pressured to finish; a fact that so closely mirrors my later experiences, not to mention my sex life, that it's scary.
Almost immediately, I started my career of worry. The world in general is helping you along with this, constantly reminding you that time is of the essence and you're lagging behind on whatever endeavors you are undertaking. One breath in, and the clock starts ticking. living in the city doesn't help. just like the military, hurry up and wait. Maybe this is why people get institutionalized and ultimately become comfortable being in prison, limited options. Take away the options, take away the concern. That's the problem with modern life, too many choices.
I often fantasize about an agrarian lifestyle. A life of simple toil, working the soil from dawn to dusk. There's only one problem with this scenario, no sushi. I'm a city kid, always have been. No, I'm going to have to make my stand here, with the hipsters and the one percenters (that used to mean bikers) the dope fiends and soccer moms, computer dorks and tattooed scumbags, all thrown together whether they like it or not. So to find enlightenment amongst this diverse group of self-centered pricks is...difficult.
Recently, It has occurred to me that the place we are all seeking, that utopian time in your life, where all your ducks are in a row and you feel completely satisfied, in your career and relationships, globally, spiritually, Universally... doesn't fucking exist. What a ridiculously naive idea. Did you think it might?!? When was the last time you got what you wanted? Ok, that one Christmas when you were seven. Well, that was it, I hope you made the best of it. I had a bike once, a black Schwinn Stingray with a banana seat. I rode the shit outta that thing. Summertime, by myself, no worries, no agenda. It. Was. Wonderful. And it's fucken over. There's no going back. It's true, you can't go home again, and I think of all things, this makes me the saddest.
What you can do, is set up your part of the world to facilitate the next generation's perfect bike ride. Funny thing is, that place, the one I'm constantly looking for, I'm always in it, I just have to learn to appreciate that fact.
Now go ride your bike.
When I was a kid, I wasn't concerned with where my place was. I was in it. I wish I had been more aware of how Zen I was then, but maybe that's the key, I was just 'being' I wasn't worried about destinations or futures or any of the other myriad things that seem to dominate the adult mind. I never troubled over taking tests in school, I always assumed I'd do alright. So confident in this was I (and given to daydreaming) that I would dawdle about till the end, then feel pressured to finish; a fact that so closely mirrors my later experiences, not to mention my sex life, that it's scary.
Almost immediately, I started my career of worry. The world in general is helping you along with this, constantly reminding you that time is of the essence and you're lagging behind on whatever endeavors you are undertaking. One breath in, and the clock starts ticking. living in the city doesn't help. just like the military, hurry up and wait. Maybe this is why people get institutionalized and ultimately become comfortable being in prison, limited options. Take away the options, take away the concern. That's the problem with modern life, too many choices.
I often fantasize about an agrarian lifestyle. A life of simple toil, working the soil from dawn to dusk. There's only one problem with this scenario, no sushi. I'm a city kid, always have been. No, I'm going to have to make my stand here, with the hipsters and the one percenters (that used to mean bikers) the dope fiends and soccer moms, computer dorks and tattooed scumbags, all thrown together whether they like it or not. So to find enlightenment amongst this diverse group of self-centered pricks is...difficult.
Recently, It has occurred to me that the place we are all seeking, that utopian time in your life, where all your ducks are in a row and you feel completely satisfied, in your career and relationships, globally, spiritually, Universally... doesn't fucking exist. What a ridiculously naive idea. Did you think it might?!? When was the last time you got what you wanted? Ok, that one Christmas when you were seven. Well, that was it, I hope you made the best of it. I had a bike once, a black Schwinn Stingray with a banana seat. I rode the shit outta that thing. Summertime, by myself, no worries, no agenda. It. Was. Wonderful. And it's fucken over. There's no going back. It's true, you can't go home again, and I think of all things, this makes me the saddest.
What you can do, is set up your part of the world to facilitate the next generation's perfect bike ride. Funny thing is, that place, the one I'm constantly looking for, I'm always in it, I just have to learn to appreciate that fact.
Now go ride your bike.
Saturday, June 16, 2012
Oh, I can't have that? Well then I want it.
I have a hard time staying grateful. It's not that I don't have a lot to be grateful for, I do. It's just that like most people, I am almost constantly looking forward, thinking about the future.
When you're growing up they're always telling you that you need to think about the future. Well, I am here to tell you that they are wrong.
First: When you are young, the last thing you should be doing is worrying about your future, and when they say 'thinking' they actually mean 'worry'. Kid's shouldn't 'worry' about anything. You only have your one childhood to be carefree. Your whole adult life will more than likely be filled with angst, no need to rush into it. Not to mention you're a kid. What the hell do you know about planning for the future anyway? No, what they are really telling you is that you should be planning for the future that they think you should have. Oh yeah? Well if you feel so strongly about it, you do the fucken planning then, I'm going outside to play. And kids, for the record, that is where playing is done, outside. Not inside some dark room with a computer, there will be plenty of time for that later on.
Second: When was the last time something worked out the way you planned it? That's right, never. Well get used to it, because there's a lot more of that coming. Planning is for pregnant women and fools. You can 'plan' all you want to, and the world will still throw you a curve. You know what you should plan for? Not knowing what the fuck is goin' on, 'cause that's what's gonna happen. I 'planned' on being a rockstar with an eight-pack that had hot wings smuggled to his jacuzzi inside the bikinis of Russian supermodels. Most of that didn't pan out. Thank God I at least got the hot wings. My point is, what I have is better than that. (my wife reads these.) And you can't know how happy something that you never dreamed of will make you.
Too much planning sets you up for failure. Now I'm not suggesting you just plop down on the couch and wait for the good times; a little hard work goes a long way. But if you have a roof over your head and some food in the fridge, and if you have a job and even a couple of friends...you're doin' alright. The truth is, most of us have much more than this and yet very few of us feel 'happy'.
I see people everyday that make me glad I'm me. Also, there is joy in the little things, if you know where to look. Yesterday, on my way home from work, I saw two guys struggling to push a van uphill into a gas station. I asked if they needed a hand, and they said yes. The three of us tried, but weren't making much more progress than before. Just as we were about to stop pushing, three women joggers from the park across the street ran up and helped give it the extra shove it needed, and we all rolled it into place together. As soon as it was in front of the pumps, everyone went their separate ways, being thanked by the driver, but of course, wanting nothing in return. I can't tell you how good I felt after that. And it stuck with me. If you think you're different than your neighbor, you're wrong. If you think we aren't all connected, you're wrong. If you think you can't make yourself happy by helping someone else...you are wrong.
You probably have more than enough already in your life to be happy. You probably know others that have much less. There are probably people in your life that you could help with a little effort. It would probably make you feel happier if you did.
"Don't worry, be happy." Bobby McFerrin
When you're growing up they're always telling you that you need to think about the future. Well, I am here to tell you that they are wrong.
First: When you are young, the last thing you should be doing is worrying about your future, and when they say 'thinking' they actually mean 'worry'. Kid's shouldn't 'worry' about anything. You only have your one childhood to be carefree. Your whole adult life will more than likely be filled with angst, no need to rush into it. Not to mention you're a kid. What the hell do you know about planning for the future anyway? No, what they are really telling you is that you should be planning for the future that they think you should have. Oh yeah? Well if you feel so strongly about it, you do the fucken planning then, I'm going outside to play. And kids, for the record, that is where playing is done, outside. Not inside some dark room with a computer, there will be plenty of time for that later on.
Second: When was the last time something worked out the way you planned it? That's right, never. Well get used to it, because there's a lot more of that coming. Planning is for pregnant women and fools. You can 'plan' all you want to, and the world will still throw you a curve. You know what you should plan for? Not knowing what the fuck is goin' on, 'cause that's what's gonna happen. I 'planned' on being a rockstar with an eight-pack that had hot wings smuggled to his jacuzzi inside the bikinis of Russian supermodels. Most of that didn't pan out. Thank God I at least got the hot wings. My point is, what I have is better than that. (my wife reads these.) And you can't know how happy something that you never dreamed of will make you.
Too much planning sets you up for failure. Now I'm not suggesting you just plop down on the couch and wait for the good times; a little hard work goes a long way. But if you have a roof over your head and some food in the fridge, and if you have a job and even a couple of friends...you're doin' alright. The truth is, most of us have much more than this and yet very few of us feel 'happy'.
I see people everyday that make me glad I'm me. Also, there is joy in the little things, if you know where to look. Yesterday, on my way home from work, I saw two guys struggling to push a van uphill into a gas station. I asked if they needed a hand, and they said yes. The three of us tried, but weren't making much more progress than before. Just as we were about to stop pushing, three women joggers from the park across the street ran up and helped give it the extra shove it needed, and we all rolled it into place together. As soon as it was in front of the pumps, everyone went their separate ways, being thanked by the driver, but of course, wanting nothing in return. I can't tell you how good I felt after that. And it stuck with me. If you think you're different than your neighbor, you're wrong. If you think we aren't all connected, you're wrong. If you think you can't make yourself happy by helping someone else...you are wrong.
You probably have more than enough already in your life to be happy. You probably know others that have much less. There are probably people in your life that you could help with a little effort. It would probably make you feel happier if you did.
"Don't worry, be happy." Bobby McFerrin
Thursday, May 24, 2012
Flies with Honey
As a rule, I don't care for the 'people'. They are loud and obnoxious and usually in my way. My wife says that I need to be nice to the people, but this is much harder than it seems. Maybe it was my upbringing, maybe my environment, either way, it is not in my nature to be tolerant or understanding.
When I was in fourth grade, I was beaten up by a fifth grader who then stole my jacket. I ran home and told my grandfather, whom I wholly believed would run out into the world to exact justice from all parties involved. Instead, after telling him what transpired, he stood there looking at me with an expression that said,
"Whaddya want kid? You expect me to follow you around and make sure nothing happens to ya?" After explaining to me that 'shit happens' and the world is a cold and dark place, he told me that if I didn't like being beaten up and having my stuff took, I should take steps to preparing myself so it wouldn't happen again. Also that my grandmother who gave me the jacket would probably be mad at me for losing it."But I...he...nevermind."
That was it. That was all it took. I understood what he was telling me and I never ran home crying again. (I would wait till I was done crying, and then go home.)
But it made an impression on me. Don't be a fucken pussy. Learn to take care of yourself or get used to being stepped on, either way, I understood, the buck stops here. I was responsible for myself and what happened to me. I and I alone. Two things have taught me this is true. The two greatest teachers a man can have, my grandfather and the United States Navy. The Navy doesn't give a shit who's fault something is; they don't want to hear your fucken excuse. Did I tell you to do it? Then it's your responsibility.
And so this is the philosophy that got me through. This was how I navigated the world. And to its credit, it got me through some pretty tough times. I was prepared for you to be an asshole. I knew you would disappoint. And if you wronged me, I wouldn't be sending my grandfather after you, you were gonna hear from me. And so it went. And my anger grew with every passing day, seeing my expectations manifest in people's rude behavior.
But that's not what my grandfather was trying to tell me. Once again, I had misconstrued his meaning and taken it in with childish ears.
There is an Islamic proverb that says, 'Tie your donkey to a sturdy post, and then go about your business.' In other words, be prepared. Don't rely on faith that you will be alright, take steps to make sure, and then go with God.
Negativity begets negativity. I was approaching with anger and in turn, being met with it. I am not an enlightened person. As much as I try, I can't seem to grasp the, 'you catch more flies with honey' mentality. I prefer the 'you smash more teeth with fists' approach. But it has gotten me nowhere.
So recently, as an experiment, I have given this new model a try. And you know what? It works. My wife is the smartest person I know. (Please don't tell her I said that, she's hard enough to live with as it is.) But if I simply adjust my own attitude, I find that my experience with people is greatly improved. This really pisses me off. Sorry. It's a long road ahead.
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
Life is a Test
I'm middle-aged. By definition that means my life is half over. This is not a good feeling. When I was young, I thought it might take me awhile to achieve all the things in life I wanted to. Like maybe till I was twenty four. My timetable was a little off.
I find little comfort in this new position, with the sword of Damocles affixed perilously overhead. I remain unsettled and find it hard to truly relax.
In school, we sometimes had to take long comprehensive exams, lasting two or more hours. Invariably, I would fritter away the first half of my allotted time, doodling, day-dreaming, and generally fiddle fucking around. When it finally dawned on me that the time was nigh, I would fill with a sense of dread, and hastily scratch in whatever answers I could. Why would I wait so long to get down to business? Why not? I had two hours, that's like forever to a teenager. No need to rush into things.
"Youth is wasted on the young."
When you are young, you have your entire life ahead of you. There are no pressing matters when you have all the time in the world, and that is how it appears from a young person's point of view. I had no idea that I would be consumed by a fear of impending doom, propelling me into a frantic quest for enlightenment.
Enlightenment isn't easily acquired. In fact, I believe it might not be possible. This does little for my comfort level.
Recently, a good friend of mine asked what all the 'God' stuff was about, in some of my writing. Apparently, she thought it might be tongue in cheek, or purely of a comic nature. When I assured her it wasn't, she was surprised to hear that I had any interest in such matters.
Now, let me stop here and make something exceedingly clear. I do not believe in organized religion. In fact, I'm not sure what I believe. I am an agnostic. I think everyone is agnostic whether they think so or not. How could you possibly know for a fact, if there is or isn't a God? I'm not even comfortable using that word. God. It seems so full of other peoples definitions of the divine. So, let's rule out the nutty stuff, like some old white guy on a cloud, or any anthropomorphic entity that the unwashed masses seem to think presides over the Universe. That leaves us with terms like, 'The One'. This feels a little too Zen Eastern philosophical, or it conjures up images of Keanu Reeves, either way, I don't care for it. So, for lack of a better term, I'll stick with God.
I'm a tattooer, a tough guy (not really) but that is the costume I wear in the world. In my circles you just don't go around sayin' stuff about God. You save that shit for when you catch a case and and have to go do a nickel upstate. Denis Leary once said that no one finds Jesus on prom night, it's only when you've fucked it up so badly down here, that nobody else will talk to you. So I try and keep this shit to myself.
The truth is, I enjoy reading religious texts. The tenets of the big three, Judaism, Christianity and Islam, are filled with beautiful wisdoms. The men that wrote them, (not God) were and are some of the greatest thinkers to have walked the Earth. Since their time, others have come along, with their own agendas, and bastardized what were once simple and profound teachings, that anyone would benefit from, were they to pattern their life according to these dogmas. I shudder to think what Abraham or Moses, Christ or Muhammad, would think of the modern purveyors of religion.
This leaves the still unanswered question of what I personally believe. I believe in science. I believe in Evolution, and the Big Bang. I believe that we all emerged from the primordial soup billions of years ago and through Natural Selection we have become the self-centered modern pricks of today. I think it is hard in this world of the Ipad 2 to realize that wonders of the past are still around us. We are so caught up in amazement with our own achievements, that we fail to see the beauty, right in front of us.
This being said, I like to think there is something else.
Most days, I'm still unsure of what it is that I actually believe in. I believe I love my wife and family, and most days, that's enough. I'm not sure if I truly believe in God, but I'm still amazed when He takes time out of His day, to come speak directly to me.
I think we are the fingers of God. We are how He experiences the Universe. Through us, He sees the world. Good, bad or indifferent, we are He. Now go love somebody.
"I am as big as God, He is as small as me. I cannot beneath Him, nor He above me be." Silesius 17th century
"I am He, as you are He, as you are me, and we are all together." John Lennon
I find little comfort in this new position, with the sword of Damocles affixed perilously overhead. I remain unsettled and find it hard to truly relax.
In school, we sometimes had to take long comprehensive exams, lasting two or more hours. Invariably, I would fritter away the first half of my allotted time, doodling, day-dreaming, and generally fiddle fucking around. When it finally dawned on me that the time was nigh, I would fill with a sense of dread, and hastily scratch in whatever answers I could. Why would I wait so long to get down to business? Why not? I had two hours, that's like forever to a teenager. No need to rush into things.
"Youth is wasted on the young."
When you are young, you have your entire life ahead of you. There are no pressing matters when you have all the time in the world, and that is how it appears from a young person's point of view. I had no idea that I would be consumed by a fear of impending doom, propelling me into a frantic quest for enlightenment.
Enlightenment isn't easily acquired. In fact, I believe it might not be possible. This does little for my comfort level.
Recently, a good friend of mine asked what all the 'God' stuff was about, in some of my writing. Apparently, she thought it might be tongue in cheek, or purely of a comic nature. When I assured her it wasn't, she was surprised to hear that I had any interest in such matters.
Now, let me stop here and make something exceedingly clear. I do not believe in organized religion. In fact, I'm not sure what I believe. I am an agnostic. I think everyone is agnostic whether they think so or not. How could you possibly know for a fact, if there is or isn't a God? I'm not even comfortable using that word. God. It seems so full of other peoples definitions of the divine. So, let's rule out the nutty stuff, like some old white guy on a cloud, or any anthropomorphic entity that the unwashed masses seem to think presides over the Universe. That leaves us with terms like, 'The One'. This feels a little too Zen Eastern philosophical, or it conjures up images of Keanu Reeves, either way, I don't care for it. So, for lack of a better term, I'll stick with God.
I'm a tattooer, a tough guy (not really) but that is the costume I wear in the world. In my circles you just don't go around sayin' stuff about God. You save that shit for when you catch a case and and have to go do a nickel upstate. Denis Leary once said that no one finds Jesus on prom night, it's only when you've fucked it up so badly down here, that nobody else will talk to you. So I try and keep this shit to myself.
The truth is, I enjoy reading religious texts. The tenets of the big three, Judaism, Christianity and Islam, are filled with beautiful wisdoms. The men that wrote them, (not God) were and are some of the greatest thinkers to have walked the Earth. Since their time, others have come along, with their own agendas, and bastardized what were once simple and profound teachings, that anyone would benefit from, were they to pattern their life according to these dogmas. I shudder to think what Abraham or Moses, Christ or Muhammad, would think of the modern purveyors of religion.
This leaves the still unanswered question of what I personally believe. I believe in science. I believe in Evolution, and the Big Bang. I believe that we all emerged from the primordial soup billions of years ago and through Natural Selection we have become the self-centered modern pricks of today. I think it is hard in this world of the Ipad 2 to realize that wonders of the past are still around us. We are so caught up in amazement with our own achievements, that we fail to see the beauty, right in front of us.
This being said, I like to think there is something else.
Most days, I'm still unsure of what it is that I actually believe in. I believe I love my wife and family, and most days, that's enough. I'm not sure if I truly believe in God, but I'm still amazed when He takes time out of His day, to come speak directly to me.
I think we are the fingers of God. We are how He experiences the Universe. Through us, He sees the world. Good, bad or indifferent, we are He. Now go love somebody.
"I am as big as God, He is as small as me. I cannot beneath Him, nor He above me be." Silesius 17th century
"I am He, as you are He, as you are me, and we are all together." John Lennon
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Grandpa's Sandwich
When I was a boy, my grandfather would make me lunch. He was partial to sandwiches and made a wide variety.
Deviled Ham
When it came to deviled ham he was a purist. Fresh rye, usually a sourdough or 'Jewish' rye, and meat spread. No mayo. No veg. That is all.
Tuna
No one ever called it 'tunafish' in our house and we were suspicious of those who did. Rye or sourdough, tuna in water, usually Albacore, diced onion, maybe some pickle juice, little mayo, bingo. You add corn chips to that, and you are set my friend.
There were additions of tomato and lettuce when available, and on cold days, melted cheddar.
Sardine
That's right. I was regularly sent to elementary school with sardine sandwiches in my pail. I thought nothing of it. My peers were rare to trade me.
Always rye. Little mayo, sliced onion, red. Let me reassure you, they are delicious.
You may have noticed, no peanut butter and jelly. That's right, NO peanut butter and jelly! You want that shit, go ask your grandmother to make it.
No matter the sandwich, they were always, perfect. Just the right amount, of everything. I never wanted for anything else when I had a sandwich from Grandpa. I never added or would subtract from their ingredients. I ate them throughout my childhood, and knew them like a friend. When I was older (and foolish) I wanted to make my own sandwich.
I had eaten thousands of them. I'd watched him a million times. I knew exactly how he did it. But that's not what I did.
No, I was somehow going to improve upon the perfect sandwich of my grandfather. A feat of culinary hubris so bold, I knew the results would be impressive.
First! I would push the limits of the old man's sandwich theories. Mustard is good, yes, but what about a shit ton of it?!? Oh, he'd never thought of that, had he?
But it was too much, it ruined the sandwich. I was way off. A sandwich isn't great by its condiments, please, I needed the true essence of sandwich, the meat! But it was just a bunch of extra meat. It was too dry. It just wasn't right. I just started buying pre-made sandwiches.
Year's later, with kid's of my own, I have returned to the art of sandwich making. I don't try and reinvent the wheel anymore, I just make sandwiches. With a little bit of what's needed, and nothing that isn't. And they're perfect.
Deviled Ham
When it came to deviled ham he was a purist. Fresh rye, usually a sourdough or 'Jewish' rye, and meat spread. No mayo. No veg. That is all.
Tuna
No one ever called it 'tunafish' in our house and we were suspicious of those who did. Rye or sourdough, tuna in water, usually Albacore, diced onion, maybe some pickle juice, little mayo, bingo. You add corn chips to that, and you are set my friend.
There were additions of tomato and lettuce when available, and on cold days, melted cheddar.
Sardine
That's right. I was regularly sent to elementary school with sardine sandwiches in my pail. I thought nothing of it. My peers were rare to trade me.
Always rye. Little mayo, sliced onion, red. Let me reassure you, they are delicious.
You may have noticed, no peanut butter and jelly. That's right, NO peanut butter and jelly! You want that shit, go ask your grandmother to make it.
No matter the sandwich, they were always, perfect. Just the right amount, of everything. I never wanted for anything else when I had a sandwich from Grandpa. I never added or would subtract from their ingredients. I ate them throughout my childhood, and knew them like a friend. When I was older (and foolish) I wanted to make my own sandwich.
I had eaten thousands of them. I'd watched him a million times. I knew exactly how he did it. But that's not what I did.
No, I was somehow going to improve upon the perfect sandwich of my grandfather. A feat of culinary hubris so bold, I knew the results would be impressive.
First! I would push the limits of the old man's sandwich theories. Mustard is good, yes, but what about a shit ton of it?!? Oh, he'd never thought of that, had he?
But it was too much, it ruined the sandwich. I was way off. A sandwich isn't great by its condiments, please, I needed the true essence of sandwich, the meat! But it was just a bunch of extra meat. It was too dry. It just wasn't right. I just started buying pre-made sandwiches.
Year's later, with kid's of my own, I have returned to the art of sandwich making. I don't try and reinvent the wheel anymore, I just make sandwiches. With a little bit of what's needed, and nothing that isn't. And they're perfect.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
"Ode to Nantucket"
There once was a man from Seattle,
Who listened to nothing but prattle.
From blowhards and fools
with nothing to do,
Than to live like Republican cattle.
Who listened to nothing but prattle.
From blowhards and fools
with nothing to do,
Than to live like Republican cattle.
Friday, April 6, 2012
"Raised in L.A."
I live in the NorthWest now, and I guess that being raised in different parts of the country makes a huge difference in your upbringing. People out here are nice. I mean they are actually nice, not some affectation that you put on when you want something or have less power or money than the person you're talking to, I mean they're nice just to be nice. I know, weird huh?
I guess they were raised that way, to be considerate, empathetic, to care about the feelings of others. I wasn't raised here. I was raised in L.A.
In Southern California it's a little different. When I was growing up, the only thing you did between graphic slanders of you peer's mothers, (preferably engaged in some sort of sexual act) was to wait until your friends made even the slightest miscalculation in judgement or speech, and mercilessly slaughter them verbally; the focus on humiliation and thus hugely entertaining to any and all not targeted.
It was an unspoken competition, that everyone was entered in, but only a few enjoyed. I liked it. It was funny, and good training for the real world, or so I thought. It's good training for L.A. out there it's pretty rough, best to have your wits about you. I don't think anybody took it too seriously, although it could get heated at times. But if you couldn't take it, it was as if you were admitting to being a wuss. Pussies were not tolerated in my neighborhood. You were either one of the boys, or an outsider, a fate worse than death. So, at the risk of your mother's good name, you hung out, and took it, and hopefully held your own with those soulless, cold-hearted bastards.
Thing about soulless, cold-hearted bastards is, you hang around them long enough, you get the jacket.
Well, it's cold up here, I needed a jacket, so I brought the only one I had. I didn't think everybody up here was going to be so goddamned sensitive. Where was their sense of humor? Didn't they realize how incredibly witty I was? What are you? A fag?
Yeah, they didn't like that either. Somehow, 'fag' now referred to a gay person, and was not politically correct. Or funny. I know, totally rocked my worldview.
If you were called anything, when we were kids, you were called a fag. About a million times a day. The fun we had with those names, fag, dick shiner, butt humper. You remember 'butt humper'?!? Oh the laughs...
Well instead of being fond childhood memories, these people saw them as improper, epithets, derogatory. What a bunch of fucken sissies. Sorry. This is gonna be hard.
So, in the interest of being good natured, and because I prefer people not to hate me or think I'm Republican, I sought to calm my inner beast, and try to civilize myself and 'be nice'. It's fucken way harder than it sounds.
First of all, people are fucken stupid. Now I know, that that may come off as a tad judgemental, or slightly intolerant, but have you talked to any people lately? See, that's what I'm talking about. People give you so many reasons to dislike them that most of the time my head is swirling with disgust and the only way to relieve the pressure is to blast them with both barrels. Figuratively speaking.
But I have somewhat curbed this compulsion that I have to instantly take someone's inventory and cast down my judgement and disdain upon them. It's a process. I read somewhere that all judgement comes from the ego. That really, it is only our fear of our own shortcomings that leads us to judge others. I know, I thought it was bullshit too. But I guess it couldn't hurt to try.
So if you see me around town, with a pained smile on my face, don't worry, I'm alright. I'm just trying to be nice.
I guess they were raised that way, to be considerate, empathetic, to care about the feelings of others. I wasn't raised here. I was raised in L.A.
In Southern California it's a little different. When I was growing up, the only thing you did between graphic slanders of you peer's mothers, (preferably engaged in some sort of sexual act) was to wait until your friends made even the slightest miscalculation in judgement or speech, and mercilessly slaughter them verbally; the focus on humiliation and thus hugely entertaining to any and all not targeted.
It was an unspoken competition, that everyone was entered in, but only a few enjoyed. I liked it. It was funny, and good training for the real world, or so I thought. It's good training for L.A. out there it's pretty rough, best to have your wits about you. I don't think anybody took it too seriously, although it could get heated at times. But if you couldn't take it, it was as if you were admitting to being a wuss. Pussies were not tolerated in my neighborhood. You were either one of the boys, or an outsider, a fate worse than death. So, at the risk of your mother's good name, you hung out, and took it, and hopefully held your own with those soulless, cold-hearted bastards.
Thing about soulless, cold-hearted bastards is, you hang around them long enough, you get the jacket.
Well, it's cold up here, I needed a jacket, so I brought the only one I had. I didn't think everybody up here was going to be so goddamned sensitive. Where was their sense of humor? Didn't they realize how incredibly witty I was? What are you? A fag?
Yeah, they didn't like that either. Somehow, 'fag' now referred to a gay person, and was not politically correct. Or funny. I know, totally rocked my worldview.
If you were called anything, when we were kids, you were called a fag. About a million times a day. The fun we had with those names, fag, dick shiner, butt humper. You remember 'butt humper'?!? Oh the laughs...
Well instead of being fond childhood memories, these people saw them as improper, epithets, derogatory. What a bunch of fucken sissies. Sorry. This is gonna be hard.
So, in the interest of being good natured, and because I prefer people not to hate me or think I'm Republican, I sought to calm my inner beast, and try to civilize myself and 'be nice'. It's fucken way harder than it sounds.
First of all, people are fucken stupid. Now I know, that that may come off as a tad judgemental, or slightly intolerant, but have you talked to any people lately? See, that's what I'm talking about. People give you so many reasons to dislike them that most of the time my head is swirling with disgust and the only way to relieve the pressure is to blast them with both barrels. Figuratively speaking.
But I have somewhat curbed this compulsion that I have to instantly take someone's inventory and cast down my judgement and disdain upon them. It's a process. I read somewhere that all judgement comes from the ego. That really, it is only our fear of our own shortcomings that leads us to judge others. I know, I thought it was bullshit too. But I guess it couldn't hurt to try.
So if you see me around town, with a pained smile on my face, don't worry, I'm alright. I'm just trying to be nice.
Thursday, March 22, 2012
"Waiting Room"
A good man entered a waiting room. He had always been good. He was a good child, always listening to his parents and paying heed to their advice. He did well in school, always attentive in class and diligent in his work. He made good grades and went on to college. He was respectful and well liked amongst his peers. He started a business, and because he was honest in his dealings and paid a fare wage to his employees, he was successful and he flourished. He fell in love with a good woman, whom he treated with respect, and they lovingly raised three children. He was known throughout the community as a fair and kind man, regularly giving to those in need.
He sat on a bench in the waiting room and worried that he could have done more.
A while later, an indifferent man entered the room. He had never really cared about anything, sullen in his manner. He was an indifferent child, and his parents struggled to show him the way. He was never empathetic to his classmates feelings and, in turn, not very well liked. He didn't make good grades, but neither did he fail. After school he took several jobs, not liking any, and finally stayed with a company in an entry level position, where he never advanced. He lived in a small apartment. He had no wife or pets.
He took a seat on the bench next to the good man, and wondered how long he would have to wait.
A bad man then entered the waiting room. He had been bad from the beginning. His parents had tried their best to control him, but he was simply too much to deal with. They sent him away to a military school where his masters attempted to beat it out of him. But he was hopelessly incorrigible, and he ran away to the city. He quickly fell into using drugs and began committing crimes to support his nefarious habits. He spent much time in jail, where he fought and lost often. He treated objects like women and had no friends.
He sat on a bench across from the other men and knew this would not end well.
"Are you waiting here?" said the good man to the indifferent one.
"I guess, are you?" he asked.
"That is what I was told to do." said the good man. "Are you waiting here as well?" he asked the bad man. The bad man turned his gaze from the floor momentarily, and then looked away without answering.
"It doesn't matter." said the indifferent man.
After awhile, God entered the office of Saint Peter down the hall from the waiting room.
"Good morning Lord." said Peter.
"Good morning Peter." said the Lord. "Are they all here?"
"Yes Lord, they are here, do you need their case files?"
"I know them." God said.
"Whom should I let in?" Saint Peter asked the Lord.
"Let them all in, for they are all my sons."
He sat on a bench in the waiting room and worried that he could have done more.
A while later, an indifferent man entered the room. He had never really cared about anything, sullen in his manner. He was an indifferent child, and his parents struggled to show him the way. He was never empathetic to his classmates feelings and, in turn, not very well liked. He didn't make good grades, but neither did he fail. After school he took several jobs, not liking any, and finally stayed with a company in an entry level position, where he never advanced. He lived in a small apartment. He had no wife or pets.
He took a seat on the bench next to the good man, and wondered how long he would have to wait.
A bad man then entered the waiting room. He had been bad from the beginning. His parents had tried their best to control him, but he was simply too much to deal with. They sent him away to a military school where his masters attempted to beat it out of him. But he was hopelessly incorrigible, and he ran away to the city. He quickly fell into using drugs and began committing crimes to support his nefarious habits. He spent much time in jail, where he fought and lost often. He treated objects like women and had no friends.
He sat on a bench across from the other men and knew this would not end well.
"Are you waiting here?" said the good man to the indifferent one.
"I guess, are you?" he asked.
"That is what I was told to do." said the good man. "Are you waiting here as well?" he asked the bad man. The bad man turned his gaze from the floor momentarily, and then looked away without answering.
"It doesn't matter." said the indifferent man.
After awhile, God entered the office of Saint Peter down the hall from the waiting room.
"Good morning Lord." said Peter.
"Good morning Peter." said the Lord. "Are they all here?"
"Yes Lord, they are here, do you need their case files?"
"I know them." God said.
"Whom should I let in?" Saint Peter asked the Lord.
"Let them all in, for they are all my sons."
Thursday, January 19, 2012
"Waiting for the Calm"
I walked to work the other day. It's eight point two miles. My Ipod had no charge and so I strode along with my thoughts. At first about the days agenda and other periphery musings, and then deeper until personal introspection.
I thought about my journey and how I'd gotten here. I thought about mistakes and what I'd learned. I thought a lot about how, as I've slowed down physically, I have seen also the importance of slowing down mentally. I know, many of you will say that I couldn't possibly be any slower mentally, but you're wrong.
I spent a good amount of time thinking about the past, but not being regretful. Lessons learned are hard come by, and I was better from the experience. I have the luxury of a deep bottom. I've seen it. I know. Like an immigrant from a war torn land, I'm grateful to be here.
I thought about how lucky I was to have a life and a job where I can do wacky things like walk eight miles to work, and how beautiful it is in the city, even in winter, even in the cold. I thought about how great it is to do something I don't hate, and have the love and support of my family. I thought about the chances that I would be so lucky, without something or someone looking out for me. I thought about how thankful I was that God had always looked out for me, even when I wasn't looking out for myself.
And just then, the clouds parted, just a bit, and the sun shone through, just a little, and reflected off the water, onto my face, and warmed me; and I felt loved. It was nice. It didn't last long, as it couldn't, but it was nice while it lasted, and I was thankful for it.
I looked out across the water towards the other shore, and saw that the sun had broken through at another place, and now shone on someone else for a time. As it should be. I felt lucky to have seen it, and hoped they were grateful for their time in the sun.
And just as I was thinking how grateful I was that God would look after me in such a way; I remembered that I didn't even necessarily believe in Him. I have never been sure about Him. I'd wager no one has ever been truly sure, only faithful. And the world remained largely the same, only maybe a little colder.
If He isn't there, I don't worry that He's angry, least of all with me. I've only ever been me, and can't see how I could ever be anything but, so fault has nothing to do with it. I possess very little malice, mostly for phones and mechanical equipment, so I don't think I'll be dinged too much for that. So really, no matter how you slice it, I'm not sweating it. It's not my fault man. And anyway, God is God, He doesn't get mad. Period. All these folks attributing human failings to Him, please, it's silly.
But for that moment, when the sun shines, and it warms my face, I like that world. It feels good, safe, meaningful, calm. I like that world and would choose it, if I could, for myself, my wife, my kids. I'd like to think He might look out for my son, in the same way He seems to have looked out for me.
And so I go about my day, still not sure, but willing to wait, and thankful anyway.
I thought about my journey and how I'd gotten here. I thought about mistakes and what I'd learned. I thought a lot about how, as I've slowed down physically, I have seen also the importance of slowing down mentally. I know, many of you will say that I couldn't possibly be any slower mentally, but you're wrong.
I spent a good amount of time thinking about the past, but not being regretful. Lessons learned are hard come by, and I was better from the experience. I have the luxury of a deep bottom. I've seen it. I know. Like an immigrant from a war torn land, I'm grateful to be here.
I thought about how lucky I was to have a life and a job where I can do wacky things like walk eight miles to work, and how beautiful it is in the city, even in winter, even in the cold. I thought about how great it is to do something I don't hate, and have the love and support of my family. I thought about the chances that I would be so lucky, without something or someone looking out for me. I thought about how thankful I was that God had always looked out for me, even when I wasn't looking out for myself.
And just then, the clouds parted, just a bit, and the sun shone through, just a little, and reflected off the water, onto my face, and warmed me; and I felt loved. It was nice. It didn't last long, as it couldn't, but it was nice while it lasted, and I was thankful for it.
I looked out across the water towards the other shore, and saw that the sun had broken through at another place, and now shone on someone else for a time. As it should be. I felt lucky to have seen it, and hoped they were grateful for their time in the sun.
And just as I was thinking how grateful I was that God would look after me in such a way; I remembered that I didn't even necessarily believe in Him. I have never been sure about Him. I'd wager no one has ever been truly sure, only faithful. And the world remained largely the same, only maybe a little colder.
If He isn't there, I don't worry that He's angry, least of all with me. I've only ever been me, and can't see how I could ever be anything but, so fault has nothing to do with it. I possess very little malice, mostly for phones and mechanical equipment, so I don't think I'll be dinged too much for that. So really, no matter how you slice it, I'm not sweating it. It's not my fault man. And anyway, God is God, He doesn't get mad. Period. All these folks attributing human failings to Him, please, it's silly.
But for that moment, when the sun shines, and it warms my face, I like that world. It feels good, safe, meaningful, calm. I like that world and would choose it, if I could, for myself, my wife, my kids. I'd like to think He might look out for my son, in the same way He seems to have looked out for me.
And so I go about my day, still not sure, but willing to wait, and thankful anyway.
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
"Resolute"
I feel bad. I feel bad that I won't be making any resolutions this year. I don't like them and the way they shine a light on my inability to regulate my actions. I've never had making them, positively affect my behavior, so I'm just going to stop making them. Altogether.
People always ask you, if you have any.
"Nope, I became perfect a few years back." Nosy pricks. No. I don't have any resolutions. I'm aware of my habits and I like them. So much so that they became habits.
If you have any glaring defects, ones that everybody already knows about, are you still supposed to make a fucken resolution about them? Does everyone just want you to say it out loud, so they know, that you know, that everybody fucking knows? Like some yearly intervention for losers?
"Yes, I remember when you hinted that I was fat and stupid last year, thank you." Sadistic jerks. Well, I'm not givin' 'em the satisfaction, the bastards.
How 'bout these fuckers that ask specifically if you've made a resolution dealing with an obvious shortcoming.
"Are you resolving to workout this year?"
"Yeah, I'm gonna take up boxing, are you resolving to mind your own fucken business?"
The only people that like making resolutions are hot, rich, skinny people. I hate those fuckers. The only resolution I'm willing to make, is to knock the living shit outta anyone dumb enough to piss off a fat, drunk, asshole with an anger management problem, at a New Year's Eve party.
Resolved. Now gimme a cigarette.
People always ask you, if you have any.
"Nope, I became perfect a few years back." Nosy pricks. No. I don't have any resolutions. I'm aware of my habits and I like them. So much so that they became habits.
If you have any glaring defects, ones that everybody already knows about, are you still supposed to make a fucken resolution about them? Does everyone just want you to say it out loud, so they know, that you know, that everybody fucking knows? Like some yearly intervention for losers?
"Yes, I remember when you hinted that I was fat and stupid last year, thank you." Sadistic jerks. Well, I'm not givin' 'em the satisfaction, the bastards.
How 'bout these fuckers that ask specifically if you've made a resolution dealing with an obvious shortcoming.
"Are you resolving to workout this year?"
"Yeah, I'm gonna take up boxing, are you resolving to mind your own fucken business?"
The only people that like making resolutions are hot, rich, skinny people. I hate those fuckers. The only resolution I'm willing to make, is to knock the living shit outta anyone dumb enough to piss off a fat, drunk, asshole with an anger management problem, at a New Year's Eve party.
Resolved. Now gimme a cigarette.
Monday, December 26, 2011
"An Agnostic Noel"
Nothing like the holidays to get your mind off religion. What a pesky, arcane, useless thing religion is nowadays. I know a lot of people get riled up when they think about the way Madison Ave. has hijacked the holidays from religion. And it's true. It is also true that religion had been hijacked from the people, centuries ago.
I was watching a documentary on the 'Ice Man' on PBS not long ago, (you still haven't responded to their pledge drive.) and it was saying how little, evolutionally speaking, we have changed since his time. We live a bit longer now with modern medicine and have a little length of bone from improved nutrition, but we are all Homo Erectus, and have mainly the same traits as he did. The Ice Man was lactose intolerant and had heart disease. He had tattoos, and was carrying a piece of new technology - for the time - when he was killed. He was shot from behind, probably by someone he knew. This was five thousand years ago.
My point is, that the more things change, the more they stay the same. Our bodies are decaying organic matter, and regardless of what you do, we are all going to die. Man has always possessed the newest greatest thing, and it has never once led us to Utopia. People have always been jealous of their neighbor, and in some cases killed because of it. And, of course, tattoos are just as cool as they ever were. I think we can all agree on that.
I'll tell you what we don't have in common with him. A simple belief system. The ones we have now are anything but simple and have undergone huge sea changes in their basic fundamental dogmas, countless times during our history. Religious figures have been some of the most heinous known to man. I shudder to think what some of the founders of monotheistic religions would have to say about the custodians of their faiths. You ever play 'telephone'? That's one statement, in a single room, with a handful of people; and it rapidly turns into 'purple monkey dishwasher' before your very eyes. Imagine what folks could do with an entire belief system over a few millenia.
I am an Agnostic by default. Despite what you might think, you are ALL Agnostic. Gnostic means knowledge, Agnostic literally means, without knowledge. And let me assure you, you are all without knowledge. On most subjects really, but certainly on matters of faith. Let's face it, religion deals with God, the afterlife, our purpose in the Universe. Let any among you, with a wealth of knowledge on these subjects, step forward now...
Exactly.
Don't feel bad. Nobody has a clue about any of this stuff, and I'm pretty sure the Big Guy upstairs knows it. I don't care what anybody tells you, they aren't Moses, they're not Mohammed, they've never met Jesus, and they don't know the Buddha. They are men. Just regular ol' men. Not gods, not friends of God's. As a matter of fact, when it comes to meeting the Boss, I like my chances as an Agnostic better than those of somebody that has spent a lifetime claiming to know the mind of God. Talk about speak for yourself, sheesh.
I'm not religious, but I like Jesus. In my estimation, he was a pretty good dude. He seemed to like folks and tried to do right by people, even though they rarely understood what He was saying, and usually butchered the translation in the retelling. It must have been frustrating. But PR has always been a difficult vocation, and I think He did the best He could. Working with the public is never easy, and when His Dad sent Him down here to promote the family business, I'm sure He wasn't thrilled. The budget was extremely tight in those days, no gas card or even a Diner's Club; I think the per diem was some fish and loaves in a basket. Ridiculous. But He did it with a good attitude and that's what counts.
Even though I'm not a member, I am a huge fan. I'm amazed at the restraint of Buddhists, I admire the caring nature of the Qur'an, the loyalty of Judaism and the simplistic virtue of the New Testament. I don't see many people doing it correctly, and would feel hugely hypocritical joining in, that being said, I can't have an honest discussion about my life and what I might think God would have to say to me, without being reduced to tears.
Is there a God? I don't know. I'd like to think so. I think He might be inside of us, and I think We might be Him. If He is, I'd like to apologize for things I've done in the past. Oh, and I had no idea that pop-up was for a porn site. I thought 'round the world' was a basketball term.
Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, and have a safe New Year. The Big Man loves you.
Thursday, December 15, 2011
"Permadork"
The Permadork is a rare animal. Although there are many subgenus within the species, Dorkorus Majorum, the Permadork is in a class of his own. About as common as fringe elements in any one monotheistic belief system, the Permadork is an extremist. His ability to remain self-unaware while the entire world looks at him and says,
"Are you fucken serious?!?" is unmatched in the animal kingdom.
Firstly, if you're a dork, don't get worried. The chances of you being a 'Permadork' are exceedingly low. By nature, dorks don't have much social interaction, so they tend to be smart, engaging in arcane rituals such as reading and the like. This means you only need a small shove over into cool, and in this day and age of the anti-hero, it doesn't take much. You can't be ham-handed about it, like say, dork to hipster. Too close, they'll spot that right away, no, you'll have to be clever about it.
The Reformed Dork
This is a great one because you can almost retain your same wardrobe with just a few minor adjustments. You have to sell it like you weren't always a dork and are simply 'hiding in dork's clothing' from an ambiguous dark past. No one but a felon or an ex-junkie would do this, so it lends you an air of mystery.
This role is extremely difficult to pull off, as it takes a large amount of confidence, which dorks don't commonly have.
The 'I'm Aware I'm a Dork and Wear It Like a Badge of Honor'
Again, confidence, but it makes people believe it's a choice you've made, instead of a horribly lonely existence that's been forced upon you by fate.
Ultimately, the best transformation would be to simply brand yourself as an academic, and your dorksuit allows you to fit in. But for God's sake, modify your dorksuit.
If it looks like you cut your own hair, even if you don't, get yourself a proper haircut. Running horse sheers over your skull and then shaving your sideburns equal to the top of your ears, isn't an attractive look.
No picture T-shirts! Your love of wolves or Star Wars characters doesn't broadcast 'sexy', so leave it out.
Sensible shoes are a dead giveaway. If you are wearing neon colored running shoes and are thirty pounds over-weight, you're telling people something about yourself, and it's not good. Wear something innocuous, a good pair of low-top Chuck Taylor's will serve you well. Nobody cool is concerned with arch support.
Don't act like a dork. Having forty minute conversations on a quiet bus about the virtues or shortcomings of cable T.V. vs. satellite connections, doesn't make women want to talk to you. Actually, nothing makes women want to talk to you besides being George Clooney, so you are going to have to talk to them.
Don't treat them like they're an alien, they're just people, and probably almost as dorky as you, they just hide it better. Make them laugh, preferably not at you, but humor is good and if you make them laugh, you're half-way there.
After that it's mostly just about hygiene. Try not to smell bad or poke her in the eye, and be yourself. Well, mostly yourself, try and work guitars or motorcycles into the conversation, and always pick up the tab.
Now go swashbuckle.
"Are you fucken serious?!?" is unmatched in the animal kingdom.
Firstly, if you're a dork, don't get worried. The chances of you being a 'Permadork' are exceedingly low. By nature, dorks don't have much social interaction, so they tend to be smart, engaging in arcane rituals such as reading and the like. This means you only need a small shove over into cool, and in this day and age of the anti-hero, it doesn't take much. You can't be ham-handed about it, like say, dork to hipster. Too close, they'll spot that right away, no, you'll have to be clever about it.
The Reformed Dork
This is a great one because you can almost retain your same wardrobe with just a few minor adjustments. You have to sell it like you weren't always a dork and are simply 'hiding in dork's clothing' from an ambiguous dark past. No one but a felon or an ex-junkie would do this, so it lends you an air of mystery.
This role is extremely difficult to pull off, as it takes a large amount of confidence, which dorks don't commonly have.
The 'I'm Aware I'm a Dork and Wear It Like a Badge of Honor'
Again, confidence, but it makes people believe it's a choice you've made, instead of a horribly lonely existence that's been forced upon you by fate.
Ultimately, the best transformation would be to simply brand yourself as an academic, and your dorksuit allows you to fit in. But for God's sake, modify your dorksuit.
If it looks like you cut your own hair, even if you don't, get yourself a proper haircut. Running horse sheers over your skull and then shaving your sideburns equal to the top of your ears, isn't an attractive look.
No picture T-shirts! Your love of wolves or Star Wars characters doesn't broadcast 'sexy', so leave it out.
Sensible shoes are a dead giveaway. If you are wearing neon colored running shoes and are thirty pounds over-weight, you're telling people something about yourself, and it's not good. Wear something innocuous, a good pair of low-top Chuck Taylor's will serve you well. Nobody cool is concerned with arch support.
Don't act like a dork. Having forty minute conversations on a quiet bus about the virtues or shortcomings of cable T.V. vs. satellite connections, doesn't make women want to talk to you. Actually, nothing makes women want to talk to you besides being George Clooney, so you are going to have to talk to them.
Don't treat them like they're an alien, they're just people, and probably almost as dorky as you, they just hide it better. Make them laugh, preferably not at you, but humor is good and if you make them laugh, you're half-way there.
After that it's mostly just about hygiene. Try not to smell bad or poke her in the eye, and be yourself. Well, mostly yourself, try and work guitars or motorcycles into the conversation, and always pick up the tab.
Now go swashbuckle.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
"Giiirl, You Must be Outchyour Mind."
Let's be clear about something. If you are a white person, and you try to 'ethnospeak' to black folks; you are a racist. You may indeed be a well intentioned racist, but a racist nevertheless.
Granted, there are different levels of racism. But, by definition, you are making commentary on cultural differences about black folks, to their face. And being amused by it. As if it is somehow for your entertainment.
"I'm funny how? How am I funny? Like a clown?" Yeah. Not good.
It seems to be a very one-sided street as well. I don't ever hear black people doing impressions of their white friends' speech habits.
"There's a banana stuck in my tailpipe." And if this kinda stuff is so hilarious, how come nobody shares this treat with their Asian friends? Why don't you try some Asian themed humor? On some Asians? Why? Because that would be racist. Why not ask your Hispanic buddies if they 'quieres Taco Bell' in your best Frito Bandito voice?
Black folks, I know it's hard, but try and take it as a compliment. These dorks don't realize how they sound. They just want to be cool. I know that removing your own liver with a dull grapefruit spoon would be more enjoyable than listening to one of your white friends 'drop some science' or God forbid bust a 'freestyle', but they just want to be part of your world. Not your actual world, they don't want to live next to you, no. They just want some limited interaction, where they mimic you to your face, and laugh, letting you know that they understand your little ethnic codes and nuances, and then toddle off back to the country club and slam the gate closed.
It's really not their fault. They have no real culture of their own, and since they lack imagination, they just latch on to yours. And so as you watch them parrot your lexicon and suck all the cool out of it, just be grateful you're not the only ones, and watch in confusion as white folks celebrate their real history on Cinco de Mayo.
Granted, there are different levels of racism. But, by definition, you are making commentary on cultural differences about black folks, to their face. And being amused by it. As if it is somehow for your entertainment.
"I'm funny how? How am I funny? Like a clown?" Yeah. Not good.
It seems to be a very one-sided street as well. I don't ever hear black people doing impressions of their white friends' speech habits.
"There's a banana stuck in my tailpipe." And if this kinda stuff is so hilarious, how come nobody shares this treat with their Asian friends? Why don't you try some Asian themed humor? On some Asians? Why? Because that would be racist. Why not ask your Hispanic buddies if they 'quieres Taco Bell' in your best Frito Bandito voice?
Black folks, I know it's hard, but try and take it as a compliment. These dorks don't realize how they sound. They just want to be cool. I know that removing your own liver with a dull grapefruit spoon would be more enjoyable than listening to one of your white friends 'drop some science' or God forbid bust a 'freestyle', but they just want to be part of your world. Not your actual world, they don't want to live next to you, no. They just want some limited interaction, where they mimic you to your face, and laugh, letting you know that they understand your little ethnic codes and nuances, and then toddle off back to the country club and slam the gate closed.
It's really not their fault. They have no real culture of their own, and since they lack imagination, they just latch on to yours. And so as you watch them parrot your lexicon and suck all the cool out of it, just be grateful you're not the only ones, and watch in confusion as white folks celebrate their real history on Cinco de Mayo.
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
"Juvenile"
I may not always act maturely in every given situation. This will come as a shock to my wife, I'm sure, but sometimes I even get slightly carried away. A bit.
In my defense, the things I get worked up about are no brainers; motorcycles, redheads, etc. When I like something, I really like it. I can be a bit self-centered in my pursuits, and perhaps maybe even a tad excessive. Maybe.
I kinda like being an all or nothing guy. You're either super pumped on something, or you couldn't give a shit and two nickels. Makes life easier.
Seriously, who the frig wants to be sensible all the time anyway? We don't start out that way.
When we're young, anything is possible. The problem is, at that age, you feel like you have all the time in the world; so a little goofing off couldn't hurt. Your entire life is literally ahead of you, so why rush in to some web of obligation right away? There will be plenty of time for being an adult. So, you play. You gain some confidence, and you play a little harder and, God willing, you play so hard that at some point, you scare yourself into adulthood. And that's where the fun dies. Right there, in your arms, as you helplessly watch and scream skyward as the camera pans away.
Welp, I'm just not havin' it. I don't wanna scream skyward. I don't want the fact that I am an adult to mean the death of fun. I think that might be what kills us.
You ever know anybody that worked their whole life at something they loved, and then died right after they stopped? We should all be so lucky. The trick is not to stop. Those people were having fun, and they refused to stop, so they just did what made them happy until they were done. Now they're done.
I don't want to slave away at some soul sucking task, hurry up and retire, and then just linger around like a bad smell until I rot. Not even with tapioca and Game Show Network. Yes I love tapioca and Game Show Network, I think we all do, but that's not the point. The point is, it's the journey, man. The journey. I don't mean to get all Hempfest about it, but it's true. Everybody's in such a God damn hurry; and for what?
"Race you to the grave!" Geezus, slow down, look around. See those people that are trying to talk to you? No, not the ones on Facebook. The ones in your house, at your work, in your school. Those are your friends. Talk to them. Face to face, not face to Facebook.
Trust me guys, this is all going to be over in a minute, and if you don't pay attention, you could miss it. Don't take yourself too seriously, nobody else does. All those people you're worried about what they might think? They're too busy worrying about themselves to notice anything about you. And even if they did notice, they don't care, they just care about what you think about them.
Do what you want to do. Be juvenile. Not in a Penn State kind of way of course, don't hurt anyone. But within reason, do what you like. Do what you like and live a long life. Love who you love and love them just right.
In my defense, the things I get worked up about are no brainers; motorcycles, redheads, etc. When I like something, I really like it. I can be a bit self-centered in my pursuits, and perhaps maybe even a tad excessive. Maybe.
I kinda like being an all or nothing guy. You're either super pumped on something, or you couldn't give a shit and two nickels. Makes life easier.
Seriously, who the frig wants to be sensible all the time anyway? We don't start out that way.
When we're young, anything is possible. The problem is, at that age, you feel like you have all the time in the world; so a little goofing off couldn't hurt. Your entire life is literally ahead of you, so why rush in to some web of obligation right away? There will be plenty of time for being an adult. So, you play. You gain some confidence, and you play a little harder and, God willing, you play so hard that at some point, you scare yourself into adulthood. And that's where the fun dies. Right there, in your arms, as you helplessly watch and scream skyward as the camera pans away.
Welp, I'm just not havin' it. I don't wanna scream skyward. I don't want the fact that I am an adult to mean the death of fun. I think that might be what kills us.
You ever know anybody that worked their whole life at something they loved, and then died right after they stopped? We should all be so lucky. The trick is not to stop. Those people were having fun, and they refused to stop, so they just did what made them happy until they were done. Now they're done.
I don't want to slave away at some soul sucking task, hurry up and retire, and then just linger around like a bad smell until I rot. Not even with tapioca and Game Show Network. Yes I love tapioca and Game Show Network, I think we all do, but that's not the point. The point is, it's the journey, man. The journey. I don't mean to get all Hempfest about it, but it's true. Everybody's in such a God damn hurry; and for what?
"Race you to the grave!" Geezus, slow down, look around. See those people that are trying to talk to you? No, not the ones on Facebook. The ones in your house, at your work, in your school. Those are your friends. Talk to them. Face to face, not face to Facebook.
Trust me guys, this is all going to be over in a minute, and if you don't pay attention, you could miss it. Don't take yourself too seriously, nobody else does. All those people you're worried about what they might think? They're too busy worrying about themselves to notice anything about you. And even if they did notice, they don't care, they just care about what you think about them.
Do what you want to do. Be juvenile. Not in a Penn State kind of way of course, don't hurt anyone. But within reason, do what you like. Do what you like and live a long life. Love who you love and love them just right.
Sunday, December 11, 2011
"Let Go"
"Let Go"
Fighting hard against the tides,
I struggle in the deep.
But in the end let slip the bond,
And drift off into sleep.
"Victorious"
Changes happen,
Past that, nothing.
Seize the moment,
Elsewhere wait.
Take a chance and laugh the loudest,
Look delicious,
Never break.
coupla pomes
Fighting hard against the tides,
I struggle in the deep.
But in the end let slip the bond,
And drift off into sleep.
"Victorious"
Changes happen,
Past that, nothing.
Seize the moment,
Elsewhere wait.
Take a chance and laugh the loudest,
Look delicious,
Never break.
coupla pomes
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