I wish I had a pencil-thin mustache…
So with the encouragement of my wife I have cut my facial hair into the classic pencil-thin Errol Flynn style mustache. My facial hair is lighter – more red than brown – so it doesn’t show up as good as say a jet black pinner might but you get the idea. It’s like a skinny little caterpillar perched on the upper rim of my lip. I like it. I shaved my beard into the pimp stash this morning and promptly ran a red light on the way to work. Then I started to notice something. Other guys with the same style mustache were smiling at me from their cars. And they were strange cars – primer gray gremlins and half-way restored Rancheros. Most of them wore their pimp stashes better than I am wearing mine but they’ve likely been at it longer and they all seem to cut me some slack.
I passed a mother and daughter. The young girl started crying and the mother’s mouth dropped open in horror as she tried to shield her child’s innocent eyes from my clearly experienced lip. I sneered and hit the gas. Is it me or does my truck’s engine sound a little beefier today? Not to mention my trousers aren’t fitting properly – they’ve become seriously tight in the crotch-region.
Throughout the day I notice this peculiar phenomenon. Out of four women three are mortified by my facial doo. No matter – clearly for those confident enough to sport the pimp stash it’s the fourth woman that interests them. Something like melting happens. These “fourth women” have dyed hair, tattoos, dark sunglasses and no bras. They wear tight jeans and short skirts, tank tops and tube tops. They are always looking for a good time and now I’m in their club. It makes me feel a little dirty and I like it.
Look for more about the exploits of me and my furry new friend in up-coming columns.
Death and Taxes
It’s that time of year ago when the land of the living and the land of the dead are in close proximity. We can see it in the trees and in the harvest. I dreamed last night of a friend of mine who passed away a little less than a year ago. He looked good – well nourished and thick. He said things in the dream that I’d never heard before but that seemed authentic. Towards the end of our conversation I broke down and hugged him and told him how much I missed him and then he was gone and I found myself staring up at the stars in the clear fall sky. Then I experienced a strange feeling of emptiness and content. How can you have both? Maybe someday I’ll get to ask the Buddha or wise King Solomon that question. Maybe someday I won’t care what the answer is.
In addition to communing with the dead and reaping the last fruits of our harvest it is also once again for us to pay our taxes. You don’t want to jump into those things too early. The reality of it is we’ve already paid the taxes anyway and we’ve only procrastinated in getting our refund. I feel like I’m doing my part as a patriot by lagging on collecting my refund and letting the Government accrue the interest for an extra six months. The way our government’s fiscal house is starting to crumble they need it more than the next guy!
Art Rocks!
We had the opportunity to play at another of the on-going Crux event Art Rock. These inter-active happenings combine live music with the creation of art. Basically you can show up and paint, draw, sculpt, whatever medium you work in, while a local band or musician performs accompanying music for your inspiration. It is really an amazing thing to be a part of and I fully encourage anyone with the impetus to get out there and be a part of this unique event. My understanding is that the Crux holds these gatherings every Friday and then whatever comes out of the Friday night session is displayed in the gallery for the Art Walk that takes place the next day. The Crux is located on Broadway across the street from Nobby’s and the Off Limits.
The Pimp Stash Strikes Again!
Well a particularly cute little red-head is vying for the attention of my new lip adornment so I’m wrapping this up as quick as I can. More exploits of the pimp stash as they transpire. Have a great week – I know I will.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Opening the Door to Evil
War opens doors to evil. Events transpire in wartime that the human psyche is just not equipped to deal with. Or maybe it’s equipped to deal with it all too well. You do have to figure that our ancestors saw their fair share of blood and guts. But war – this kind of war we’re involved in now. We’re killing people we don’t understand for reasons we don’t understand. It has become so abstracted. A threat to the United States doesn’t mean a threat to the lives and limbs of Americans. Now the threat of economic instability, or a threat to out financial superiority over the rest of the world, constitutes a threat to the United States of America. We are basically involved in a horrifying worldwide version of “King of the Hill,” a kindergartener’s game. There’s only one thing I know about King of the Hill, eventually the king gets toppled. That’s just the way it is.
Football Season
The Bi-Polar Nation
Football season is upon us once again. It’s a fun time for some and a frustrating time for others. I fall into the later camp – I’m a Raider fan. I’ve been a fan of the silver and black since the early 1970’s – back when Kenny “The Snake” Stabler was the quarterback and Dave “The Ghost” Caspar played tight end. I used to have a pint-sized Raider uniform - #12 – and I still have a pennant from the Super Bowl Oakland won back in early 1977.
I watched in despair when enigmatic (some might say insane) owner Al Davis moved the team from Oakland to Los Angeles and then cheered when the team moved back. Now I have mixed feeling as to whether that was a good or a bad thing for Oakland or any other city involved in Davis’ shenanigans. Aside from a run at the Super Bowl a few years back when the team had their asses handed to them by former coach John Gruden and the Tampa Bay Buccaneers the team’s been pretty dismal for the last several seasons and an opening season loss to Detroit at home is not making me feel overly optimistic for this season’s prospects either.
Who knows – being an Oakland fan is like having self-inflicted manic depression for sixteen weeks out of the year. It’s just baffling but I’ve said before that it is a good metaphor for life. Basically you have this crazy guy in a white jumpsuit sitting up in the skybox making decisions you can’t even begin to understand and all you can do is just watch and keep your fingers crossed that somehow, eventually, things will work out.
Gordo Gets a Face-Lift
The outdoor fireplace I built last year has undergone some serious repairs and renovation over the course of the summer. I finally have the structural work done and I am now in the process of applying a mosaic tile finish to the beast. My fingers are riddled with tiny little slices from handling the jagged shards of broken tile but I am feeling good about it. I think Gordo will look really nice when it’s all done. Then it will be interesting to see how well the tile holds up once we start burning everything we can fit into the fireplace.
The September Report on Iraq
General Patreaus finally gave his much anticipated remarks regarding the on-going war in Iraq. I have to say I am severely disappointed in MoveOn.org and a number of ranking democrats for questioning Patreaus’ character. MoveOn.org is running a snide campaign calling the General “General Betray-us.” I think there are better tactics to take than questioning the character of a 4-star general who has devoted his entire career to serving his country in uniform. Until this report came out General Patreaus was respected and confirmed by politicians from both sides of the aisle. Now that his report doesn’t say what some would like it to say they question the General on his autonomy, judgment, and integrity. I think it is an unfortunate attack that will only serve to more clearly polarize and stifle any meaningful debate.
Don’t get me wrong, I think our foreign policy over the last seven years has been disastrous and I don’t think it has strengthened our position in the world. But extremists on both sides have to understand that lapsing into name-calling and grand-standing only detracts from whatever arguments they are trying to make. If one is preaching to the choir and that’s all they’re concerned with then by all means – name call and use the ultra-partisan rhetoric. But if one wants to win people over to their cause then they need to be respectful of their opposition’s ideas.
Migration
I caught my first glimpse of some migratory birds making their ways north as autumn looms and winter is just around the corner. I don’t know if they were geese or swans and I’ve only seen one formation of these birds thus far. That and some of our Japanese maples are just starting to turn from green to red and orange. The days are growing shorter and it’s getting harder to get out of bed in the morning regardless of how much sleep I’m getting. So I’m thinking fall is here and winter is just around the corner. I’ll let you know how the fireplace holds up after the first decent rain-storm.
Football season is upon us once again. It’s a fun time for some and a frustrating time for others. I fall into the later camp – I’m a Raider fan. I’ve been a fan of the silver and black since the early 1970’s – back when Kenny “The Snake” Stabler was the quarterback and Dave “The Ghost” Caspar played tight end. I used to have a pint-sized Raider uniform - #12 – and I still have a pennant from the Super Bowl Oakland won back in early 1977.
I watched in despair when enigmatic (some might say insane) owner Al Davis moved the team from Oakland to Los Angeles and then cheered when the team moved back. Now I have mixed feeling as to whether that was a good or a bad thing for Oakland or any other city involved in Davis’ shenanigans. Aside from a run at the Super Bowl a few years back when the team had their asses handed to them by former coach John Gruden and the Tampa Bay Buccaneers the team’s been pretty dismal for the last several seasons and an opening season loss to Detroit at home is not making me feel overly optimistic for this season’s prospects either.
Who knows – being an Oakland fan is like having self-inflicted manic depression for sixteen weeks out of the year. It’s just baffling but I’ve said before that it is a good metaphor for life. Basically you have this crazy guy in a white jumpsuit sitting up in the skybox making decisions you can’t even begin to understand and all you can do is just watch and keep your fingers crossed that somehow, eventually, things will work out.
Gordo Gets a Face-Lift
The outdoor fireplace I built last year has undergone some serious repairs and renovation over the course of the summer. I finally have the structural work done and I am now in the process of applying a mosaic tile finish to the beast. My fingers are riddled with tiny little slices from handling the jagged shards of broken tile but I am feeling good about it. I think Gordo will look really nice when it’s all done. Then it will be interesting to see how well the tile holds up once we start burning everything we can fit into the fireplace.
The September Report on Iraq
General Patreaus finally gave his much anticipated remarks regarding the on-going war in Iraq. I have to say I am severely disappointed in MoveOn.org and a number of ranking democrats for questioning Patreaus’ character. MoveOn.org is running a snide campaign calling the General “General Betray-us.” I think there are better tactics to take than questioning the character of a 4-star general who has devoted his entire career to serving his country in uniform. Until this report came out General Patreaus was respected and confirmed by politicians from both sides of the aisle. Now that his report doesn’t say what some would like it to say they question the General on his autonomy, judgment, and integrity. I think it is an unfortunate attack that will only serve to more clearly polarize and stifle any meaningful debate.
Don’t get me wrong, I think our foreign policy over the last seven years has been disastrous and I don’t think it has strengthened our position in the world. But extremists on both sides have to understand that lapsing into name-calling and grand-standing only detracts from whatever arguments they are trying to make. If one is preaching to the choir and that’s all they’re concerned with then by all means – name call and use the ultra-partisan rhetoric. But if one wants to win people over to their cause then they need to be respectful of their opposition’s ideas.
Migration
I caught my first glimpse of some migratory birds making their ways north as autumn looms and winter is just around the corner. I don’t know if they were geese or swans and I’ve only seen one formation of these birds thus far. That and some of our Japanese maples are just starting to turn from green to red and orange. The days are growing shorter and it’s getting harder to get out of bed in the morning regardless of how much sleep I’m getting. So I’m thinking fall is here and winter is just around the corner. I’ll let you know how the fireplace holds up after the first decent rain-storm.
The Summer of Petty Jealousy
This summer marks the 30th anniversary of the legendary “Summer of Love” and everywhere I turn, from the pages of Rolling Stone Magazine, to the hippy burn-out living in a van parked in my alley-way, somebody wants to tell me how great the 60’s were. And I don’t doubt it – the advent of the birth control pill and LSD at precisely the same cosmic moment. An unpopular war being telecast every night and uniting a whole generation of long-haired pot smokers with slogans like “turn on, tune in, drop out,” and “be here now.” Experimental drugs, experimental music, experimental sex. It sounds like a day-glo nightmare or a psychedelic paradise depending on your point of view. And I’m jealous. I’m not too big to admit it. I am jealous as hell of the people who got to come of age in such a revolutionary era.
I’m also sick of hearing about it. Because look, when the summer of love happened I was four years away from existing. I was born in 1971 – the summer of rock-stars dropping dead from overdoses and the free clinics filling up with tweakers and syphilis patients.
Some people love to hear stories about that magical time that was the 1960’s. I came of age in the 1980’s. No one has ever asked me to regale them with stories about the 1980’s. It seems to be a natural phenomenon that people always want to tell you that life was better when they were young but kids I am here to say that if anyone tries to tell you that the 1980’s were better than today they are full of shit. The 1980’s stunk on ice. We had Nancy Reagan telling everyone to say “NO” to drugs while Ronald Reagan cut the funding for all mental patients except those who would pose a physical threat of violence if they were released from their asylums. Meanwhile while the Gipper could not be bothered to show compassion to our most vulnerable citizens he was perfectly willing to spend trillions of dollars on a nuclear arsenal capable of blowing up the world 250 times over. In an ironic twist of fate Reagan cut federal funding for Alzheimer’s research. Today people credit Reagan with winning the Cold War. You’ve got to hand it to him, he had good timing. But what do you expect? He was an actor. The Soviet Union collapsed inward because of corruption. It would have happened eventually no matter who was in office. Aside from that today Russia views the United States as its number one threat so as far as I can tell the Cold War is still set on simmer. We just had a fun little artificial celebration there.
We had AIDS so that was fun. Now not only could drugs kill you but so could sex. Ridiculous. The kids from the 60’s get free love and my generation gets death. Cold sores and crabs just weren’t good enough I guess. We still have AIDS now but for some reason it doesn’t seem like as big of a deal. It know it still is but I’m telling you in the 1980’s it was like “if you get laid you’re gonna die!” As if me and my high-school hacky-sacking buddies needed help not scoring with the ladies.
And the music – Motley Crue, Iron Maiden, old Metallica. Well alright, the music was bitching! But what about all that other crap? OMD, The Thompson Twins, Depeche Mode? Yuck. The 80’s were definitely a confusing time.
Talk about confusing though – I’ve never seen anything as completely befuddling as the 2000’s. It’s hard to even figure out what to call it. The 00’s? The “oughts?” I don’t know. But here we have a war – a full-on blood and guts war with hundreds of people being blown apart every single day. But the news won’t show it and the government won’t make us pay for it so for a lot of the folks at home it’s just life as usual. A handful of citizens are shouldering the entire burden of what has been called by our commander in chief the defining struggle of our lifetime. As a result there is no cohesive anti-war movement and that is no accident. Most of the people in power today were in power when Vietnam was raging and they’ve learned how not to make those mistakes again.
The reason the 60’s stands alone as such a wondrous and fascinating time is because the 60’s ended. The powers that be crushed the dawning Age of Aquarius and the work and change that had begun was not completed. The promise of peace was broken. Ideals were sold out. It’s been 30 years since the Summer of Love – since as a culture we turned our back on war. People joined together in peace and love. So why are we still allowing wars to be fought on our watch?
I’m also sick of hearing about it. Because look, when the summer of love happened I was four years away from existing. I was born in 1971 – the summer of rock-stars dropping dead from overdoses and the free clinics filling up with tweakers and syphilis patients.
Some people love to hear stories about that magical time that was the 1960’s. I came of age in the 1980’s. No one has ever asked me to regale them with stories about the 1980’s. It seems to be a natural phenomenon that people always want to tell you that life was better when they were young but kids I am here to say that if anyone tries to tell you that the 1980’s were better than today they are full of shit. The 1980’s stunk on ice. We had Nancy Reagan telling everyone to say “NO” to drugs while Ronald Reagan cut the funding for all mental patients except those who would pose a physical threat of violence if they were released from their asylums. Meanwhile while the Gipper could not be bothered to show compassion to our most vulnerable citizens he was perfectly willing to spend trillions of dollars on a nuclear arsenal capable of blowing up the world 250 times over. In an ironic twist of fate Reagan cut federal funding for Alzheimer’s research. Today people credit Reagan with winning the Cold War. You’ve got to hand it to him, he had good timing. But what do you expect? He was an actor. The Soviet Union collapsed inward because of corruption. It would have happened eventually no matter who was in office. Aside from that today Russia views the United States as its number one threat so as far as I can tell the Cold War is still set on simmer. We just had a fun little artificial celebration there.
We had AIDS so that was fun. Now not only could drugs kill you but so could sex. Ridiculous. The kids from the 60’s get free love and my generation gets death. Cold sores and crabs just weren’t good enough I guess. We still have AIDS now but for some reason it doesn’t seem like as big of a deal. It know it still is but I’m telling you in the 1980’s it was like “if you get laid you’re gonna die!” As if me and my high-school hacky-sacking buddies needed help not scoring with the ladies.
And the music – Motley Crue, Iron Maiden, old Metallica. Well alright, the music was bitching! But what about all that other crap? OMD, The Thompson Twins, Depeche Mode? Yuck. The 80’s were definitely a confusing time.
Talk about confusing though – I’ve never seen anything as completely befuddling as the 2000’s. It’s hard to even figure out what to call it. The 00’s? The “oughts?” I don’t know. But here we have a war – a full-on blood and guts war with hundreds of people being blown apart every single day. But the news won’t show it and the government won’t make us pay for it so for a lot of the folks at home it’s just life as usual. A handful of citizens are shouldering the entire burden of what has been called by our commander in chief the defining struggle of our lifetime. As a result there is no cohesive anti-war movement and that is no accident. Most of the people in power today were in power when Vietnam was raging and they’ve learned how not to make those mistakes again.
The reason the 60’s stands alone as such a wondrous and fascinating time is because the 60’s ended. The powers that be crushed the dawning Age of Aquarius and the work and change that had begun was not completed. The promise of peace was broken. Ideals were sold out. It’s been 30 years since the Summer of Love – since as a culture we turned our back on war. People joined together in peace and love. So why are we still allowing wars to be fought on our watch?
The Law
Death for Adultery
The human rights community is up in arms over the recent stoning to death of an Iranian man in punishment for the crime of adultery. The woman involved in the crime is also scheduled to be stoned to death but activists are scrambling to head-off the execution.
Everybody Must Get Stoned
Stoning as a sentence is some old school punishment that dates back to the wonderfully harsh Old Testament. The actual procedure involves burying the victim to their waist in the sand and then pelting them with stones that are picked to be small enough that they will not immediately render the victim unconscious or dead but large enough to cause damage and death over time. An incredibly lingering and painful death is thus ensured. Stoning as a sentence is typically meted out for the charge of adultery. They take their extramarital nookie very seriously over their in parts of the Middle East.
Death for Accepting Bribes
Zheng Xiayu, the head of China’s food and drug watchdog group was executed last Tuesday for taking bribes to approve a series of bad antibiotics that resulted in the death of many Chinese citizens. China is in the midst of a very interesting period right now. They have become a viable world economic power almost overnight and as a result a society that was once very closed and a government that is still very top-heavy and not exactly democratic by Canadian standards is being forced to adjust on the fly. Personally I think Xiayu was more or less caught in the lurch. Ten years ago a government official taking bribes at the expense of the lives of Chinese citizens would probably not have raised an eyebrow. Today the people are demanding greater accountability from their government officials and Xiayu has become an example of this phenomenon.
Good News From the Middle East
What? No way. Yeah really. BBC reporter Alan Jonhston has been released after being held for 114 days in the Gaza strip.
Israeli cabinet agrees to Prisoner Release
In a move designed to bolster support for Palestinian President Mahmoud Abbas the Israeli government has agreed to release 250 Palestinian prisoners. This only makes sense. I mean, come on, governments can’t just grab people off the streets and inter them indefinitely without any charges being filed or granting the prisoners access to legal representation and a fair trial. Right? They can’t, can they? I mean, what civilized nation in the year 2007 would do such a thing?
Meanwhile Back in the U.K.
Metallica front-man/hellion James Hetfield was detained by airport security for wearing a “Taliban-esque” beard. Reminds me of a column Maxim once ran called “Bum or Rock-Star” in which photographs of famous rock musicians were juxtaposed with photographs of homeless people.
Meanwhile Back in America
Well if you didn’t already know it Alberto Gonzalez, the U.S. Attorney General and George W. Bush’s favorite bed-buddy, is a liar. In the latest blow to his already shaky (maybe non-existent is a better word) credibility it has been revealed that only days before testifying that there had been no verified civil rights violations Gonzales had indeed reviewed memos detailing abuses. The highest attorney in the land has again utilized the slippery double-speak of the Bush administration to try and worm out from under the charges. And these guys accused Clinton of being slippery. At least Bill was better at it.
The Law Comes to Chico
And right here in our own sleepy little berg it’s been decided that we need more law in order to regulate, of all things, mosh pits and parties. A new ordinance has already been passed giving police more authority to quell aggressive parties and an ordinance regulating slam-dancing is being considered by the council.
Death of an Anarchist
I used to fancy myself a bit of an anarchist but lately I have to admit I’ve changed my tune. Over the course of the past year I have been exposed to a portion of that minor percentage of the population for which the bulk of laws are created - assholes. I’ve simply run across too many assholes who, were there no laws, would wreck it for the rest of us. Thanks a lot jerks.
The human rights community is up in arms over the recent stoning to death of an Iranian man in punishment for the crime of adultery. The woman involved in the crime is also scheduled to be stoned to death but activists are scrambling to head-off the execution.
Everybody Must Get Stoned
Stoning as a sentence is some old school punishment that dates back to the wonderfully harsh Old Testament. The actual procedure involves burying the victim to their waist in the sand and then pelting them with stones that are picked to be small enough that they will not immediately render the victim unconscious or dead but large enough to cause damage and death over time. An incredibly lingering and painful death is thus ensured. Stoning as a sentence is typically meted out for the charge of adultery. They take their extramarital nookie very seriously over their in parts of the Middle East.
Death for Accepting Bribes
Zheng Xiayu, the head of China’s food and drug watchdog group was executed last Tuesday for taking bribes to approve a series of bad antibiotics that resulted in the death of many Chinese citizens. China is in the midst of a very interesting period right now. They have become a viable world economic power almost overnight and as a result a society that was once very closed and a government that is still very top-heavy and not exactly democratic by Canadian standards is being forced to adjust on the fly. Personally I think Xiayu was more or less caught in the lurch. Ten years ago a government official taking bribes at the expense of the lives of Chinese citizens would probably not have raised an eyebrow. Today the people are demanding greater accountability from their government officials and Xiayu has become an example of this phenomenon.
Good News From the Middle East
What? No way. Yeah really. BBC reporter Alan Jonhston has been released after being held for 114 days in the Gaza strip.
Israeli cabinet agrees to Prisoner Release
In a move designed to bolster support for Palestinian President Mahmoud Abbas the Israeli government has agreed to release 250 Palestinian prisoners. This only makes sense. I mean, come on, governments can’t just grab people off the streets and inter them indefinitely without any charges being filed or granting the prisoners access to legal representation and a fair trial. Right? They can’t, can they? I mean, what civilized nation in the year 2007 would do such a thing?
Meanwhile Back in the U.K.
Metallica front-man/hellion James Hetfield was detained by airport security for wearing a “Taliban-esque” beard. Reminds me of a column Maxim once ran called “Bum or Rock-Star” in which photographs of famous rock musicians were juxtaposed with photographs of homeless people.
Meanwhile Back in America
Well if you didn’t already know it Alberto Gonzalez, the U.S. Attorney General and George W. Bush’s favorite bed-buddy, is a liar. In the latest blow to his already shaky (maybe non-existent is a better word) credibility it has been revealed that only days before testifying that there had been no verified civil rights violations Gonzales had indeed reviewed memos detailing abuses. The highest attorney in the land has again utilized the slippery double-speak of the Bush administration to try and worm out from under the charges. And these guys accused Clinton of being slippery. At least Bill was better at it.
The Law Comes to Chico
And right here in our own sleepy little berg it’s been decided that we need more law in order to regulate, of all things, mosh pits and parties. A new ordinance has already been passed giving police more authority to quell aggressive parties and an ordinance regulating slam-dancing is being considered by the council.
Death of an Anarchist
I used to fancy myself a bit of an anarchist but lately I have to admit I’ve changed my tune. Over the course of the past year I have been exposed to a portion of that minor percentage of the population for which the bulk of laws are created - assholes. I’ve simply run across too many assholes who, were there no laws, would wreck it for the rest of us. Thanks a lot jerks.
Sugar Highs and Artificial Lows
Pop Tart Melt-Down!
Sometimes I like to pretend I stay above the fray but honestly I’m just like everyone else – I can’t keep my eyes off a train wreck - and both Britney Spears and Lindsay Lohan have been heaping on extra helpings of guilty pleasure.
The wonderfully trashy Ms. Spears has decided it would be a good idea to fire her entire management and handle her own business affairs. Days after the management massacre she was seen leaving a restaurant followed by a couple of somewhat seedy looking business-men grinning from ear to ear and holding piles of signed documents. One can only speculate as to what genius financial dealings the “Toxic” superstar has signed onto. After the business lunch Britney and a friend decided it would be a fun time to strip down to their panties and bras – with the paparazzi in tow – and take an afternoon dip in the chilly Pacific Ocean on Malibu Bay. Once again Britney is blazing new trails of professionalism.
In slightly more troubling news just two weeks out of rehab, and making a big show out of her sobriety, Lindsay Lohan has been arrested for driving under the influence and possession and trafficking of narcotics. It seems that the hard-partying just turned twenty-one year old actress chased down the mother of her former personal assistant, who had quit only the day before, and proceeded to get into a heated argument with the terrified woman. Not initially understanding that it was Lohan behind her the woman called the police and the rest is history. Lohan failed the field sobriety test, blew a .13 blood alcohol count, and then police searched her Denali and founded a bag of cocaine. Note to Lindsay – if you’re going to get drunk and chase down your former staff’s parents make sure and leave your blow at home!
I don’t know what to think of these young starlets. Honestly I can’t imagine how I would’ve acted if I’d been rich and famous and had photographers following my every move before I was even of legal drinking age. Thank god I don’t have to. I suppose that may be attractive to younger people but honestly I don’t think celebrity is all its cracked up to be – especially when the celebrity comes so young and, at least in the case of Ms.Spears, with so little actual substance behind it. My juries still undecided on Lohan – she might be a relatively talented actress. Hopefully someday she’ll get her head screwed on straight and allow us to find out.
The Dumb of Now and a Fluff-Based Economy
The gasoline companies did it. I distinctly recall having the conversation a couple of years ago when gas prices went up to $2.25 per gallon. Then everyone was relieved when the prices dropped back down to $1.99. A friend of mine and I decided it was only a matter of time before they’d pull the same stunt with $3.00/gallon prices and well, that time came pretty darn quick if you ask me. It isn’t even subtle. They raise the prices up to nearly three and a half dollars a gallon and then drop it down to $2.99 and people on the local news are going “oh it’s so great that gas prices are dropping.” They aren’t dropping people. They are going through the fucking roof and the oil industry is once again making record profits. Come on – I’m all for living in the moment but lets not turn our brains off in the process or our asses will really start getting sore.
I have to tell you that the time is coming to start getting our spending under control. Put money in the bank, or maybe even under your mattress. Get those credit cards paid down. Forsake the $5 cups of coffee and the $60 phone bills. This fluff-based, debt-driven, consumption-fueled economy is just a few interest points away from crumbling and a few more away from collapsing entirely. Everything is tied to gasoline prices and right now the Feds are pulling out rabbits from their hats to keep inflation from igniting. The rabbit population is starting to wane.
Ah Manton
A world away from all this artificial Hollywood consumption is only an hour and a half from Chico in the sprawling foothill community that is Manton, California. 2 Drink and I were privileged enough to share a bill with the Liz Merry Aaron Standish comedy troupe and it was a refreshing and thoroughly enjoyable experience. We played in a hundred-plus year old building called the Manton Corners that reminded me of photos I’ve seen of the Grand Ol Opry back in the 1940’s. The crowd was boisterous and welcoming and it was a show I’ll never forget. Can’t wait to get back up there, maybe someday for good.
Sometimes I like to pretend I stay above the fray but honestly I’m just like everyone else – I can’t keep my eyes off a train wreck - and both Britney Spears and Lindsay Lohan have been heaping on extra helpings of guilty pleasure.
The wonderfully trashy Ms. Spears has decided it would be a good idea to fire her entire management and handle her own business affairs. Days after the management massacre she was seen leaving a restaurant followed by a couple of somewhat seedy looking business-men grinning from ear to ear and holding piles of signed documents. One can only speculate as to what genius financial dealings the “Toxic” superstar has signed onto. After the business lunch Britney and a friend decided it would be a fun time to strip down to their panties and bras – with the paparazzi in tow – and take an afternoon dip in the chilly Pacific Ocean on Malibu Bay. Once again Britney is blazing new trails of professionalism.
In slightly more troubling news just two weeks out of rehab, and making a big show out of her sobriety, Lindsay Lohan has been arrested for driving under the influence and possession and trafficking of narcotics. It seems that the hard-partying just turned twenty-one year old actress chased down the mother of her former personal assistant, who had quit only the day before, and proceeded to get into a heated argument with the terrified woman. Not initially understanding that it was Lohan behind her the woman called the police and the rest is history. Lohan failed the field sobriety test, blew a .13 blood alcohol count, and then police searched her Denali and founded a bag of cocaine. Note to Lindsay – if you’re going to get drunk and chase down your former staff’s parents make sure and leave your blow at home!
I don’t know what to think of these young starlets. Honestly I can’t imagine how I would’ve acted if I’d been rich and famous and had photographers following my every move before I was even of legal drinking age. Thank god I don’t have to. I suppose that may be attractive to younger people but honestly I don’t think celebrity is all its cracked up to be – especially when the celebrity comes so young and, at least in the case of Ms.Spears, with so little actual substance behind it. My juries still undecided on Lohan – she might be a relatively talented actress. Hopefully someday she’ll get her head screwed on straight and allow us to find out.
The Dumb of Now and a Fluff-Based Economy
The gasoline companies did it. I distinctly recall having the conversation a couple of years ago when gas prices went up to $2.25 per gallon. Then everyone was relieved when the prices dropped back down to $1.99. A friend of mine and I decided it was only a matter of time before they’d pull the same stunt with $3.00/gallon prices and well, that time came pretty darn quick if you ask me. It isn’t even subtle. They raise the prices up to nearly three and a half dollars a gallon and then drop it down to $2.99 and people on the local news are going “oh it’s so great that gas prices are dropping.” They aren’t dropping people. They are going through the fucking roof and the oil industry is once again making record profits. Come on – I’m all for living in the moment but lets not turn our brains off in the process or our asses will really start getting sore.
I have to tell you that the time is coming to start getting our spending under control. Put money in the bank, or maybe even under your mattress. Get those credit cards paid down. Forsake the $5 cups of coffee and the $60 phone bills. This fluff-based, debt-driven, consumption-fueled economy is just a few interest points away from crumbling and a few more away from collapsing entirely. Everything is tied to gasoline prices and right now the Feds are pulling out rabbits from their hats to keep inflation from igniting. The rabbit population is starting to wane.
Ah Manton
A world away from all this artificial Hollywood consumption is only an hour and a half from Chico in the sprawling foothill community that is Manton, California. 2 Drink and I were privileged enough to share a bill with the Liz Merry Aaron Standish comedy troupe and it was a refreshing and thoroughly enjoyable experience. We played in a hundred-plus year old building called the Manton Corners that reminded me of photos I’ve seen of the Grand Ol Opry back in the 1940’s. The crowd was boisterous and welcoming and it was a show I’ll never forget. Can’t wait to get back up there, maybe someday for good.
Some Cultures are Wrong
I stopped eating meat about a year and a half ago. It was Barbaro, that magnificent Kentucky Derby winning racehorse who broke his mind leg in the Preakness, that triggered the decision. It’s a personal decision and one that works for me at this point in my life.
I try to avoid the politics of it all but with Michael Vick and professional dog-fighting making daily headlines I guess the time has come to write about my decision and about this schism in our society.
It has been said that a society is only as good as it treats its poorest, most helpless citizens and I would argue that how a society treats animals is also an indication of the culture. On both these fronts I am afraid that the good old U.S. of A is not doing so hot.
It isn’t eating meat that I have a problem with – in fact I’ve eaten duck a friend of mine shot. I figure that the duck was living free and had a good life before it was killed. I would eat an animal if I knew it had been treated humanely, lived a good life, and been slaughtered in a conscientious manner. Instead most of the meat we eat comes from factory farms. The animals spend their lives in cages pumped full of antibiotics so they don’t die from infections that spread like wild-fire, scared and living in squalor. The separation between American consumers and what we eat bothers me. I think if most of us saw the inside of a slaughterhouse we would probably never eat meat again – and we know this. So what do we do? We generally do our best to avoid understanding where our food comes from. We are willfully ignorant about the fuel we put into our bodies everyday.
You know in my mind there is no doubt that animals feel. My wife and I are admittedly dog nuts. Our two dogs Billy and Pooh Pooh are a part of our family. To the extreme. They sleep in bed with us, they sit on the furniture. They have transcended the title of “dogs” and become little four-legged people who can’t speak properly and wear fur coats year round. But I know they feel. They get scared during thunderstorms, they get happy when we are happy. The can sometimes be anxious, lonely, or depressed.
I can’t imagine how these dogs who are forced to participate in dog-fights feel when the fight is over. Brutalized, torn apart, injured, dying – forsaken by the masters that they loved, trained, fought, and died for. And then these beautiful animals are just cast aside like trash. I just can’t understand it. I do understand the argument that dog-fights are part of a culture – but to me that just calls into question the character and validity of an entire culture. Saying it is part of a culture doesn’t make it right. Racism, sexism, and child molestation are all part of cultures –sickening and disgusting cultures that should be abolished. Some cultures are just dead wrong and a culture that brutalizes animals for entertainment is one of these.
I try to avoid the politics of it all but with Michael Vick and professional dog-fighting making daily headlines I guess the time has come to write about my decision and about this schism in our society.
It has been said that a society is only as good as it treats its poorest, most helpless citizens and I would argue that how a society treats animals is also an indication of the culture. On both these fronts I am afraid that the good old U.S. of A is not doing so hot.
It isn’t eating meat that I have a problem with – in fact I’ve eaten duck a friend of mine shot. I figure that the duck was living free and had a good life before it was killed. I would eat an animal if I knew it had been treated humanely, lived a good life, and been slaughtered in a conscientious manner. Instead most of the meat we eat comes from factory farms. The animals spend their lives in cages pumped full of antibiotics so they don’t die from infections that spread like wild-fire, scared and living in squalor. The separation between American consumers and what we eat bothers me. I think if most of us saw the inside of a slaughterhouse we would probably never eat meat again – and we know this. So what do we do? We generally do our best to avoid understanding where our food comes from. We are willfully ignorant about the fuel we put into our bodies everyday.
You know in my mind there is no doubt that animals feel. My wife and I are admittedly dog nuts. Our two dogs Billy and Pooh Pooh are a part of our family. To the extreme. They sleep in bed with us, they sit on the furniture. They have transcended the title of “dogs” and become little four-legged people who can’t speak properly and wear fur coats year round. But I know they feel. They get scared during thunderstorms, they get happy when we are happy. The can sometimes be anxious, lonely, or depressed.
I can’t imagine how these dogs who are forced to participate in dog-fights feel when the fight is over. Brutalized, torn apart, injured, dying – forsaken by the masters that they loved, trained, fought, and died for. And then these beautiful animals are just cast aside like trash. I just can’t understand it. I do understand the argument that dog-fights are part of a culture – but to me that just calls into question the character and validity of an entire culture. Saying it is part of a culture doesn’t make it right. Racism, sexism, and child molestation are all part of cultures –sickening and disgusting cultures that should be abolished. Some cultures are just dead wrong and a culture that brutalizes animals for entertainment is one of these.
Lilian's Tea
This time of the year – with the leaves turning and the light quality changing – it calls for a little break from reality. Sometimes that might come in the form of a good binge on alcohol; other times maybe some transcendental meditation. Then there’s the afternoon tea party. This year was the year of the afternoon tea party and so I took a little trip over the weekend. A few score of miles down the dusty back roads past the old shot out refrigerator, through the oaks and park the car and then it’s a scramble through the poison oak and coyote brush and then your almost there. It was early in the afternoon when Trish and I stumbled across a make-shift bridge over a dry creek bed and down a slight crease in the hill where Lilian’s trailer is parked. Planted is more like it. The old fiberglass shell hasn’t been moved for years and the grasses and thistle grow through it and around it. Little purple and yellow wildflowers are spotted here and there as well.
Lilian is dressed in her usual – a white flowing dress to match her long flowing light brown hair with flowers behind her ears. I have no idea how old she might be. I know she’s lived in that trailer for more than twenty years – longer than my wife has been in Chico – but her age is impossible to gauge. She could be thirty as easily as fifty – though simple math suggests she’s closer to the later. Her teeth are white and straight and she almost always smiles. I saw her frown and shed a tear once after a cat friend of hers died but then five minutes later she was smiling again. She understands the efficiency of positive thinking but I’ve never been able to convince myself of the notion.
Back in town they’re fighting over a disorderly events ordinance – by the time you read this it will either have been approved or not. Overseas they’re fighting and dying in the streets for reasons nobody clearly understands. But today, here an hour away from Chico we are drinking tea.
There is nothing like Lilian’s tea. It is sweet and thick with honey and slightly blue. I don’t know what she puts in it – I don’t ask and if I did I know her answer would be vague. “A little of this and a little of that.” You know the story. I drink a glass of that tea and I am smiling before it’s even half gone. My eyes can see. The world looks bright and shiny new again. This must have been how it looked to Adam and Eve – maybe the snake too.
Eventually we end up back in that garden. The clothing disappears somewhere. Who knows where? The nudists tell you not to look at the naughty bits but we look and they are not naughty anymore. We laugh because there is no reason not to. My wife and I disappear to spend some time alone together. Time has become strange and shifty. It doesn’t matter. In an oak grove we stumble across a minstrel in a dark suit drinking from a bottle of gin and taking a wiz. His teeth are bad and his hair is shockingly red. He smiles through mangled teeth and his laugh is a prolonged wheeze. Then he sings us a tune as sweet as any we’d ever heard. He is like a bird and then he disappears but joins us all later at the trailer for a cup of Lilian’s tea.
Eventually night falls and the bugs come out but they don’t bite. We laugh with them as they flit about us in the twilight.
Lilian starts a small fire and over time it grows larger until we are warmed and illuminated by it and then we begin to see the old gods, and the ancient gods swarming around us like the mosquitoes earlier. We don’t pray to them – we don’t have to. They are here with us. We only smile and cry and laugh and sing and wonder at this incredible world and the why of it all. Then those thoughts are gone too and we just are – one with everything and nothing, one with everything we can see and one with everything we cannot, everything that is there and the things that are not. My skin tingles and burns and disappears. Trish is a smiling pool of luminosity. I cannot keep a straight face. I cannot consciously do anything anymore except to love and to be loved and to be.
Lilian’s Tea.
Lilian is dressed in her usual – a white flowing dress to match her long flowing light brown hair with flowers behind her ears. I have no idea how old she might be. I know she’s lived in that trailer for more than twenty years – longer than my wife has been in Chico – but her age is impossible to gauge. She could be thirty as easily as fifty – though simple math suggests she’s closer to the later. Her teeth are white and straight and she almost always smiles. I saw her frown and shed a tear once after a cat friend of hers died but then five minutes later she was smiling again. She understands the efficiency of positive thinking but I’ve never been able to convince myself of the notion.
Back in town they’re fighting over a disorderly events ordinance – by the time you read this it will either have been approved or not. Overseas they’re fighting and dying in the streets for reasons nobody clearly understands. But today, here an hour away from Chico we are drinking tea.
There is nothing like Lilian’s tea. It is sweet and thick with honey and slightly blue. I don’t know what she puts in it – I don’t ask and if I did I know her answer would be vague. “A little of this and a little of that.” You know the story. I drink a glass of that tea and I am smiling before it’s even half gone. My eyes can see. The world looks bright and shiny new again. This must have been how it looked to Adam and Eve – maybe the snake too.
Eventually we end up back in that garden. The clothing disappears somewhere. Who knows where? The nudists tell you not to look at the naughty bits but we look and they are not naughty anymore. We laugh because there is no reason not to. My wife and I disappear to spend some time alone together. Time has become strange and shifty. It doesn’t matter. In an oak grove we stumble across a minstrel in a dark suit drinking from a bottle of gin and taking a wiz. His teeth are bad and his hair is shockingly red. He smiles through mangled teeth and his laugh is a prolonged wheeze. Then he sings us a tune as sweet as any we’d ever heard. He is like a bird and then he disappears but joins us all later at the trailer for a cup of Lilian’s tea.
Eventually night falls and the bugs come out but they don’t bite. We laugh with them as they flit about us in the twilight.
Lilian starts a small fire and over time it grows larger until we are warmed and illuminated by it and then we begin to see the old gods, and the ancient gods swarming around us like the mosquitoes earlier. We don’t pray to them – we don’t have to. They are here with us. We only smile and cry and laugh and sing and wonder at this incredible world and the why of it all. Then those thoughts are gone too and we just are – one with everything and nothing, one with everything we can see and one with everything we cannot, everything that is there and the things that are not. My skin tingles and burns and disappears. Trish is a smiling pool of luminosity. I cannot keep a straight face. I cannot consciously do anything anymore except to love and to be loved and to be.
Lilian’s Tea.
Jesus Camp
Indoctrination and Isolation
We watched a truly scary documentary film this weekend called “Jesus Camp.” The film follows a handul of Evangelical Christian children as they attend church and then a summer camp in Devil’s Lake, Idaho. The children put on Christian-themed plays and musicals and listen to a series of different speakers talking about issues like abortion and, well, mostly abortion really. The children get up and testify – they talk about how they have been “saved.” Mind you these kids are all of ten years old and they are up on stage talking about how their lives were empty before they found Christ. The kids are encouraged by the counselors to address their sinfulness and to beg for their forgiveness. Many of the kids spontaneously break down and cry – some are huddled in heaps on the ground, rocking and weeping because of their alleged wickedness. One particularly horrifying counselor condemns Harry Potter and rails against Americans inability to fast. This I found confusing as this counselor had to be pushing three hundred pounds. Interestingly this same counselor seemed to have a great deal of respect for the Islamic suicide bombers because of their zealotry and their willingness to die for their religion. She seems to be perplexed by the fact that American Christians don’t have the same devotion to their faith and she speaks of creating “children soldiers” to fight in the name of Christ. Another obvious ex-drug addict attacks the concept of evolution and takes the children on a field trip to Washington D.C. where they tape their mouths shut with red tape and write the word “Life” across it.
At first the film just pissed me off. The words “child abuse” and “ignorant” came up frequently during and after the viewing. I felt an urge to punch people. Initially I felt like the film was a waste of time because ultimately it pointed out a problem I am powerless to change. If people want to believe something I think is preposterous and if they want to home-school their children and indoctrinate them with those same beliefs there isn’t a whole lot I can do about it.
But I’ve been thinking about it a lot over the last couple of days and I realize that there are things we can do about it on an institutional level. First off we need to be aware of the phenomenon. 25% of the American population is Evangelical Christian. That is a huge voting block. As a group they want more Christianity in government. They do not believe in a separation of church and state, they are not tolerant, and they are angry that religion has been ejected from the public school system.
Second we need to realize the code-language they employ. School vouchers sounds like a good idea – people should be able to choose where their children go to school. But the school voucher issue is being pushed mostly by Evangelicals who are fearful of the public school system and want to be able to use public monies to send their children to religious schools. This is an end-run on the separation of church and state.
Ultimately I have to believe that the tactics of indoctrination and isolation used by Evangelicals will render them powerless. Ours is a nation of tolerance and if our children aren’t raised to understand that there are different systems of belief then they will flounder when they eventually enter into main-stream society. I think a lot of those kids may eventually reject what they’ve been taught at such a young age. How can a ten year old kid feel empty and that he or she is in need of salvation? These feelings only exist because their parents and mentors are encouraging them to feel that way. But what happens when these kids hit their teens and the hormones start kicking in? What happens when they think they have been saved and then they feel empty? And what happens to these kids emotions when their role models who are so judgmental eventually reveal themselves to be imperfect moral arbiters?
The televangelist Ted Haggard appears in the film and the kids are thrilled to meet him. There is no mention of his subsequent fall from grace – it was revealed that he had taken crystal meth purchased from a male prostitute.
Kids are kids – they shouldn’t have to think about abortion and sin and sexuality. These are adult issues and kids will grow up and have to deal with them soon enough. In the mean-time let them indulge in a bit of innocence while they still can because once innocence is gone it does not come back.
We watched a truly scary documentary film this weekend called “Jesus Camp.” The film follows a handul of Evangelical Christian children as they attend church and then a summer camp in Devil’s Lake, Idaho. The children put on Christian-themed plays and musicals and listen to a series of different speakers talking about issues like abortion and, well, mostly abortion really. The children get up and testify – they talk about how they have been “saved.” Mind you these kids are all of ten years old and they are up on stage talking about how their lives were empty before they found Christ. The kids are encouraged by the counselors to address their sinfulness and to beg for their forgiveness. Many of the kids spontaneously break down and cry – some are huddled in heaps on the ground, rocking and weeping because of their alleged wickedness. One particularly horrifying counselor condemns Harry Potter and rails against Americans inability to fast. This I found confusing as this counselor had to be pushing three hundred pounds. Interestingly this same counselor seemed to have a great deal of respect for the Islamic suicide bombers because of their zealotry and their willingness to die for their religion. She seems to be perplexed by the fact that American Christians don’t have the same devotion to their faith and she speaks of creating “children soldiers” to fight in the name of Christ. Another obvious ex-drug addict attacks the concept of evolution and takes the children on a field trip to Washington D.C. where they tape their mouths shut with red tape and write the word “Life” across it.
At first the film just pissed me off. The words “child abuse” and “ignorant” came up frequently during and after the viewing. I felt an urge to punch people. Initially I felt like the film was a waste of time because ultimately it pointed out a problem I am powerless to change. If people want to believe something I think is preposterous and if they want to home-school their children and indoctrinate them with those same beliefs there isn’t a whole lot I can do about it.
But I’ve been thinking about it a lot over the last couple of days and I realize that there are things we can do about it on an institutional level. First off we need to be aware of the phenomenon. 25% of the American population is Evangelical Christian. That is a huge voting block. As a group they want more Christianity in government. They do not believe in a separation of church and state, they are not tolerant, and they are angry that religion has been ejected from the public school system.
Second we need to realize the code-language they employ. School vouchers sounds like a good idea – people should be able to choose where their children go to school. But the school voucher issue is being pushed mostly by Evangelicals who are fearful of the public school system and want to be able to use public monies to send their children to religious schools. This is an end-run on the separation of church and state.
Ultimately I have to believe that the tactics of indoctrination and isolation used by Evangelicals will render them powerless. Ours is a nation of tolerance and if our children aren’t raised to understand that there are different systems of belief then they will flounder when they eventually enter into main-stream society. I think a lot of those kids may eventually reject what they’ve been taught at such a young age. How can a ten year old kid feel empty and that he or she is in need of salvation? These feelings only exist because their parents and mentors are encouraging them to feel that way. But what happens when these kids hit their teens and the hormones start kicking in? What happens when they think they have been saved and then they feel empty? And what happens to these kids emotions when their role models who are so judgmental eventually reveal themselves to be imperfect moral arbiters?
The televangelist Ted Haggard appears in the film and the kids are thrilled to meet him. There is no mention of his subsequent fall from grace – it was revealed that he had taken crystal meth purchased from a male prostitute.
Kids are kids – they shouldn’t have to think about abortion and sin and sexuality. These are adult issues and kids will grow up and have to deal with them soon enough. In the mean-time let them indulge in a bit of innocence while they still can because once innocence is gone it does not come back.
Crumbling Bridges
Our nation’s infrastructure is crumbling. Many of us are learning this for the first time because of a massive bridge collapse in Minneapolis, MN, that made cost dozens of people their lives and made the national news. The governor of Minnesota defended the bridges “structurally deficient” status by pointing out that there are over 80,000 bridges sharing the same rating throughout the United States. Reassuring, isn’t it?
Country music legend Merle Haggard has been talking about our nation’s crumbling infrastructure for years. As a traveling troubadour Mr. Haggard is in a rare position to be able to criss-cross the nation’s highways and by-ways on a semi-annual basis. Unlike your typical businessman or tourist Haggard and his crew travel by bus and as such they see first-hand the status of bridges, tunnels and roads. Haggard has been outspoken about the need for money to be redirected into our own country’s maintenance and, unfortunately, the recent bridge collapse puts him in the position of being able to say “I told you so.”
Now politicians and journalists alike are scrambling to cover the story of our nation’s inferior infrastructure after the fact. At this point we are so far behind its not even funny. But people don’t want to hear about maintenance, politicians don’t want to address it, and journalists don’t want to cover it. Maintenance is dull. The news instead needs to grab headlines and sell advertising. In a debt-driven consumer based society no one wants to spend their hard-earned money on making sure their bridges are structurally sound – not when there are shiny new iPods to buy and shiny new bombs to drop.
Ebb and Flow
There is a common term in computer programming that goes like this: garbage in garbage out. It applies to everything, government, sex, road maintenance, music, economics. We get what we give and if we ain’t giving we aren’t gonna be doing much getting. So if you’re sitting around and thinking you don’t like what you’ve got then think about what you can contribute to life to make yours better. It doesn’t take much more than effort – but even effort can be hard to come by when things seem entirely futile.
Baby Steps
Only within the past few years have I really gotten good at producing work. That comes in the form of writing, art, and music and I’m not saying I’m the world’s greatest at any of these endeavors but I have gotten myself into the habit of creating. That happened for me because of a couple of things. First I abolished any notions I had of perfection. I know I’m not perfect, I never will be perfect, and ultimately I’m not trying to be perfect. I’m just trying to do the best I can, or sometimes not even that. Sometimes I just try and do something just to get myself rolling and I don’t even try and do it all that well. Second I started learning how to break larger projects down into a series of steps. Trish and I have a Buddhist saying we picked up from somewhere: “Snails climb Mount Fuji.” By moving in a direction we get somewhere. It sounds simple enough but it is really easy to just stop moving.
In laboratory experiments rats that were subjected to a relatively moderate dose of cocaine acted as one might expect – they became agitated and anxious and moved faster. But when rats were subjected to massive doses of cocaine they stopped moving altogether. The theory is that the rat’s brains were so over-stimulated by the cocaine and their neurons were taking in so much information at once that they simply could not function. This happens to us when we are over-stimulated by all the worries and stressors that life can throw at us. If we aren’t able to quiet our brains and boil our path of action down to a series of tangible steps we can easily become overwhelmed to a point where we cease to function productively.
Slow down, reach out. Breathe and stretch. Maintain your bridges and keep your feet moving forward. The best time to start is now.
Country music legend Merle Haggard has been talking about our nation’s crumbling infrastructure for years. As a traveling troubadour Mr. Haggard is in a rare position to be able to criss-cross the nation’s highways and by-ways on a semi-annual basis. Unlike your typical businessman or tourist Haggard and his crew travel by bus and as such they see first-hand the status of bridges, tunnels and roads. Haggard has been outspoken about the need for money to be redirected into our own country’s maintenance and, unfortunately, the recent bridge collapse puts him in the position of being able to say “I told you so.”
Now politicians and journalists alike are scrambling to cover the story of our nation’s inferior infrastructure after the fact. At this point we are so far behind its not even funny. But people don’t want to hear about maintenance, politicians don’t want to address it, and journalists don’t want to cover it. Maintenance is dull. The news instead needs to grab headlines and sell advertising. In a debt-driven consumer based society no one wants to spend their hard-earned money on making sure their bridges are structurally sound – not when there are shiny new iPods to buy and shiny new bombs to drop.
Ebb and Flow
There is a common term in computer programming that goes like this: garbage in garbage out. It applies to everything, government, sex, road maintenance, music, economics. We get what we give and if we ain’t giving we aren’t gonna be doing much getting. So if you’re sitting around and thinking you don’t like what you’ve got then think about what you can contribute to life to make yours better. It doesn’t take much more than effort – but even effort can be hard to come by when things seem entirely futile.
Baby Steps
Only within the past few years have I really gotten good at producing work. That comes in the form of writing, art, and music and I’m not saying I’m the world’s greatest at any of these endeavors but I have gotten myself into the habit of creating. That happened for me because of a couple of things. First I abolished any notions I had of perfection. I know I’m not perfect, I never will be perfect, and ultimately I’m not trying to be perfect. I’m just trying to do the best I can, or sometimes not even that. Sometimes I just try and do something just to get myself rolling and I don’t even try and do it all that well. Second I started learning how to break larger projects down into a series of steps. Trish and I have a Buddhist saying we picked up from somewhere: “Snails climb Mount Fuji.” By moving in a direction we get somewhere. It sounds simple enough but it is really easy to just stop moving.
In laboratory experiments rats that were subjected to a relatively moderate dose of cocaine acted as one might expect – they became agitated and anxious and moved faster. But when rats were subjected to massive doses of cocaine they stopped moving altogether. The theory is that the rat’s brains were so over-stimulated by the cocaine and their neurons were taking in so much information at once that they simply could not function. This happens to us when we are over-stimulated by all the worries and stressors that life can throw at us. If we aren’t able to quiet our brains and boil our path of action down to a series of tangible steps we can easily become overwhelmed to a point where we cease to function productively.
Slow down, reach out. Breathe and stretch. Maintain your bridges and keep your feet moving forward. The best time to start is now.
College
I remember college being a time of concentrated learning – a lot of change can happen in a very short span of time. People discover who they really are or start charting a course for the future. It’s a time of experimentation and adventure. In college I discovered passions I didn’t know I had and those four plus years shaped my personality and put me on the road to who I am today and who I will become tomorrow. Good times, bad times, and some just plain weird times –I learned a ton and made some incredible memories and friendships.
Looking back there were things I would do again and a few other things I would not recommend.
Do
Change your major. If you get a few years into school and it turns out you’re not really enjoying what you’re studying, try something else! People end up in a certain major for a variety of reasons – earning potential being near the top of the list. But if you can find something you’re really passionate about you will give yourself the potential to have a truly fulfilling career.
Play in a band. If you even have the inclination to start a band do it! You don’t have to be good – in fact almost all great bands started out as not very good bands. Chico has a rich musical history and many of the successful bands from this town were spawned on the Chico State campus. And even if your band never tours the country or signs to a label you’ll still have a great time. Music is a tremendous release from the day to day stress of school, work, whatever. Be part of the river that is music.
Start a Business. If you are the entrepreneur type Chico is a fantastic community to start up a business. Two businesses that started in a garage and eventually went on to national success are Sierra Nevada Brewery and Synthesis Magazine.
Take up an activity. I went to school in Southern California and ended up surfing because pretty much everyone in my dorm was a surfer and it became obvious that if I didn’t pick it up I’d end up spending a lot of time by myself. At home in the suburban east bay area I never imagined I would be a surfer but once I started I was hooked. I surfed everyday for years. I was part of a closely-knit group of friends who spent a lot of time in the water together and I took several memorable surfing trips capped by a three month expedition that took me and three friends up and down both coasts of Mexico in a white Dodge van.
Party. I’m not saying you should go out and get bombed every night, (though I’m not saying you shouldn’t) but you should go out and socialize. There is a space or a scene for everyone and the social skills you develop in college will help you in any field you eventually go into.
Go to shows. I went to a fair amount of music shows but honestly I wish I went to more. Nothing beats catching that quality band in a small venue and if you go to shows regularly here in town you will be treated to some great performances.
Don’t
Don’t fall in love with pot. I got into pot-smoking pretty heavily and ended up spending more time than I wish I had anchored to my couch. Lame. I know some people handle pot better than others but for me I probably wasted years of my life being stoned. I’m not saying don’t get stoned, but do get off the couch. You’ll never look back at your life and say “gee I wish I spent more time on the couch.”
Don’t have a steady girlfriend or boyfriend. This was my biggest college mistake. I had a college girl-friend for three years. Then two months after we graduated we broke up. Stupid stupid stupid. I don’t know what I was thinking and I wish someone had shook me and said “hey dumbass, look at all the girls around here!” Seriously. Stupid.
To Sum Up
Do stuff. That’s my overall point here. Be spontaneous, try new things. Soon enough life and all it’s responsibilities will come crashing down around you and you’ll be spending more time than you ever could have imagined sitting in traffic, talking on the telephone, or staring at a computer screen. Now is the time to get out there, go to an art-show, a demolition derby, a rock show or a rodeo. Find your scene while trying others. Keep your eyes and your mind wide open and experience everything college life has to offer.
Looking back there were things I would do again and a few other things I would not recommend.
Do
Change your major. If you get a few years into school and it turns out you’re not really enjoying what you’re studying, try something else! People end up in a certain major for a variety of reasons – earning potential being near the top of the list. But if you can find something you’re really passionate about you will give yourself the potential to have a truly fulfilling career.
Play in a band. If you even have the inclination to start a band do it! You don’t have to be good – in fact almost all great bands started out as not very good bands. Chico has a rich musical history and many of the successful bands from this town were spawned on the Chico State campus. And even if your band never tours the country or signs to a label you’ll still have a great time. Music is a tremendous release from the day to day stress of school, work, whatever. Be part of the river that is music.
Start a Business. If you are the entrepreneur type Chico is a fantastic community to start up a business. Two businesses that started in a garage and eventually went on to national success are Sierra Nevada Brewery and Synthesis Magazine.
Take up an activity. I went to school in Southern California and ended up surfing because pretty much everyone in my dorm was a surfer and it became obvious that if I didn’t pick it up I’d end up spending a lot of time by myself. At home in the suburban east bay area I never imagined I would be a surfer but once I started I was hooked. I surfed everyday for years. I was part of a closely-knit group of friends who spent a lot of time in the water together and I took several memorable surfing trips capped by a three month expedition that took me and three friends up and down both coasts of Mexico in a white Dodge van.
Party. I’m not saying you should go out and get bombed every night, (though I’m not saying you shouldn’t) but you should go out and socialize. There is a space or a scene for everyone and the social skills you develop in college will help you in any field you eventually go into.
Go to shows. I went to a fair amount of music shows but honestly I wish I went to more. Nothing beats catching that quality band in a small venue and if you go to shows regularly here in town you will be treated to some great performances.
Don’t
Don’t fall in love with pot. I got into pot-smoking pretty heavily and ended up spending more time than I wish I had anchored to my couch. Lame. I know some people handle pot better than others but for me I probably wasted years of my life being stoned. I’m not saying don’t get stoned, but do get off the couch. You’ll never look back at your life and say “gee I wish I spent more time on the couch.”
Don’t have a steady girlfriend or boyfriend. This was my biggest college mistake. I had a college girl-friend for three years. Then two months after we graduated we broke up. Stupid stupid stupid. I don’t know what I was thinking and I wish someone had shook me and said “hey dumbass, look at all the girls around here!” Seriously. Stupid.
To Sum Up
Do stuff. That’s my overall point here. Be spontaneous, try new things. Soon enough life and all it’s responsibilities will come crashing down around you and you’ll be spending more time than you ever could have imagined sitting in traffic, talking on the telephone, or staring at a computer screen. Now is the time to get out there, go to an art-show, a demolition derby, a rock show or a rodeo. Find your scene while trying others. Keep your eyes and your mind wide open and experience everything college life has to offer.
Cognitive Dissonance
It is pathological to go through life thinking that you are always right. It is healthier to understand that sometimes your course of action is wrong. A productive life-style necessarily includes a process of self-assessment and occasional redirection. That being said we are hard-wired to believe that we are morally upright, well-meaning people. When we do wrong our brains will naturally go into overdrive trying to justify to ourselves why what may seem wrong is actually right. So to admit that we’ve done something wrong is fundamentally unnatural and difficult. But it is so important to growing as a person because if we can’t acknowledge our mistakes then we have very little to no chance of fixing them or avoiding those same mistakes in the future.
Along these lines I was speaking to a colleague of mine at work the other day about the “sphere of influence.” Basically there are only a limited number of things we can control and worrying or complaining about the things we can’t control only hamstrings our own progress. For instance I have no control over the weather. I can complain that it is hot or cold but ultimately all I am doing is stealing time and emotion from myself. By accepting the weather for what it is I can then move forward to things I can control. I can get my grunt-work done in the morning when its cooler and then do my desk-work in the afternoon when the temperature is blazing.
This is just a dumb example but the point is that by only devoting energy to those things we can actually control or influence we actually expand that sphere of influence. Our power grows because we are using it wisely.
Along these lines I was speaking to a colleague of mine at work the other day about the “sphere of influence.” Basically there are only a limited number of things we can control and worrying or complaining about the things we can’t control only hamstrings our own progress. For instance I have no control over the weather. I can complain that it is hot or cold but ultimately all I am doing is stealing time and emotion from myself. By accepting the weather for what it is I can then move forward to things I can control. I can get my grunt-work done in the morning when its cooler and then do my desk-work in the afternoon when the temperature is blazing.
This is just a dumb example but the point is that by only devoting energy to those things we can actually control or influence we actually expand that sphere of influence. Our power grows because we are using it wisely.
Burn Season
Gordo Gets a Facelift
A couple of summers ago I had a testy exchange with God that resulted in our chopping down two mature liquid amber trees after the Almighty used them to bombard our roof-top with limbs. We’re still feeling the repercussions but over time trials are turning to tribulations. One of the after-effects of those huge temperamental trees being felled is that we now have a really wonderful outdoor fireplace. We had so many rounds left behind by the tree trimmers that the only solution we could figure was to burn them. A few hundred dollars worth of cinder-block, rebar and concrete later Gordo was born! I had never built a fireplace before and I elected to rely more on aesthetic and instinct that knowledge or research. As a result during the first burning season Gordo had some problems. A fair amount of the cinderblocks crumbled away to dust. Eventually the entire back of the beast fell out so that the firebox really only had two sides. There were also some issues with smoke but I haven’t tested the new design yet so I am reluctant to say too much about that. Well I spent the summer repairing Gordo and I am happy to say that he is intact and ready for the upcoming fire season.
In addition to the structural repair work I also spent some time applying a mosaic finish to the outside and a layer of white mortar to the inside of the firebox. All in all I’m very happy with the finished product – though it will be interesting to see how Gordo holds up as the burn season goes on. We generally end up pushing the capacity of the fireplace – particularly after 12-18 beers – so I’m sure that Gordo will be tested.
Bon-Fire of Banalities
After the recent two days of drizzle some good friends of ours burned three huge piles of brush and tree stumps on their almond orchard. There is something therapeutic about a good burn. Those massive piles of flame got me thinking back to ancient times when fire was precious and powerful – before our energy came through wires and cables. Even today, just over the lip of the second millennium since Jesus walked the earth, most of our power still comes from fire in the form of coal. Six hundred coal power plants provide about 50% of our countries power. Interestingly my friends burning the almond scraps have an entire side of their roof-top covered with solar panels. It’s fun to watch their power meter running backwards.
World’s Going Crazy Again
In Burma Buddhist monks are protesting nearly two decades of repressive military rule. By the time you read this things there may have come to a head. The government is growing increasingly impatient with the crowds of pro-democracy citizens and a curfew has been put in place. In the United States Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad’s request to visit Ground Zero and lay a wreath was denied and his speaking engagement at Columbia University was protested and condemned. The United Auto Workers are on-strike. What’s new? Everyone wants black and white solutions to problems that are infinitely grey. Government’s want order and repression is a tried and true way to keep things orderly… but for how long? We need to talk and listen to people – even, no, especially to people we don’t agree with. After all we gain nothing by talking and listening to people who already essentially believe what each other are saying. And as for the auto-workers – talk about a rock and hard place. There are economic realities at play on both sides of the ball. Any agreement they come up with now will probably only be torn down in future negotiations.
The Ride of Your Life
The world is changing right in front of our eyes. Good, bad, those words don’t mean much any more. The only fact is change and whether that change eventually becomes good or bad is ultimately going to hinge upon how we react to it. So get ready for it. Embrace it. Strap into the rocket car that is reality and get ready to hit the switch. I can’t tell you where it’s going to end but I can guarantee to you that it is going to be one hell of a ride!
Happy burn season!
A couple of summers ago I had a testy exchange with God that resulted in our chopping down two mature liquid amber trees after the Almighty used them to bombard our roof-top with limbs. We’re still feeling the repercussions but over time trials are turning to tribulations. One of the after-effects of those huge temperamental trees being felled is that we now have a really wonderful outdoor fireplace. We had so many rounds left behind by the tree trimmers that the only solution we could figure was to burn them. A few hundred dollars worth of cinder-block, rebar and concrete later Gordo was born! I had never built a fireplace before and I elected to rely more on aesthetic and instinct that knowledge or research. As a result during the first burning season Gordo had some problems. A fair amount of the cinderblocks crumbled away to dust. Eventually the entire back of the beast fell out so that the firebox really only had two sides. There were also some issues with smoke but I haven’t tested the new design yet so I am reluctant to say too much about that. Well I spent the summer repairing Gordo and I am happy to say that he is intact and ready for the upcoming fire season.
In addition to the structural repair work I also spent some time applying a mosaic finish to the outside and a layer of white mortar to the inside of the firebox. All in all I’m very happy with the finished product – though it will be interesting to see how Gordo holds up as the burn season goes on. We generally end up pushing the capacity of the fireplace – particularly after 12-18 beers – so I’m sure that Gordo will be tested.
Bon-Fire of Banalities
After the recent two days of drizzle some good friends of ours burned three huge piles of brush and tree stumps on their almond orchard. There is something therapeutic about a good burn. Those massive piles of flame got me thinking back to ancient times when fire was precious and powerful – before our energy came through wires and cables. Even today, just over the lip of the second millennium since Jesus walked the earth, most of our power still comes from fire in the form of coal. Six hundred coal power plants provide about 50% of our countries power. Interestingly my friends burning the almond scraps have an entire side of their roof-top covered with solar panels. It’s fun to watch their power meter running backwards.
World’s Going Crazy Again
In Burma Buddhist monks are protesting nearly two decades of repressive military rule. By the time you read this things there may have come to a head. The government is growing increasingly impatient with the crowds of pro-democracy citizens and a curfew has been put in place. In the United States Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad’s request to visit Ground Zero and lay a wreath was denied and his speaking engagement at Columbia University was protested and condemned. The United Auto Workers are on-strike. What’s new? Everyone wants black and white solutions to problems that are infinitely grey. Government’s want order and repression is a tried and true way to keep things orderly… but for how long? We need to talk and listen to people – even, no, especially to people we don’t agree with. After all we gain nothing by talking and listening to people who already essentially believe what each other are saying. And as for the auto-workers – talk about a rock and hard place. There are economic realities at play on both sides of the ball. Any agreement they come up with now will probably only be torn down in future negotiations.
The Ride of Your Life
The world is changing right in front of our eyes. Good, bad, those words don’t mean much any more. The only fact is change and whether that change eventually becomes good or bad is ultimately going to hinge upon how we react to it. So get ready for it. Embrace it. Strap into the rocket car that is reality and get ready to hit the switch. I can’t tell you where it’s going to end but I can guarantee to you that it is going to be one hell of a ride!
Happy burn season!
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Going Somewhere Fast
The Virginia Tech Massacre
This is an incredible tragedy. Of course every feeling person’s heart goes out to the families of the students and faculty who were gunned down in this horrifying episode of sheer chaos and violence. There really isn’t much more you can say about the matter.
Playing the Blame Game
But that certainly hasn’t stopped the national media from desperately trying to turn a random event into a story. Naturally this involves finding someone to blame. Reporters are suggesting the campus security or the President of the University could’ve done more to warn students and potentially lessened the loss of life. Look, randomness can’t be predicted and insanity can’t be stopped. If a crazy person decides to shoot up a bunch of people in a public place then that’s what will happen.
Honestly I find it hopeful that this kind of thing doesn’t happen more often. I have come to the conclusion that there are some people who could do a violent senseless thing and there are others who would do a violent senseless thing but luckily the two types of people rarely intersect. It is an anomaly when a personality has both the will and the wherewithal to reek such utter havoc and destruction. To me that is a small sign of a basic decency that exists.
Aside from this I am getting really nauseated by the general cries for more security. Security comes with a cost and generally the trade-off involves freedoms. I know it is natural for the family of those killed to be angry and frustrated and to want to try and place an order and a context on this sort of tragedy but that doesn’t mean the national media has to latch onto these reactions and rile up a virtual pitch-fork wielding mob calling for the blood of college administrators and campus security.
Don Imus
I feel like I should at least weigh in on this issue. I’ve been thinking a lot about the words and the reaction and for what it’s worth here’s my take. I believe in free speech and I accept capitalism as a viable driving economic force. So the firing of Don Imus alarms me for a couple of reasons. First and foremost he got fired for saying something distasteful. I could accept that if I believed that the overall market, or Imus’ audience, had abandoned the notorious radio shock-jock. But I don’t believe this is the case. I believe that there are likely a lot of faithful Imus listeners who are bitterly disappointed that they don’t get to listen to their favorite radio jock doing what he does and has done every morning for the last forty some-odd years.
So why was Imus fired? I think he was canned because the corporate sponsors didn’t want to risk tarnishing their images. This holds extremely dubious connotations. In this case the issue is racism, but if we project it is not inconceivable to foresee a future where corporate sponsors might hinge their decisions on religion, politics, or whatever the “outrage du jour” might happen to be. We already have a sickeningly limited choice of material to listen to on the “public” airwaves and if we continue to curtail it based on what corporate America is willing to sponsor then eventually there will be nothing left but Top 40 garbage and innocuous squeaky clean “Regis and Kelly” type morning show style banter. That may be fine for the swallow and smile quasi-Christian suburbanite sheep out there but for anyone with a streak of individualism or subversion this spiraling situation should leave us feeling slightly sick to our stomachs. Do I like what Imus said? No, but frankly if the corporate controlled national media hadn’t picked up on the story I never even would have heard it. I don’t listen to Don Imus and that’s my advice for anyone else who doesn’t like what he has to say. Change the station. Then let capitalism take its course.
We desperately need debate in these dangerous times. If we are constantly worried about saying the wrong things then we will never even be able to enter into these types of discussions. Free speech and a free press are the cornerstones of a free society and totalitarian regimes have always focused on controlling speech and print. So which direction are we heading in right now?
This is an incredible tragedy. Of course every feeling person’s heart goes out to the families of the students and faculty who were gunned down in this horrifying episode of sheer chaos and violence. There really isn’t much more you can say about the matter.
Playing the Blame Game
But that certainly hasn’t stopped the national media from desperately trying to turn a random event into a story. Naturally this involves finding someone to blame. Reporters are suggesting the campus security or the President of the University could’ve done more to warn students and potentially lessened the loss of life. Look, randomness can’t be predicted and insanity can’t be stopped. If a crazy person decides to shoot up a bunch of people in a public place then that’s what will happen.
Honestly I find it hopeful that this kind of thing doesn’t happen more often. I have come to the conclusion that there are some people who could do a violent senseless thing and there are others who would do a violent senseless thing but luckily the two types of people rarely intersect. It is an anomaly when a personality has both the will and the wherewithal to reek such utter havoc and destruction. To me that is a small sign of a basic decency that exists.
Aside from this I am getting really nauseated by the general cries for more security. Security comes with a cost and generally the trade-off involves freedoms. I know it is natural for the family of those killed to be angry and frustrated and to want to try and place an order and a context on this sort of tragedy but that doesn’t mean the national media has to latch onto these reactions and rile up a virtual pitch-fork wielding mob calling for the blood of college administrators and campus security.
Don Imus
I feel like I should at least weigh in on this issue. I’ve been thinking a lot about the words and the reaction and for what it’s worth here’s my take. I believe in free speech and I accept capitalism as a viable driving economic force. So the firing of Don Imus alarms me for a couple of reasons. First and foremost he got fired for saying something distasteful. I could accept that if I believed that the overall market, or Imus’ audience, had abandoned the notorious radio shock-jock. But I don’t believe this is the case. I believe that there are likely a lot of faithful Imus listeners who are bitterly disappointed that they don’t get to listen to their favorite radio jock doing what he does and has done every morning for the last forty some-odd years.
So why was Imus fired? I think he was canned because the corporate sponsors didn’t want to risk tarnishing their images. This holds extremely dubious connotations. In this case the issue is racism, but if we project it is not inconceivable to foresee a future where corporate sponsors might hinge their decisions on religion, politics, or whatever the “outrage du jour” might happen to be. We already have a sickeningly limited choice of material to listen to on the “public” airwaves and if we continue to curtail it based on what corporate America is willing to sponsor then eventually there will be nothing left but Top 40 garbage and innocuous squeaky clean “Regis and Kelly” type morning show style banter. That may be fine for the swallow and smile quasi-Christian suburbanite sheep out there but for anyone with a streak of individualism or subversion this spiraling situation should leave us feeling slightly sick to our stomachs. Do I like what Imus said? No, but frankly if the corporate controlled national media hadn’t picked up on the story I never even would have heard it. I don’t listen to Don Imus and that’s my advice for anyone else who doesn’t like what he has to say. Change the station. Then let capitalism take its course.
We desperately need debate in these dangerous times. If we are constantly worried about saying the wrong things then we will never even be able to enter into these types of discussions. Free speech and a free press are the cornerstones of a free society and totalitarian regimes have always focused on controlling speech and print. So which direction are we heading in right now?
The Extruder Strikes Again
Tonight I needed to go out and so I did, I went out to a club, sort of an obscure place out on East Nord – around there anyway. The music was soothing; punk and industrial, but the most curvaceous selections from the genres. The beats made you want to dance and ooze a little while you did it. Dancing, oozing. There were men wearing tailored suits, finely cut white, yellow, beige and brown. The women were… in the shadows they were watching. Their eyes on everyone.
Abigail cornered me and yammered at me for a long while about a $4000 ambulance ride and the ‘economical DUI.’ “Shit,” she explained to me. “I could’ve gotten in my car and driven the bastard to the emergency room – even if I get pulled over and popped it’s what? $2500? The fucking ambulance was four grand! Plus the $3500 for relocating his shoulder. Four hours in the goddamned emergency room sets us back almost eight fucking grand!” I shrug, ‘what are you gonna do?’ and eventually get the hell away from her.
These scenes, they kind of get you feeling ill sometimes. But this is what I came for, the music and the atmosphere. There is hair everywhere. I am glad that it is dark in here. The room is really explosively dark and I hit my thigh on a table on the way in. But my eyes had adjusted eventually. Now it’s a faint glow against red, the silhouettes of human interaction. Drinks and smoke – gyrating bodies and strobe lights now as the dance floor erupts into a frenzy of limbs and hair-dos. The energy is infectious.
“DANCE!” “DANCE!” “DANCE!”
But I skate back to the rim of the orbit of light; the edge of the kick drum is softened just slightly. There I turn and collapse into a padded booth. Just as I manage to right myself, sit up, and make an attempt at looking reasonably sober the waitress, a shiny red sequined dress with a gal wrapped up in it, smiles and asks me if I’d like a drink. I respond in the affirmative and she seems unaffected except for something subtle in her demeanor. A reaction maybe. Louis leans over next to me and says “it’s the whole ‘need for penetration’ thing you have that gives you away.” I look straight at him as if to suggest ‘go on’ and he does. There’s no stopping Louis when he gets on a good theory. “You think you can make it appear to everyone that you’re just casually giving that young waitress a little kindly attention when you are in fact only thinking of penetrating her in some way or another. Think about it, the world is viewed in terms of penetrators and penetratees. Those who fuck and those who are fucked.
“Cause a woman who shows some sack is a woman who has balls and an effeminate man is a pussy. When something bad happens “I was fucked” and when you conquer someone “I fucked them!”
God Louis is crazy, where do they find these people? “Think about it!” he always ends up screaming at me and I always end up running away, usually stumbling to the nearest drink and trying to assimilate the bizarre sentence fragments he had just flung at me.
“GIN!” I bark at the guy behind the bar with the scissor cut and stubble. His jaw is locked and he eyes me suspiciously but doesn’t seem offended and I breathe a sigh of relief as he (finally) pours my drink. Generous on the gin and I tip accordingly. My mouth is watering now as I think of it.
God these days, these days…
A man swam the entire length of the Amazon River averaging fifty miles a day for more than nine weeks through waters infested by piranha fish and cavity invading parasites. The sheer complexity of the vision is amazing; then the follow-through and execution is just astounding. What a madman. Slovenian Martin Strel swam the entire 3,000 + miles, while dealing with, in addition to the wildlife, diarhea, delerium, and horrific second degree sunburn over the course of his 65 day epic.
Speaking on the adventure Srel had this to say: "it was the toughest expedition by far… The Amazon river has no barriers like locks, so the current is constantly flowing. I didn't expect so many whirlpools and so many currents."
Goddamnit Strel, here’s to you. I tip my glass back and let the gin run down my throat, then yell at the bartender for another one.
Abigail cornered me and yammered at me for a long while about a $4000 ambulance ride and the ‘economical DUI.’ “Shit,” she explained to me. “I could’ve gotten in my car and driven the bastard to the emergency room – even if I get pulled over and popped it’s what? $2500? The fucking ambulance was four grand! Plus the $3500 for relocating his shoulder. Four hours in the goddamned emergency room sets us back almost eight fucking grand!” I shrug, ‘what are you gonna do?’ and eventually get the hell away from her.
These scenes, they kind of get you feeling ill sometimes. But this is what I came for, the music and the atmosphere. There is hair everywhere. I am glad that it is dark in here. The room is really explosively dark and I hit my thigh on a table on the way in. But my eyes had adjusted eventually. Now it’s a faint glow against red, the silhouettes of human interaction. Drinks and smoke – gyrating bodies and strobe lights now as the dance floor erupts into a frenzy of limbs and hair-dos. The energy is infectious.
“DANCE!” “DANCE!” “DANCE!”
But I skate back to the rim of the orbit of light; the edge of the kick drum is softened just slightly. There I turn and collapse into a padded booth. Just as I manage to right myself, sit up, and make an attempt at looking reasonably sober the waitress, a shiny red sequined dress with a gal wrapped up in it, smiles and asks me if I’d like a drink. I respond in the affirmative and she seems unaffected except for something subtle in her demeanor. A reaction maybe. Louis leans over next to me and says “it’s the whole ‘need for penetration’ thing you have that gives you away.” I look straight at him as if to suggest ‘go on’ and he does. There’s no stopping Louis when he gets on a good theory. “You think you can make it appear to everyone that you’re just casually giving that young waitress a little kindly attention when you are in fact only thinking of penetrating her in some way or another. Think about it, the world is viewed in terms of penetrators and penetratees. Those who fuck and those who are fucked.
“Cause a woman who shows some sack is a woman who has balls and an effeminate man is a pussy. When something bad happens “I was fucked” and when you conquer someone “I fucked them!”
God Louis is crazy, where do they find these people? “Think about it!” he always ends up screaming at me and I always end up running away, usually stumbling to the nearest drink and trying to assimilate the bizarre sentence fragments he had just flung at me.
“GIN!” I bark at the guy behind the bar with the scissor cut and stubble. His jaw is locked and he eyes me suspiciously but doesn’t seem offended and I breathe a sigh of relief as he (finally) pours my drink. Generous on the gin and I tip accordingly. My mouth is watering now as I think of it.
God these days, these days…
A man swam the entire length of the Amazon River averaging fifty miles a day for more than nine weeks through waters infested by piranha fish and cavity invading parasites. The sheer complexity of the vision is amazing; then the follow-through and execution is just astounding. What a madman. Slovenian Martin Strel swam the entire 3,000 + miles, while dealing with, in addition to the wildlife, diarhea, delerium, and horrific second degree sunburn over the course of his 65 day epic.
Speaking on the adventure Srel had this to say: "it was the toughest expedition by far… The Amazon river has no barriers like locks, so the current is constantly flowing. I didn't expect so many whirlpools and so many currents."
Goddamnit Strel, here’s to you. I tip my glass back and let the gin run down my throat, then yell at the bartender for another one.
Perfection
“At the end of the day no one really cares what you were doing, just what you’ve done.”
- Louis T. Wermann
Sometimes writing these words is a struggle. I wish that every column I wrote was a thing of beauty, a perfect gleaming gem of insight and illumination. This is the goal I set in my mind for myself every week when I sit down in front of my computer to write this down. Of course I fall short. Perfection is only a notion – maybe an illusion. The beauty of everything we do in this life comes from the act of doing.
The last two months have put me through the emotional grinder. My words have been stifled, stymied, twisted and stuck somewhere between my brain and my sphincter. Linguistic constipation but I write anyway because the act of putting these words down on this page are soothing to me and also because I have no choice. I write. It doesn’t have to be brilliant, it just has to be. And also because I have faith that the act of writing – of writing anything, good bad, indifferent, will continue the flow of language and while I may be writing in a smelly fly-infested bog right now it will eventually, the way liquid does, seep and flow downward to something different. Writing begets writing. This column is not a single week’s worth of words but instead a living breathing flowing stream of words and so I have come to accept that there will be rough patches and soft shoulders along the road. Mixed metaphors, bad puns – there is no law against bad writing. Thank god for that.
Goddamn the notion of perfection. How many concepts have never been allowed to grow into actuality because those who thought them up could not bear the notion of imperfection? They sat instead and thought of all the reasons it would not work, of all the ways they would fail, and so, by doing nothing but thinking, they failed to do anything at all. A dying man acts. We are all dying – all the time.
My favorite writers were not afraid to make terrible writing. I read a book of Charles Bukowski’s newspaper columns that constantly listed the results of horse races; boring statistical columns that meant nothing to someone who doesn’t know the difference between a parlay and a boxed trifecta. I’ve read Henry Miller’s second novel and I’m afraid to pick up his first. I can only imagine the over-blown self-important drivel that found its way into his waste-paper baskets.
If you are brave enough to act I guarantee that you will experience failures. Things will not turn out the way you envision them in your head and in your dreams. Sometimes you will be incredibly frustrated and sometimes your efforts will end in disaster.
The Kentucky Derby
Speaking of horse racing the Kentucky Derby was run this past weekend and it was a doozy. Street Sense came from 19th in a field of 20 to take the victory by several lengths and the Queen Mum was in attendance.
The Cammies
The Cammies were also held last weekend and I have to admit I was thoroughly impressed with the whole production. The CN&R along with the Senator staff managed to pull a logistical rabbit out of a hat. The show ran smoothly and the performances were solid. Congratulations to all the winners and a special tip of the hat to Katie Perry who won for “Local Badass” and Danny Cohen who stole off into the night with the “Best Local Songwriter” award. Both were well deserved.
Paris Hilton – What the Fuck?
Here is one of the few people who can actually afford to hire a full-time driver going to jail for being caught twice driving on a suspended license. This is obvious but it is so ludicrous that I feel obligated to waste a few words on the topic. Come on! She should get time added for just being a complete asshole and they should toss her mom in as well for defending the spoiled rotten idiot.
Brutillicus Maximus
I did manage to make it to the 20th anniversary performance by Brutillicus Maximus at Lost on Main Saturday night. The show was sold out but I was fortunate enough to stumble into Claudette a.k.a. Deryl Anne decked out in a sequined and rhinestone studded evening gown and looking gorgeous. Claudette got me into the show but after several rounds of sweet liqueurs and potent cocktails I developed a bad case of the hiccups as well as incoherence and hence I had to stumble home. And so that is what I did. Sunday was not a wonderful day.
- Louis T. Wermann
Sometimes writing these words is a struggle. I wish that every column I wrote was a thing of beauty, a perfect gleaming gem of insight and illumination. This is the goal I set in my mind for myself every week when I sit down in front of my computer to write this down. Of course I fall short. Perfection is only a notion – maybe an illusion. The beauty of everything we do in this life comes from the act of doing.
The last two months have put me through the emotional grinder. My words have been stifled, stymied, twisted and stuck somewhere between my brain and my sphincter. Linguistic constipation but I write anyway because the act of putting these words down on this page are soothing to me and also because I have no choice. I write. It doesn’t have to be brilliant, it just has to be. And also because I have faith that the act of writing – of writing anything, good bad, indifferent, will continue the flow of language and while I may be writing in a smelly fly-infested bog right now it will eventually, the way liquid does, seep and flow downward to something different. Writing begets writing. This column is not a single week’s worth of words but instead a living breathing flowing stream of words and so I have come to accept that there will be rough patches and soft shoulders along the road. Mixed metaphors, bad puns – there is no law against bad writing. Thank god for that.
Goddamn the notion of perfection. How many concepts have never been allowed to grow into actuality because those who thought them up could not bear the notion of imperfection? They sat instead and thought of all the reasons it would not work, of all the ways they would fail, and so, by doing nothing but thinking, they failed to do anything at all. A dying man acts. We are all dying – all the time.
My favorite writers were not afraid to make terrible writing. I read a book of Charles Bukowski’s newspaper columns that constantly listed the results of horse races; boring statistical columns that meant nothing to someone who doesn’t know the difference between a parlay and a boxed trifecta. I’ve read Henry Miller’s second novel and I’m afraid to pick up his first. I can only imagine the over-blown self-important drivel that found its way into his waste-paper baskets.
If you are brave enough to act I guarantee that you will experience failures. Things will not turn out the way you envision them in your head and in your dreams. Sometimes you will be incredibly frustrated and sometimes your efforts will end in disaster.
The Kentucky Derby
Speaking of horse racing the Kentucky Derby was run this past weekend and it was a doozy. Street Sense came from 19th in a field of 20 to take the victory by several lengths and the Queen Mum was in attendance.
The Cammies
The Cammies were also held last weekend and I have to admit I was thoroughly impressed with the whole production. The CN&R along with the Senator staff managed to pull a logistical rabbit out of a hat. The show ran smoothly and the performances were solid. Congratulations to all the winners and a special tip of the hat to Katie Perry who won for “Local Badass” and Danny Cohen who stole off into the night with the “Best Local Songwriter” award. Both were well deserved.
Paris Hilton – What the Fuck?
Here is one of the few people who can actually afford to hire a full-time driver going to jail for being caught twice driving on a suspended license. This is obvious but it is so ludicrous that I feel obligated to waste a few words on the topic. Come on! She should get time added for just being a complete asshole and they should toss her mom in as well for defending the spoiled rotten idiot.
Brutillicus Maximus
I did manage to make it to the 20th anniversary performance by Brutillicus Maximus at Lost on Main Saturday night. The show was sold out but I was fortunate enough to stumble into Claudette a.k.a. Deryl Anne decked out in a sequined and rhinestone studded evening gown and looking gorgeous. Claudette got me into the show but after several rounds of sweet liqueurs and potent cocktails I developed a bad case of the hiccups as well as incoherence and hence I had to stumble home. And so that is what I did. Sunday was not a wonderful day.
The Lunatic is in the Yard
It is Tuesday and the moon is full. The freaks are out of the wood work. The corner market was filled with kooks and tweakers when I went to pick up a twelve pack of bottled beer for a dinner party Trish and I were hosting. The morning, as I walked the dogs before going into work, was buzzing with activity. An underlying hostility may have been subdued by the chill that had crept into the spring time air on this first day of the month of May. I overheard snippets of menacing telephone conversation: “I’m telling you I didn’t take your envelope, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” And then a slamming door and something falling off of the side of the shrouded house and smashing into the ground. A bone-thin middle-aged man with a graying fu-manchu style mustache zips by on a home-made gasoline powered stand-up scooter. The lady at the end of the street who used to think that the FBI had set up shop across from her is bumping hip-hop at quarter to seven in the morning. It has all the makings of a strange day.
There will be thirteen full moons this year – usually there are twelve – and two of them will be occurring this month. The second full moon in a single month is known as a “blue” moon. I’ve always liked the color blue. We have a few blue rose bushes in the yard.
The Grass is Green Enough
My family has been going through a trying time and while there have been some real tough emotions to deal with I’ve also learned a great deal. Ultimately I find myself to be utterly content with my life here in Chico. I have a nice house, a decent job, two ill-behaved but very sweet dogs, and, most importantly, a very strong and wonderful relationship with my wife. We have family and friends who have reached out when we’ve needed it and backed away when we needed space. So the grass may be greener somewhere else and that’s fine. But as far as I’m concerned the grass is green enough here. To get really green grass you have to load it up with chemical fertilizers anyways and we prefer to go organic.
Go Warriors!
By the time you read this the Golden State Warriors may have choked and been eliminated from the NBA play-offs but hopefully, and my fingers are crossed, this will not be the case. Right now as I write this the Warriors still have a couple games up on the top-seeded Mavericks and are poised to win there way into the second round of games. I’m an East Bay boy and when it comes to basketball I am a Golden State fan through and through – and basketball has always been my least favorite sport. But that may change this year. The Nascar boys ended at Talladega under caution, Barbaro’s demise has soured me on horse racing, I can’t deal with Barry Bonds and his steroid-fueled charge to the home run record, and the Raiders are, well, the Raiders. So this may just be the year of the Warrior for yours truly.
Sow What You’ll Reap
Now is the time to get your gardens tilled and planted. I spent the weekend turning over our compost pile and planting our tomatoes and peppers. This year we’re trying six different heirlooms including a green tomato, a Russian Black Krim, a tomato so sweet that it cannot be transported, as well as Sweet 100 cherry tomatoes and Early Girls just because they produce so darned fast. As for the peppers we’ve got Anchos, Jalepenos, Serranos, and Red Chiles. Trish will probably pick up a Thai Pepper eventually. They tend to produce well and dry easily also. We are so lucky to live where we have such a long growing season. My sister and her family live on the out-skirts of Burlington, Vermont, and right now they are mired in the “mud season” – a month-plus long period when the ground that was frozen completely solid thaws out. Mud.
Puzzle Piece Show
The 24 Hour Drive-By Galleries annual (bi-annual?) puzzle-piece show kicks off this upcoming weekend and the reception will be held on Friday May 18th. The shows been growing in size and spirit since its inception and I’m sure this latest installment will not disappoint. I’ve painted a little piece for this exhibit. See if you can find it amidst the artistic and visual mayhem that is this wonderful show.
There will be thirteen full moons this year – usually there are twelve – and two of them will be occurring this month. The second full moon in a single month is known as a “blue” moon. I’ve always liked the color blue. We have a few blue rose bushes in the yard.
The Grass is Green Enough
My family has been going through a trying time and while there have been some real tough emotions to deal with I’ve also learned a great deal. Ultimately I find myself to be utterly content with my life here in Chico. I have a nice house, a decent job, two ill-behaved but very sweet dogs, and, most importantly, a very strong and wonderful relationship with my wife. We have family and friends who have reached out when we’ve needed it and backed away when we needed space. So the grass may be greener somewhere else and that’s fine. But as far as I’m concerned the grass is green enough here. To get really green grass you have to load it up with chemical fertilizers anyways and we prefer to go organic.
Go Warriors!
By the time you read this the Golden State Warriors may have choked and been eliminated from the NBA play-offs but hopefully, and my fingers are crossed, this will not be the case. Right now as I write this the Warriors still have a couple games up on the top-seeded Mavericks and are poised to win there way into the second round of games. I’m an East Bay boy and when it comes to basketball I am a Golden State fan through and through – and basketball has always been my least favorite sport. But that may change this year. The Nascar boys ended at Talladega under caution, Barbaro’s demise has soured me on horse racing, I can’t deal with Barry Bonds and his steroid-fueled charge to the home run record, and the Raiders are, well, the Raiders. So this may just be the year of the Warrior for yours truly.
Sow What You’ll Reap
Now is the time to get your gardens tilled and planted. I spent the weekend turning over our compost pile and planting our tomatoes and peppers. This year we’re trying six different heirlooms including a green tomato, a Russian Black Krim, a tomato so sweet that it cannot be transported, as well as Sweet 100 cherry tomatoes and Early Girls just because they produce so darned fast. As for the peppers we’ve got Anchos, Jalepenos, Serranos, and Red Chiles. Trish will probably pick up a Thai Pepper eventually. They tend to produce well and dry easily also. We are so lucky to live where we have such a long growing season. My sister and her family live on the out-skirts of Burlington, Vermont, and right now they are mired in the “mud season” – a month-plus long period when the ground that was frozen completely solid thaws out. Mud.
Puzzle Piece Show
The 24 Hour Drive-By Galleries annual (bi-annual?) puzzle-piece show kicks off this upcoming weekend and the reception will be held on Friday May 18th. The shows been growing in size and spirit since its inception and I’m sure this latest installment will not disappoint. I’ve painted a little piece for this exhibit. See if you can find it amidst the artistic and visual mayhem that is this wonderful show.
Lessons We Are Failing to Teach
“…in giving existence, a great law had been broken, and the result was a being whose elements were perhaps beautiful and brilliant, but all in disorder; or with an order peculiar to themselves, amidst which the point of variety and arrangement was difficult or impossible to be discovered.”
- Nathaniel Hawthorne – The Scarlet Letter
“…what would I give up for love?... not my balls!”
-Jason Leigh from “My Name is Earl”
There is a reason that, as we get older, psychedelic drugs begin to lose their mystique. Eventually life gets around to handing you something mind-blowing to an extent far beyond that which any pharmacy or ethno-botanist could replicate. LSD loses its palette. Life is luminous. It is consistently incredible, sometimes to the point of terrifying.
Anyway, what made me think about this? Well all kinds of things. But I think most recently I was watching the newscast – more follow up on the shootings that took place at Virginia Tech – and there was a lot of talk about the kids who shot up Columbine High School, which was eight years ago as I write this sentence; and the feeling I got from this was that we are not teaching these young people well enough. I write this as if I am old, but I am thirty six. I have lived through the teens and twenties. We now have an epidemic of young people who are willing to sacrifice their lives in order to propagate violence. We are watching it across the world and in our own neighborhoods.
I keep watching these news reports and I keep thinking, when they flash to the killers, ‘those poor kids.’ I feel a little guilty for feeling that way but they are so young! Forgive them Lord, they know not what they do and all that shit. How can you hate a fucked up twenty-something year old? And I know this is a sentiment that will make the more hardened mob turn red with anger. Sympathy for a killer; it is a conflicted emotion. But fuck it, that’s how I feel. I don’t “blame society” but we are letting these kids down. It isn’t the government or the institutions, it’s us. Institutions are symptoms. They try and heal a wound, they can’t prevent it. This detachment; the individual gravity that we all allot to our own lives, ego, callousness. Judgment. Fuck. It all comes back around. You can’t write your way out of this dilemna. Fuck fuck fuck.
I write this column every week. I think it’s been over a year now. I don’t really know why. I enjoy it ultimately. I like seeing my words in print and I like the feedback I get from people who read those words. Right now I am trying to write the most meaningful words I can but I don’t suspect that it is really coming across that way. My words are not brilliant and beautiful and they don’t come close to matching the excitement and glory of time. I don’t have the words. I don’t have the words. I am trying so hard to explain this to you and I just don’t have the words!
Ugh. I surrender. I give up. White flag, no más. I just don’t have it in me and I apologize for that. I remember a friend of mine one time who took a big blast of nitrous while he was frying on LSD, and I saw that smile and look of total ecstasy come over his face, and then his smile straightened and eventually sagged into a frown, and then he looked at me and said: “I saw it all, I understood it all. And I was so happy. But then I tried to explain it, and I realized I could not, and then I was sad.”
People, we are all in this together. Kids if you feel sad and alienated and alone you are not! E-mail, write, reach out to somebody. Young people are detonating themselves in market-places, annihilating one another in warfare, shooting each other in alley-ways, and killing each other is schools. Something is so wrong. And we are all accountable. No one is to blame without the complicity of the other. Not in this mess.
- Nathaniel Hawthorne – The Scarlet Letter
“…what would I give up for love?... not my balls!”
-Jason Leigh from “My Name is Earl”
There is a reason that, as we get older, psychedelic drugs begin to lose their mystique. Eventually life gets around to handing you something mind-blowing to an extent far beyond that which any pharmacy or ethno-botanist could replicate. LSD loses its palette. Life is luminous. It is consistently incredible, sometimes to the point of terrifying.
Anyway, what made me think about this? Well all kinds of things. But I think most recently I was watching the newscast – more follow up on the shootings that took place at Virginia Tech – and there was a lot of talk about the kids who shot up Columbine High School, which was eight years ago as I write this sentence; and the feeling I got from this was that we are not teaching these young people well enough. I write this as if I am old, but I am thirty six. I have lived through the teens and twenties. We now have an epidemic of young people who are willing to sacrifice their lives in order to propagate violence. We are watching it across the world and in our own neighborhoods.
I keep watching these news reports and I keep thinking, when they flash to the killers, ‘those poor kids.’ I feel a little guilty for feeling that way but they are so young! Forgive them Lord, they know not what they do and all that shit. How can you hate a fucked up twenty-something year old? And I know this is a sentiment that will make the more hardened mob turn red with anger. Sympathy for a killer; it is a conflicted emotion. But fuck it, that’s how I feel. I don’t “blame society” but we are letting these kids down. It isn’t the government or the institutions, it’s us. Institutions are symptoms. They try and heal a wound, they can’t prevent it. This detachment; the individual gravity that we all allot to our own lives, ego, callousness. Judgment. Fuck. It all comes back around. You can’t write your way out of this dilemna. Fuck fuck fuck.
I write this column every week. I think it’s been over a year now. I don’t really know why. I enjoy it ultimately. I like seeing my words in print and I like the feedback I get from people who read those words. Right now I am trying to write the most meaningful words I can but I don’t suspect that it is really coming across that way. My words are not brilliant and beautiful and they don’t come close to matching the excitement and glory of time. I don’t have the words. I don’t have the words. I am trying so hard to explain this to you and I just don’t have the words!
Ugh. I surrender. I give up. White flag, no más. I just don’t have it in me and I apologize for that. I remember a friend of mine one time who took a big blast of nitrous while he was frying on LSD, and I saw that smile and look of total ecstasy come over his face, and then his smile straightened and eventually sagged into a frown, and then he looked at me and said: “I saw it all, I understood it all. And I was so happy. But then I tried to explain it, and I realized I could not, and then I was sad.”
People, we are all in this together. Kids if you feel sad and alienated and alone you are not! E-mail, write, reach out to somebody. Young people are detonating themselves in market-places, annihilating one another in warfare, shooting each other in alley-ways, and killing each other is schools. Something is so wrong. And we are all accountable. No one is to blame without the complicity of the other. Not in this mess.
Monday, April 2, 2007
Power Vacuum
Lemonade is for Suckers
When life hands you lemons some would advise you to make lemonade. Being somewhat more anarchistic I would advise you to hurl the aforementioned lemons at a passerby. Why not? It’s all in fun.
Allergy season is here and my head feels like a lump of concrete sitting there bobbling on my shoulders as I write this. The week has been rough on me already and it’s only day one! Some weeks are like that. I’m trying to organize my thoughts between burning eyes, violent sneezes, and itching ears. What the hell? There is definitely something in the air.
Bush – Do You Want Him With You or Against You?
George W. Bush definitely knows how to stand by his man and in this case it’s attorney general Alberto Gonzales. I don’t understand the President’s unwavering support for incompetence but he has demonstrated it famously with Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld, Gonzales, and to a lesser degree with infamous FEMA “director” Michael D. “Brownie you’re doing a heckuva job” Brown. At this point wouldn’t you rather Bush not cast his support your way if you were in the line of fire? I wonder if this was how Britain felt when Bush belatedly chastised Iran for taking fifteen British sailors hostage. Was there a point when Tony Blair might have said to Bush “err, why don’t you just sit this one out old boy and we’ll get this mess sorted?” Maybe? I don’t know.
The most amazing twist in this attorney scandal is Justice Department official Monica Goodling pleading the Fifth Amendment which guarantees her right not to incriminate herself based on the fact that she might not tell the truth when questioned. She is basically saying “if I testify there’s a good chance I will perjure myself, and therefore I plead the fifth.” This is a new low and yet another lovely twist on the logic of the law. And these people accused Bill Clinton of being the tricky one.
Communication Breakdown
Honesty is in short supply these days. Personally I have always found honesty to be the only way to go – I’m basically too dumb to lie effectively so that’s easy for me to say. But really, sometimes the truth will lock you up but ultimately it will set you free. Life is a lot less tangled when you consistently tell the truth. You don’t have to cover your tracks or remember what you told when and to whom. Just be honest. When you screw up, admit it. If our politicians would employ this simple kindergarten logic we’d all be a lot better off. They’re all so fucking busy thinking that they’re smarter than the rest of us they can’t be bothered with such basic concepts as “truth” and “honesty.”
Find the Hypocrite in the Room
That’s an easy one, just find a mirror. We’re all capable of hypocrisy but our public servants are particularly susceptible basically because the institution is held to a higher standard than the people who comprise it. And that is the essence of hypocrisy – holding others to a higher standard than we hold ourselves. Plenty amongst us have a tendency to think pretty highly of ourselves and the best way to avoid being a hypocrite is to keep ourselves grounded. Make a concerted effort to understand ourselves, what makes us tick, and who we are.
Self-Reflexivity
When I was a young art student in Southern California the concept of self-reflexivity was pounded into my brain. To be a reasonable artist you have to have at least some idea of how you work. You need to be able to see yourself through other people’s eyes. It doesn’t mean you need to fit-in or succumb to peer pressure. On the contrary, by practicing self-reflexivity you gain confidence in your decisions and your path in life because you understand where you’ve been and where you are going. It also means you understand your weaknesses as well as your strengths.
You and I are Not the Same
This is the lesson I have learned this year. You don’t think like me, I don’t think like you. Certainly there will be similarities. In some cases there may be two people who think very similarly – but never exactly the same. We won’t necessarily react in the same way to the same stimuli. We won’t show stress the same way or communicate the same way or understand a set of circumstances the same way. We think differently. It’s a healthy thing to keep in mind when dealing with other people and dealing with other people has a great deal to do with living this crazy American workaday life. Damn it wears me out sometimes.
When life hands you lemons some would advise you to make lemonade. Being somewhat more anarchistic I would advise you to hurl the aforementioned lemons at a passerby. Why not? It’s all in fun.
Allergy season is here and my head feels like a lump of concrete sitting there bobbling on my shoulders as I write this. The week has been rough on me already and it’s only day one! Some weeks are like that. I’m trying to organize my thoughts between burning eyes, violent sneezes, and itching ears. What the hell? There is definitely something in the air.
Bush – Do You Want Him With You or Against You?
George W. Bush definitely knows how to stand by his man and in this case it’s attorney general Alberto Gonzales. I don’t understand the President’s unwavering support for incompetence but he has demonstrated it famously with Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld, Gonzales, and to a lesser degree with infamous FEMA “director” Michael D. “Brownie you’re doing a heckuva job” Brown. At this point wouldn’t you rather Bush not cast his support your way if you were in the line of fire? I wonder if this was how Britain felt when Bush belatedly chastised Iran for taking fifteen British sailors hostage. Was there a point when Tony Blair might have said to Bush “err, why don’t you just sit this one out old boy and we’ll get this mess sorted?” Maybe? I don’t know.
The most amazing twist in this attorney scandal is Justice Department official Monica Goodling pleading the Fifth Amendment which guarantees her right not to incriminate herself based on the fact that she might not tell the truth when questioned. She is basically saying “if I testify there’s a good chance I will perjure myself, and therefore I plead the fifth.” This is a new low and yet another lovely twist on the logic of the law. And these people accused Bill Clinton of being the tricky one.
Communication Breakdown
Honesty is in short supply these days. Personally I have always found honesty to be the only way to go – I’m basically too dumb to lie effectively so that’s easy for me to say. But really, sometimes the truth will lock you up but ultimately it will set you free. Life is a lot less tangled when you consistently tell the truth. You don’t have to cover your tracks or remember what you told when and to whom. Just be honest. When you screw up, admit it. If our politicians would employ this simple kindergarten logic we’d all be a lot better off. They’re all so fucking busy thinking that they’re smarter than the rest of us they can’t be bothered with such basic concepts as “truth” and “honesty.”
Find the Hypocrite in the Room
That’s an easy one, just find a mirror. We’re all capable of hypocrisy but our public servants are particularly susceptible basically because the institution is held to a higher standard than the people who comprise it. And that is the essence of hypocrisy – holding others to a higher standard than we hold ourselves. Plenty amongst us have a tendency to think pretty highly of ourselves and the best way to avoid being a hypocrite is to keep ourselves grounded. Make a concerted effort to understand ourselves, what makes us tick, and who we are.
Self-Reflexivity
When I was a young art student in Southern California the concept of self-reflexivity was pounded into my brain. To be a reasonable artist you have to have at least some idea of how you work. You need to be able to see yourself through other people’s eyes. It doesn’t mean you need to fit-in or succumb to peer pressure. On the contrary, by practicing self-reflexivity you gain confidence in your decisions and your path in life because you understand where you’ve been and where you are going. It also means you understand your weaknesses as well as your strengths.
You and I are Not the Same
This is the lesson I have learned this year. You don’t think like me, I don’t think like you. Certainly there will be similarities. In some cases there may be two people who think very similarly – but never exactly the same. We won’t necessarily react in the same way to the same stimuli. We won’t show stress the same way or communicate the same way or understand a set of circumstances the same way. We think differently. It’s a healthy thing to keep in mind when dealing with other people and dealing with other people has a great deal to do with living this crazy American workaday life. Damn it wears me out sometimes.
Call it What it Is
At this point it should be clear that the term “terrorism,” as used by our government, refers specifically to radical Muslims who are willing to inflict death and mayhem upon a civilian population in order to establish and enforce a society based upon a strict and conservative form of Islam. If we agree on that then we understand we are basically fighting a war against a train of thought. It could also be reasonably argued that whether we like it or not we are involved in a “holy” war – a clash of cultures, and a battle over beliefs.
So are we fighting this war the right way? My personal belief based on an incomplete and basic understanding of human nature is that we are not employing the right tactics and that in many instances we are only exacerbating the problem by fighting a belief system with military reaction.
I’ve said it before but I believe we missed a golden opportunity to turn the other cheek when we were attacked on September 11th, 2001. Nineteen people did the unthinkable. Nineteen people. We had a chance to unite the world, to demonstrate that we are a tolerant nation based on law but not on vengeance. Instead we reacted violently, carpet bombing civilians in Afghanistan, leveling football field sized swaths of people with cluster bombs dropped from B-52’s. We were indiscriminant in our reaction.
Then we inexplicably turned our sites on Iraq. We’ve carried through on the old adage of “bombing them back to the stone-age.” We turned the metropolitan city of Baghdad, one of the birth-places of civilization, into rubble. People there die every single day trying to buy food for their families. A recently released British memo states that the methodology used by census takers who estimated between 600,000 and 650,000 Iraqi civilians have been killed in the War on Iraq is sound and robust. 650,000 people – 2.5 percent of Iraq’s total population. That’s over 200 times more people than were killed in the attacks on the twin towers. How much blood do we demand in vengeance?
We’ve created fear, unemployment, desperation, and hatred. These are the very emotions and conditions that make a strict totalitarian regime feasible. These were the exact conditions that existed in Germany after World War One and lead to the rise of Adolph Hitler and the Third Reich.
When a people are beaten and humiliated to a point where they are forced to live like animals that is when religious extremism rises up. Through our actions we are beating ourselves in the very war we created.
Borat’s slip of the tongue is apropos, this isn’t a war on terror, it is a war of terror. We’re showing the world that we can kill more people than anyone and we’re right. But you can’t kill an idea with the military.
The solution to “terrorism” is pretty simple. You need to provide people with a more attractive alternative. That means bolstering economies, promoting education, encouraging cross-cultural communication and tolerance. Easier said than done for sure but why do I feel like we are working hard at moving in the wrong direction?
Same Goes for Immigration
I get frustrated with the over-emphasis on illegal immigration that’s been going on lately. Honestly my feeling is this – if some Central American or Mexican makes it into this country and then with little or no education, no valid identification and not even a strong grasp of the language “takes your job” then you must be one stupid worthless ignorant motherfucker. Sorry, that’s just the way I feel. We have one of the best educational systems in the world and as American citizens we have so many advantages that illegal immigrants do not.
People travel to this country because their own countries have crap economies and they want to make some money. These are the people we should want in our work-force.
Ignoring the Writing on the Wall
Of course if we keep plowing ahead like we are, ignoring the economic writing on the wall and spending more than we’re earning then we may all find ourselves sneaking into Mexico looking for work. We have an aging population that we are not going to be able to afford – our medical system is broken, and Bush’s war without end is going to strain the nation financially for decades to come. The divide between the rich and poor grows wider every second while the politicians squabble over “non-binding resolutions” and try and figure out whose going to run for President twenty some odd months from now. It really makes me wonder what the Hell is going on around here.
Kind of makes you wish you
So are we fighting this war the right way? My personal belief based on an incomplete and basic understanding of human nature is that we are not employing the right tactics and that in many instances we are only exacerbating the problem by fighting a belief system with military reaction.
I’ve said it before but I believe we missed a golden opportunity to turn the other cheek when we were attacked on September 11th, 2001. Nineteen people did the unthinkable. Nineteen people. We had a chance to unite the world, to demonstrate that we are a tolerant nation based on law but not on vengeance. Instead we reacted violently, carpet bombing civilians in Afghanistan, leveling football field sized swaths of people with cluster bombs dropped from B-52’s. We were indiscriminant in our reaction.
Then we inexplicably turned our sites on Iraq. We’ve carried through on the old adage of “bombing them back to the stone-age.” We turned the metropolitan city of Baghdad, one of the birth-places of civilization, into rubble. People there die every single day trying to buy food for their families. A recently released British memo states that the methodology used by census takers who estimated between 600,000 and 650,000 Iraqi civilians have been killed in the War on Iraq is sound and robust. 650,000 people – 2.5 percent of Iraq’s total population. That’s over 200 times more people than were killed in the attacks on the twin towers. How much blood do we demand in vengeance?
We’ve created fear, unemployment, desperation, and hatred. These are the very emotions and conditions that make a strict totalitarian regime feasible. These were the exact conditions that existed in Germany after World War One and lead to the rise of Adolph Hitler and the Third Reich.
When a people are beaten and humiliated to a point where they are forced to live like animals that is when religious extremism rises up. Through our actions we are beating ourselves in the very war we created.
Borat’s slip of the tongue is apropos, this isn’t a war on terror, it is a war of terror. We’re showing the world that we can kill more people than anyone and we’re right. But you can’t kill an idea with the military.
The solution to “terrorism” is pretty simple. You need to provide people with a more attractive alternative. That means bolstering economies, promoting education, encouraging cross-cultural communication and tolerance. Easier said than done for sure but why do I feel like we are working hard at moving in the wrong direction?
Same Goes for Immigration
I get frustrated with the over-emphasis on illegal immigration that’s been going on lately. Honestly my feeling is this – if some Central American or Mexican makes it into this country and then with little or no education, no valid identification and not even a strong grasp of the language “takes your job” then you must be one stupid worthless ignorant motherfucker. Sorry, that’s just the way I feel. We have one of the best educational systems in the world and as American citizens we have so many advantages that illegal immigrants do not.
People travel to this country because their own countries have crap economies and they want to make some money. These are the people we should want in our work-force.
Ignoring the Writing on the Wall
Of course if we keep plowing ahead like we are, ignoring the economic writing on the wall and spending more than we’re earning then we may all find ourselves sneaking into Mexico looking for work. We have an aging population that we are not going to be able to afford – our medical system is broken, and Bush’s war without end is going to strain the nation financially for decades to come. The divide between the rich and poor grows wider every second while the politicians squabble over “non-binding resolutions” and try and figure out whose going to run for President twenty some odd months from now. It really makes me wonder what the Hell is going on around here.
Kind of makes you wish you
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Thou Shalt Not Steal
So I’m walking back from my friend’s house. He lives a block away and we play music together every Tuesday night. I’m walking back from his place, it’s a three quarters full moon and I cross the street like I always do and walk along the sidewalk towards the house before the vacant lot with the sagging chain link fence. I walk past this last house and there is a skateboard lying in the grass on the front yard. The thing is the same skateboard was lying in the same grass in the same place in front of the same house a week before. Tonight it looks as though it was starting to embed itself into the grass.
I wanted to take the skateboard and week before and I wanted to take it even more tonight but you can’t, I can’t. That’s stealing. Bullshit. Sometimes stealing is just taking something that someone else has stopped caring about. Sure it’s this kid’s property but it’s a perfectly good skateboard that is on its way to being decay. All I have to do is ignore the fact that someone owns it and has a perfect right to let it rot if that’s what they want to do – if I could just ignore that fact I would have gained a working skateboard.
That’s stealing. I know there are plenty of more extreme examples of someone forcefully divorcing someone else from their property but this rotting skateboard, if I were to rescue it from this lawn, would be stealing. Police could arrest me for taking inevitable rot and getting use out of it. Maddening. But these are the rules, we are a nation of laws.
Natural Born Convict
Myself I am not cut out for theft. A lucky combination of a generally honest disposition combined with the worst luck in America has kept me on the straight and narrow. Of course I toyed with petty theft when I was a kid. My neighbor’s baseball ended up on my lawn and even though it had his name on it I took it and used a marking pen to cover the entire panel of the baseball so that his name was obscured. He caught me. Naturally. I shoplifted a pack of chewing gum from Obexer’s Market in Homewood on Lake Tahoe and got caught. Naturally. I peeled the “nice price” sticker off of a Billy Ocean album and stuck it to Metallica’s “Ride the Lightning.” I would surely have been caught if the girl at the counter cared. As it stands I feel no remorse for stealing from Metallica. After their Napster fiasco and the tremendous amount of crap they’ve released over the last decade they deserve a lot worse. I suppose I’ve taken things from work – the usual, pens, paper, white out. Nothing major. I could never steal money, not even from a lousy employer. I wouldn’t be able to look myself in the mirror.
But back to this skateboard. I live in what would be considered a relatively poor neighborhood – but you wouldn’t know that from the amount of expensive toys and junk that the kids around here leave out. If I take a walk down the street or through an alley I could pick up a half a dozen bikes in varying states of disrepair. I think it is an ugly symptom when the poorest amongst us are sucked into the gross consumption – we buy things we don’t need, or even want! We buy just to buy and then we let the things we buy rot as soon as something shinier comes along.
Shit, I’m sounding like a broken record.
Speaking of Stealing…
I’ve recently discovered internet radio. I listen to internet radio at work mostly as my connection at home is dial-up. Sometimes we’ll listen to KZFR, other times KCSC, but just today I discovered a doozy of an Americana station called “Bourbon Disaster Radio.” The station is a sublime blend of classic outlaw country and more contemporary alternative-country and Americana. Get your twang on at: http://www.bourbondisaster.com/.
Honesty is the Best Policy
Seriously. Well maybe it’s just because I’m not smart enough to lie and get away with it. To each their own I suppose and I certainly know of a fair amount of highly successful and extremely devious and deceitful people. But you know, it just isn’t worth it – to sacrifice pride and decency for money or material success. What do I know though? Plenty of people have told me I’ll die broke.
I wanted to take the skateboard and week before and I wanted to take it even more tonight but you can’t, I can’t. That’s stealing. Bullshit. Sometimes stealing is just taking something that someone else has stopped caring about. Sure it’s this kid’s property but it’s a perfectly good skateboard that is on its way to being decay. All I have to do is ignore the fact that someone owns it and has a perfect right to let it rot if that’s what they want to do – if I could just ignore that fact I would have gained a working skateboard.
That’s stealing. I know there are plenty of more extreme examples of someone forcefully divorcing someone else from their property but this rotting skateboard, if I were to rescue it from this lawn, would be stealing. Police could arrest me for taking inevitable rot and getting use out of it. Maddening. But these are the rules, we are a nation of laws.
Natural Born Convict
Myself I am not cut out for theft. A lucky combination of a generally honest disposition combined with the worst luck in America has kept me on the straight and narrow. Of course I toyed with petty theft when I was a kid. My neighbor’s baseball ended up on my lawn and even though it had his name on it I took it and used a marking pen to cover the entire panel of the baseball so that his name was obscured. He caught me. Naturally. I shoplifted a pack of chewing gum from Obexer’s Market in Homewood on Lake Tahoe and got caught. Naturally. I peeled the “nice price” sticker off of a Billy Ocean album and stuck it to Metallica’s “Ride the Lightning.” I would surely have been caught if the girl at the counter cared. As it stands I feel no remorse for stealing from Metallica. After their Napster fiasco and the tremendous amount of crap they’ve released over the last decade they deserve a lot worse. I suppose I’ve taken things from work – the usual, pens, paper, white out. Nothing major. I could never steal money, not even from a lousy employer. I wouldn’t be able to look myself in the mirror.
But back to this skateboard. I live in what would be considered a relatively poor neighborhood – but you wouldn’t know that from the amount of expensive toys and junk that the kids around here leave out. If I take a walk down the street or through an alley I could pick up a half a dozen bikes in varying states of disrepair. I think it is an ugly symptom when the poorest amongst us are sucked into the gross consumption – we buy things we don’t need, or even want! We buy just to buy and then we let the things we buy rot as soon as something shinier comes along.
Shit, I’m sounding like a broken record.
Speaking of Stealing…
I’ve recently discovered internet radio. I listen to internet radio at work mostly as my connection at home is dial-up. Sometimes we’ll listen to KZFR, other times KCSC, but just today I discovered a doozy of an Americana station called “Bourbon Disaster Radio.” The station is a sublime blend of classic outlaw country and more contemporary alternative-country and Americana. Get your twang on at: http://www.bourbondisaster.com/.
Honesty is the Best Policy
Seriously. Well maybe it’s just because I’m not smart enough to lie and get away with it. To each their own I suppose and I certainly know of a fair amount of highly successful and extremely devious and deceitful people. But you know, it just isn’t worth it – to sacrifice pride and decency for money or material success. What do I know though? Plenty of people have told me I’ll die broke.
Happy Birthday to Me!
“We all grieve in different ways,
Some people grieve longer than others and
Some people grieve forever.”
-Louis T. Wermann
I’m in a particularly melancholy mood this evening, listening to Celtic-flavored music, sad songs, songs of freedom and loss. My birthday’s coming up. On Saint Patrick’s Day in the year 1971 I breathed my first breath. March, wind, spring. The crocus have started blooming, appearing out of the cold ground and opening for the growing sun. The saucer magnolia in the front yard is ablaze with color and life and the peach in the back should open up completely with a couple of days worth of warm weather over this first weekend of the month of March. This winter has been strange – punctuated with loss and bitter cold. Tears.
I was adopted. It’s a beautiful thing. I was raised by a family of people who love me, but are in some ways fundamentally very different from me. It has given me a tremendous sense of freedom. I learned at a very young age, at least I was exposed to, the concept of sacrifice and loss. I don’t know who my birth parents are. I started to look several years ago but then I met a lovely woman I quickly fell in love with and married and the urgency of that search faded. Now I’m ambivalent about it – about finding people who look like me and share my genetics. I’m happy with who I am. I’m excited about who I may become. My birthdays are tinged with sadness though. There is no way not to think about the woman who decided to give me up.
My dad told me I was adopted as soon as my parents figured I was old enough to understand. I was around five at the airport when he told me that I was not his biological son. I remember a big yellow jet airliner just lifting off from the runway and pointing at it. My dad always recalls that to me as a sign I was accepting and not bothered by this strange news.
It’s weird being adopted. When I think about it – well one set of people chose me. So in that regard I feel special in that I was chosen. On the other side of the coin another set of people chose to give me up. So I was forsaken. I feel a sense of freedom – free from genetic expectations. But I also sometimes feel isolated. It can sometimes be difficult to reconcile these feelings. Ultimately I think it leaves me with a sense of chaos. Sometimes we think we are in control of our lives but at other times that sense of control proves itself to be a crumbling illusion.
So Happy Birthday Anyway!
But what the hell – we are all in this soup together. We’re all swimming upstream. Our lives are all growing shorter. Looking backwards is a fool’s plan or the luxury abided a leisure class of people. Looking back is a luxury, or the ability of a spoiled child to waste so easily and to be so careless. The fabric of order is at best a very loose knit of very questionable material. The likelihood of unraveling is always near.
Saint Patrick’s Day Game Plan
Yeah birthday’s get me to thinking – too much really. This year I’m going to embrace the Chico tradition of going out on the town, enjoying live music, and having a drink with friend’s at an establishment or three. I’ll dress myself from head to toe in green and soak in the sun or rain of an early spring day. I will post a smile upon my face and fortify it with strong medicine periodically. By nightfall I will be worse for the wear. It will be like living an entire lifetime in a single day. I will rise fresh and early at sunrise and I will collapse in a sunken heap at nightfall.
Life is such a marvel. If you can look at it just the right way it shimmers and shines and makes you laugh out loud. Not because it is good and not because it is bad but just because it is. All this, everything around us is.
So Happy Saint Patrick’s Day to you and whatever your plans for the day may be please have a good and a safe day.
Some people grieve longer than others and
Some people grieve forever.”
-Louis T. Wermann
I’m in a particularly melancholy mood this evening, listening to Celtic-flavored music, sad songs, songs of freedom and loss. My birthday’s coming up. On Saint Patrick’s Day in the year 1971 I breathed my first breath. March, wind, spring. The crocus have started blooming, appearing out of the cold ground and opening for the growing sun. The saucer magnolia in the front yard is ablaze with color and life and the peach in the back should open up completely with a couple of days worth of warm weather over this first weekend of the month of March. This winter has been strange – punctuated with loss and bitter cold. Tears.
I was adopted. It’s a beautiful thing. I was raised by a family of people who love me, but are in some ways fundamentally very different from me. It has given me a tremendous sense of freedom. I learned at a very young age, at least I was exposed to, the concept of sacrifice and loss. I don’t know who my birth parents are. I started to look several years ago but then I met a lovely woman I quickly fell in love with and married and the urgency of that search faded. Now I’m ambivalent about it – about finding people who look like me and share my genetics. I’m happy with who I am. I’m excited about who I may become. My birthdays are tinged with sadness though. There is no way not to think about the woman who decided to give me up.
My dad told me I was adopted as soon as my parents figured I was old enough to understand. I was around five at the airport when he told me that I was not his biological son. I remember a big yellow jet airliner just lifting off from the runway and pointing at it. My dad always recalls that to me as a sign I was accepting and not bothered by this strange news.
It’s weird being adopted. When I think about it – well one set of people chose me. So in that regard I feel special in that I was chosen. On the other side of the coin another set of people chose to give me up. So I was forsaken. I feel a sense of freedom – free from genetic expectations. But I also sometimes feel isolated. It can sometimes be difficult to reconcile these feelings. Ultimately I think it leaves me with a sense of chaos. Sometimes we think we are in control of our lives but at other times that sense of control proves itself to be a crumbling illusion.
So Happy Birthday Anyway!
But what the hell – we are all in this soup together. We’re all swimming upstream. Our lives are all growing shorter. Looking backwards is a fool’s plan or the luxury abided a leisure class of people. Looking back is a luxury, or the ability of a spoiled child to waste so easily and to be so careless. The fabric of order is at best a very loose knit of very questionable material. The likelihood of unraveling is always near.
Saint Patrick’s Day Game Plan
Yeah birthday’s get me to thinking – too much really. This year I’m going to embrace the Chico tradition of going out on the town, enjoying live music, and having a drink with friend’s at an establishment or three. I’ll dress myself from head to toe in green and soak in the sun or rain of an early spring day. I will post a smile upon my face and fortify it with strong medicine periodically. By nightfall I will be worse for the wear. It will be like living an entire lifetime in a single day. I will rise fresh and early at sunrise and I will collapse in a sunken heap at nightfall.
Life is such a marvel. If you can look at it just the right way it shimmers and shines and makes you laugh out loud. Not because it is good and not because it is bad but just because it is. All this, everything around us is.
So Happy Saint Patrick’s Day to you and whatever your plans for the day may be please have a good and a safe day.
Sunday, March 4, 2007
Politics as Usual and Cheap Useless Crap
Writing about politics, especially on the national level, is incredibly frustrating. It sometimes feels like shouting at a hurricane. I’m glad the democrats have some power only because it re-introduces a missing system of checks, balances, and oversight. Frankly I haven’t heard any democrat enunciating a strategy or platform other than “we’re not them” and in the face of the atrocious behavior of the republican lead Congress during a time of national vulnerability the “we’re not them” approach has finally paid off. But now what? I see that Nancy Pelosi is requesting a brand new jet aeroplane so that she can fly more comfortably between Washington D.C. and San Francisco. What’s another million at this point anyway? In six short years the term “budget surplus” has become an abstract esoteric concept, much like “transparency” and “accountability.” If it were up to me the politicians would all be flying coach and taking taxis. Or better yet the bus – it would give the rich SOB’s a chance to actually see, and likely rub against or be fondled by, the people they are being paid to represent. That’s sort of a joke, the idea that politicians represent working class tax-payers as opposed to the filthy rich. Birds of a feather.
So lately I’ve strayed from politics a bit. Pretty much everyone with a connected cerebellum is getting down on this “war.” How can it even be called a war when the soldiers involved don’t know who it is they’re fighting? Terror? I suppose Stephen King should be public enemy number one.
National politics is a mess. We can agree on that much. So how about local politics? Well here are some thoughts on a few issues that affect us all on a more proximate level.
What Parking Problem?
Seriously. Drive five blocks in any direction and you can find parking. Most of it is even free. The idea that there needs to be another downtown parking structure is ludicrous and an obvious tip of the hat to pressure from a construction-based economy. You want to hear about a parking problem? The first place I lived in San Francisco I would have to drive around in circles for forty-five minutes to find a parking space that was within fifteen minutes walking distance of my apartment. I think we should take the existing parking structure and make it entirely handicapped spaces so that the elderly and the disabled can park close to downtown and everyone else can invest in a decent pair of walking shoes. The exercise will do you good.
I understand this pressure to develop. Unless you work in construction or agriculture the economy in Chico stinks. I’m not anti-development like a lot of folks. I don’t buy into the whole “I got mine” mentality. Chico is a desirable place to live so why wouldn’t people want to move here? More people means we need more housing. So no, I’m not in the anti-development camp. I am, however, against stupid redundant unnecessary and publicly-funded development.
Wal-Mart
Speaking of publicly funded development I have bad news for those of you keeping your fingers crossed that the Wal-Mart Super Center won’t be built. If people keep shopping at Wal-Mart, and Wal-Mart keeps making money, then it will be built. Does it make me sick to my stomach? Yes. Is it economically short-sighted? Yes, but then aren’t we as Americans sort of the keepers of the faith when it comes to short-sighted policy? It seems almost an obligation at this point to make decisions for the immediate future that will permanently screw-up the mid to distant future.
But what the hell? People stayed in line overnight for the opening of both the Krispy Kreme Donuts and the In N Out Burger when they opened. People gave up a night of sleep so they could say they ate a fucking hamburger and a donut on the first day these corporate chain stores opened in our town. A lot of people. So congratulations – I mean, if being the first to sample corporate cuisine is a badge of honor for this great consumer nation then of course there will be more Wal-Marts, more king-sized peddlers of uselsss crap – but it’s cheap! Cheap useless crap. That should be our national motto. Print it on every fucking dollar bill and coin that comes out of our mints. In Cheap Useless Crap We Trust.
Great, are you happy? Now I’ve made myself sick to my own stomach. I’m going to go and take a cheap generic Xanax now. Thank the god of Cheap Useless Crap that Wal-Mart has a pharmacy.
So lately I’ve strayed from politics a bit. Pretty much everyone with a connected cerebellum is getting down on this “war.” How can it even be called a war when the soldiers involved don’t know who it is they’re fighting? Terror? I suppose Stephen King should be public enemy number one.
National politics is a mess. We can agree on that much. So how about local politics? Well here are some thoughts on a few issues that affect us all on a more proximate level.
What Parking Problem?
Seriously. Drive five blocks in any direction and you can find parking. Most of it is even free. The idea that there needs to be another downtown parking structure is ludicrous and an obvious tip of the hat to pressure from a construction-based economy. You want to hear about a parking problem? The first place I lived in San Francisco I would have to drive around in circles for forty-five minutes to find a parking space that was within fifteen minutes walking distance of my apartment. I think we should take the existing parking structure and make it entirely handicapped spaces so that the elderly and the disabled can park close to downtown and everyone else can invest in a decent pair of walking shoes. The exercise will do you good.
I understand this pressure to develop. Unless you work in construction or agriculture the economy in Chico stinks. I’m not anti-development like a lot of folks. I don’t buy into the whole “I got mine” mentality. Chico is a desirable place to live so why wouldn’t people want to move here? More people means we need more housing. So no, I’m not in the anti-development camp. I am, however, against stupid redundant unnecessary and publicly-funded development.
Wal-Mart
Speaking of publicly funded development I have bad news for those of you keeping your fingers crossed that the Wal-Mart Super Center won’t be built. If people keep shopping at Wal-Mart, and Wal-Mart keeps making money, then it will be built. Does it make me sick to my stomach? Yes. Is it economically short-sighted? Yes, but then aren’t we as Americans sort of the keepers of the faith when it comes to short-sighted policy? It seems almost an obligation at this point to make decisions for the immediate future that will permanently screw-up the mid to distant future.
But what the hell? People stayed in line overnight for the opening of both the Krispy Kreme Donuts and the In N Out Burger when they opened. People gave up a night of sleep so they could say they ate a fucking hamburger and a donut on the first day these corporate chain stores opened in our town. A lot of people. So congratulations – I mean, if being the first to sample corporate cuisine is a badge of honor for this great consumer nation then of course there will be more Wal-Marts, more king-sized peddlers of uselsss crap – but it’s cheap! Cheap useless crap. That should be our national motto. Print it on every fucking dollar bill and coin that comes out of our mints. In Cheap Useless Crap We Trust.
Great, are you happy? Now I’ve made myself sick to my own stomach. I’m going to go and take a cheap generic Xanax now. Thank the god of Cheap Useless Crap that Wal-Mart has a pharmacy.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Daytona, Elvis, and Old School Punk Rock
Well it’s Tuesday morning and I am just about ready to ease into the work week. Unfortunately the work week started yesterday. My productivity was probably not near maximum after a blow-out of a weekend.
The Great American Race
The good old boys from Nascar ran the Daytona 500 on Sunday and it was a screamer. Kevin Harvick got a hell of a run and edged out Mick Martin for the win but even more impressive was Clint Bowyer managing to cross the finish line in 18th place in spite of the fact that his car was traveling on its roof instead of on the tires. After the 07 car slid over the black and white checkered line it veered off into the grass and then popped back over onto its wheels at which point Bowyer nonchalantly climbed out of the flaming wreck and removed his gloves while surveying the damage. Martin’s got to be disappointed. One of the older drivers on the circuit this was Martin’s 23rd start at the Daytona 500 and still no victory.
The King vs. Costello
I’ve heard a lot of talk about these musical figures and amazingly it seems like most of the feedback is that Costello is superior to Presley. I suppose this is to be expected from the Indie rock Chico crowd but I have two words for you. Shut up. All of you who really think that Elvis Costello is better than Elvis Presley get on a plane or climb into a van and drive your asses to Memphis, Tennessee and check out Graceland. Pay particular attention to the wall that is entirely covered with platinum and gold records. I’m not trying to maintain that commercial success is the way to judge musical talent but Elvis Presley was the man! By the time most of you reading this were born he was either dead or had become a grotesque caricature of his former self. The bloated cheesey Vegas lounge Elvis may be the image many of you associate with the boy from Tupelo but keep in mind that that was the twilight of Presley’s career. He had been making records for twenty years by then. With his smooth voice, hard playing (Sleepy LaBeef loaned Presley a guitar for a set one night and regretted it because when he got it back it was destroyed simply from the intensity with which Elvis strummed it), youthful good looks and wildly gyrating hips Elvis Presley literally helped to put rock and roll on the map. His influence is felt everywhere today. Bands that don’t even know it have been influenced by Presley.
Aside from that it was when John Waters saw Elvis Presley that he knew for sure he was gay. There is a reason Elvis Presley is called the King.
Of course this is my Nascar watching beer drinking country music listening ass talking so what the hell do I really know anyway? Indie rock has never floated my boat and Costello has always struck me as sort of a wordy dork.
Dog Killer and the Fat Stickies
Sunday was a rough one as after watching the Daytona 500 and, naturally, consuming a fair amount of beer, I somehow managed to keep the dream alive and get myself down to Duffy’s for the Dog Killer reunion show. There’s just something about classic simple, sometimes banal, punk rock music. It is very reassuring and the old-school Chico crowd turned out in force.
Rock trio the Fat Stickies opened up the show with their version of driving chord driven power. The band dawned mono-brows for the occasion. Don’t ask me, I’m just telling you what I saw. I think it’s the first time I’ve ever seen anyone playing with a full Marshall stack in Duffy’s Tavern. Necessary? Probably not. Bitching? Totally.
That was Then…
So that brings us to today. It is a strange way of life we live here in Chico. My lifestyle includes basically hanging on through the working week, doing what I have to do in terms of shopping, laundering, a little painting or writing crammed in between the eight hour work days – and then once Friday rolls around I spend two days trying to make up for the monotony of the week. Usually this backfires horrifically in a pool of beer and booze and by the time Monday returns, far too soon, my synapses are fried and my I.Q. has dropped about thirty points to near idiot level. I don’t advocate this. If you can get your hands on a trust fund or an inheritance I highly recommend it. Better yet land yourself an executive job so you can party all week long and get paid like a rock star.
That’s all for now!
The Great American Race
The good old boys from Nascar ran the Daytona 500 on Sunday and it was a screamer. Kevin Harvick got a hell of a run and edged out Mick Martin for the win but even more impressive was Clint Bowyer managing to cross the finish line in 18th place in spite of the fact that his car was traveling on its roof instead of on the tires. After the 07 car slid over the black and white checkered line it veered off into the grass and then popped back over onto its wheels at which point Bowyer nonchalantly climbed out of the flaming wreck and removed his gloves while surveying the damage. Martin’s got to be disappointed. One of the older drivers on the circuit this was Martin’s 23rd start at the Daytona 500 and still no victory.
The King vs. Costello
I’ve heard a lot of talk about these musical figures and amazingly it seems like most of the feedback is that Costello is superior to Presley. I suppose this is to be expected from the Indie rock Chico crowd but I have two words for you. Shut up. All of you who really think that Elvis Costello is better than Elvis Presley get on a plane or climb into a van and drive your asses to Memphis, Tennessee and check out Graceland. Pay particular attention to the wall that is entirely covered with platinum and gold records. I’m not trying to maintain that commercial success is the way to judge musical talent but Elvis Presley was the man! By the time most of you reading this were born he was either dead or had become a grotesque caricature of his former self. The bloated cheesey Vegas lounge Elvis may be the image many of you associate with the boy from Tupelo but keep in mind that that was the twilight of Presley’s career. He had been making records for twenty years by then. With his smooth voice, hard playing (Sleepy LaBeef loaned Presley a guitar for a set one night and regretted it because when he got it back it was destroyed simply from the intensity with which Elvis strummed it), youthful good looks and wildly gyrating hips Elvis Presley literally helped to put rock and roll on the map. His influence is felt everywhere today. Bands that don’t even know it have been influenced by Presley.
Aside from that it was when John Waters saw Elvis Presley that he knew for sure he was gay. There is a reason Elvis Presley is called the King.
Of course this is my Nascar watching beer drinking country music listening ass talking so what the hell do I really know anyway? Indie rock has never floated my boat and Costello has always struck me as sort of a wordy dork.
Dog Killer and the Fat Stickies
Sunday was a rough one as after watching the Daytona 500 and, naturally, consuming a fair amount of beer, I somehow managed to keep the dream alive and get myself down to Duffy’s for the Dog Killer reunion show. There’s just something about classic simple, sometimes banal, punk rock music. It is very reassuring and the old-school Chico crowd turned out in force.
Rock trio the Fat Stickies opened up the show with their version of driving chord driven power. The band dawned mono-brows for the occasion. Don’t ask me, I’m just telling you what I saw. I think it’s the first time I’ve ever seen anyone playing with a full Marshall stack in Duffy’s Tavern. Necessary? Probably not. Bitching? Totally.
That was Then…
So that brings us to today. It is a strange way of life we live here in Chico. My lifestyle includes basically hanging on through the working week, doing what I have to do in terms of shopping, laundering, a little painting or writing crammed in between the eight hour work days – and then once Friday rolls around I spend two days trying to make up for the monotony of the week. Usually this backfires horrifically in a pool of beer and booze and by the time Monday returns, far too soon, my synapses are fried and my I.Q. has dropped about thirty points to near idiot level. I don’t advocate this. If you can get your hands on a trust fund or an inheritance I highly recommend it. Better yet land yourself an executive job so you can party all week long and get paid like a rock star.
That’s all for now!
Friday, February 16, 2007
Living in the 3rd World...
Lately things have been strange in the Howard house-hold. Or phone went dead on Monday. After contacting AT&T we were told that indeed there was a problem with our line, which I had already figured out doe to the fact that when I picked up the phone to make a call there was no dial tone. The first person we talked to told us to "unplug the phone for five minutes and plug it back in." We scratched our head and did as he suggested but alas, that brilliant technical advice did not work. The next person we talked to said that indeed there was a problem with the line and they would send someone out on Tuesday between 4 and 8 p.m. Well 4-8 p.m. came and went and our phone was still dead so I called back on Wednesday and was told "Yeah, we have you scheduled for Thursday between 8 a.m. and 6 p.m. I asked what happened to Tuesday between 4 and 8 p.m. but the lady didn't seem to have any record of that appointment. Whatever.
Well just to make life a little more primative when my wife was taking a Valentine's Day bath she went to turn off the water and the hot water would not turn off! The washer in the faucet had completely deteriorated. So I got to spend a few hours on Wednesday night hacking through our shower enclosure and twisting off the faucet stem, then going to the Home Depot to match up the parts. So at some point on Wednesday we had not phone and no indoor plumbing. Well we got the shower fixed with the help of a little duct tape and plastic but in the process of turning off the hot water I managed to turn off the pilot light to the water heater. No hot water when I woke up on Thursday to go to work. So at 6:30 a.m. I am naked on the floor in the laundry room with a long match lighting the pilot light. Neat.
Well now the hot water is fixed and the guy from AT&T came out on Thursday afternoon. The problem was at the telephone pole across the street and he scaled it nimbly and strung a new line - everything is fine now. I kind of liked it with no phone though.
Well just to make life a little more primative when my wife was taking a Valentine's Day bath she went to turn off the water and the hot water would not turn off! The washer in the faucet had completely deteriorated. So I got to spend a few hours on Wednesday night hacking through our shower enclosure and twisting off the faucet stem, then going to the Home Depot to match up the parts. So at some point on Wednesday we had not phone and no indoor plumbing. Well we got the shower fixed with the help of a little duct tape and plastic but in the process of turning off the hot water I managed to turn off the pilot light to the water heater. No hot water when I woke up on Thursday to go to work. So at 6:30 a.m. I am naked on the floor in the laundry room with a long match lighting the pilot light. Neat.
Well now the hot water is fixed and the guy from AT&T came out on Thursday afternoon. The problem was at the telephone pole across the street and he scaled it nimbly and strung a new line - everything is fine now. I kind of liked it with no phone though.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
The Good Old Days...
Come on over here kids and sit on Uncle Bob’s lap while I tell you a little story about those days long ago when you were just a twinkle in your daddy’s eye. Oh how the world has changed – one wonders how we ever managed to get by back in the 1970’s when I was a small boy.
When I was a small child there were no cellular telephones. I think my father actually owned the very first cellular phone. It was a big square clunky thing that probably weighed five pounds. Back then when my father talked on the phone in a public place it created a big scene – people would stare open-mouthed at the self-important asshole taking a phone call while waiting in line at Taco Bell. In fact not only did we not have cellular telephones, we didn’t even have push button phones! The phones I grew up with were called “rotary” phones. It’s a difficult device to describe but instead of pushing buttons to dial a phone number you put your finger into a circular wheel with holes in it for each number. Then you spun the wheel around and let it spin back into place for each digit you needed to dial. It could take one several seconds to dial a phone number and there was no speed-dial or pre-programmed numbers. This was all before digital technology took over and circuit boards replaced much larger electronic components.
There were no answering machines when I was a child. When you dialed a telephone number and no one was home the phone just rang and rang and after maybe a half-dozen rings you would conclude that no one was going to answer and hang up. Then you had no other option but to wait and try your call again later. There also wasn’t any call waiting so if you were calling someone who was already talking on their telephone then you heard a strange beeping noise called a “busy signal.” I don’t know how we survived to be honest.
The first computer I ever worked on had a memory capacity of 4K. That’s four kilobytes, not megabytes or gigabytes. We saved our information on a strange plastic thing called a “floppy disk.” It was a big deal when we got a computer with 64K of memory, we were really moving up in the world.
Speaking of floppy disks there were no Compact Discs or DVD’s when I was small. While I was growing up the format of choice for music switched from vinyl records to short-lived and ill-fated 8-tracks to cassettes. Compact Discs first made their appearance when I was nearly graduated from high school and Compact Disc players were very expensive. There were not Compact Disc recorders available on the home retail market until much later.
There were no microwave ovens when I was small. Anything you wanted to heat up had to be cooked on a stove-top or in an oven. It often took up to forty-five minutes to prepare a meal! When we got our first microwave oven my dad and I used to take slices of cheese and put them on pieces of salami, then microwave them until the salami rolled up and turned dark and the cheese melted and then crusted into a boiling orange film. Don’t ask me why, it seemed like a good idea at the time.
Power locks on cars were a relatively new thing when I was a child – Cadillac cars had had them for awhile but my family never bought a Cadillac. A big brown mercury we later named “The Lemon” was the first car we owned with power locks. I sat in the car at the car lot and operated the power locks repeatedly for a long time until the sales man told me pretty forcefully to stop doing that. I remember not liking that guy much and the car turned out to be a piece of crap.
There were only three channels on television when I was a child and reception on the channel with the best cartoons was poor. I watched it anyway because the programming on the other channels was dull. Color television was relatively new and my family had one color and one black and white television. I still have a little black and white television in my garage that I use more like a radio when there is a game on and I am working out in the back yard.
Yes times have changed since I was a young boy in America. But some things have stayed the same. We had just extricated ourselves from a highly unpopular war in Vietnam when I was young and the Middle-East was a mess. For all of our technological progress more people than not still don’t have access to clean drinking water, an adequate food supply, or medicine. The more things change, the more they stay the same.
When I was a small child there were no cellular telephones. I think my father actually owned the very first cellular phone. It was a big square clunky thing that probably weighed five pounds. Back then when my father talked on the phone in a public place it created a big scene – people would stare open-mouthed at the self-important asshole taking a phone call while waiting in line at Taco Bell. In fact not only did we not have cellular telephones, we didn’t even have push button phones! The phones I grew up with were called “rotary” phones. It’s a difficult device to describe but instead of pushing buttons to dial a phone number you put your finger into a circular wheel with holes in it for each number. Then you spun the wheel around and let it spin back into place for each digit you needed to dial. It could take one several seconds to dial a phone number and there was no speed-dial or pre-programmed numbers. This was all before digital technology took over and circuit boards replaced much larger electronic components.
There were no answering machines when I was a child. When you dialed a telephone number and no one was home the phone just rang and rang and after maybe a half-dozen rings you would conclude that no one was going to answer and hang up. Then you had no other option but to wait and try your call again later. There also wasn’t any call waiting so if you were calling someone who was already talking on their telephone then you heard a strange beeping noise called a “busy signal.” I don’t know how we survived to be honest.
The first computer I ever worked on had a memory capacity of 4K. That’s four kilobytes, not megabytes or gigabytes. We saved our information on a strange plastic thing called a “floppy disk.” It was a big deal when we got a computer with 64K of memory, we were really moving up in the world.
Speaking of floppy disks there were no Compact Discs or DVD’s when I was small. While I was growing up the format of choice for music switched from vinyl records to short-lived and ill-fated 8-tracks to cassettes. Compact Discs first made their appearance when I was nearly graduated from high school and Compact Disc players were very expensive. There were not Compact Disc recorders available on the home retail market until much later.
There were no microwave ovens when I was small. Anything you wanted to heat up had to be cooked on a stove-top or in an oven. It often took up to forty-five minutes to prepare a meal! When we got our first microwave oven my dad and I used to take slices of cheese and put them on pieces of salami, then microwave them until the salami rolled up and turned dark and the cheese melted and then crusted into a boiling orange film. Don’t ask me why, it seemed like a good idea at the time.
Power locks on cars were a relatively new thing when I was a child – Cadillac cars had had them for awhile but my family never bought a Cadillac. A big brown mercury we later named “The Lemon” was the first car we owned with power locks. I sat in the car at the car lot and operated the power locks repeatedly for a long time until the sales man told me pretty forcefully to stop doing that. I remember not liking that guy much and the car turned out to be a piece of crap.
There were only three channels on television when I was a child and reception on the channel with the best cartoons was poor. I watched it anyway because the programming on the other channels was dull. Color television was relatively new and my family had one color and one black and white television. I still have a little black and white television in my garage that I use more like a radio when there is a game on and I am working out in the back yard.
Yes times have changed since I was a young boy in America. But some things have stayed the same. We had just extricated ourselves from a highly unpopular war in Vietnam when I was young and the Middle-East was a mess. For all of our technological progress more people than not still don’t have access to clean drinking water, an adequate food supply, or medicine. The more things change, the more they stay the same.
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