“…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.
Sunday, May 13, 2007
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!
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