February 13, 2009

  • Jealousy
    It's ugly isn't it? I've known people who measured how much they were loved by how jealous their partner was. To me, that's a little scary. I can't find any good justification for jealousy. It's a negative emotion and negative emotions lead to violence if they're not neutralized. A long time ago I remember being jealous. It wasn't any fun. I hated being jealous. It was like being tormented by my mind. It's not like you get to turn it off and on at will. They (whoever they are) call it the Green Eyed Monster. It is a monster. It makes people say and do mean things to other people. Personally, I think Viola is jealous of Peggy. Peggy doesn't look like she cares much though does she?

    Photobucket

    Oh, happy Valentine's Day, you Hoes.

January 31, 2009

  • Confessions
    This is a true confessions blog so stop reading right this instant if you don't want to hear my true confession. I mean it. Stop! Click the back button in your browser or turn off your computer or go visit someone who will say the kinds of things you like to hear. No one wants to hear anyone else's sordid confessions. Well, except maybe priests. I wonder if they get off on that sort of thing? I mean no disrespect. I don't mean get off in a sexual way. There have been way too many stories in recent years about how Catholic priests get off. Who wants to hear about that, other than ambulance chasing lawyers and people down on their luck looking to make a fast buck with a good story about how they were molested by their parish priest when they were children? I'm not saying no one was ever molested by their parish priest when they were children. More on that in the next paragraph. It's part of my true confession. I wonder if it's fair to call them ambulance chasers anymore? They've really expanded into other areas with all the ambulance chasing competition out there. Now they advertise on TV about anything you can't pronounce that you might have gotten when you walked by a building or went to work somewhere or shined your shoes with the wrong kind of cancer causing shoe polish. If you've got messolothileoma or backstacaticosis or some other alphabet soup named disease you may be entitled to a financial settlement. Call now! But wait, call now and we'll double your cash settlement. Just pay shipping and handling for the second stack of greenbacks. Hurry. This offer won't last. Call in the next ten minutes.

    It's about being molested by the parish priest. When I was a child, a long, long time ago in a land far, far away I went to parochial school. For those of you who contracted some ailment from breathing the air at
    (enter the name of some organization with a lot of money) and are
    currently involved in a law suit to get your cash settlement from said
    company, I'm not naming any names here, because your lawyer told you
    not to discuss your case with anyone,     that hinders you from using your dictionary, a parochial school is a private school supported by a particular church or parish. The short version is I went to Catholic school from the first to the sixth grades. I sang in the choir and I was an alternate altar boy a few times. I could never get the bell ringing right. The genuflecting puzzled me too. I could sing though so I did well in the all boys choir for years. These are all true confessions if you were waiting for me to get to that part. But wait! There's more. I was never molested by a priest or a nun, much to my chagrin. I had a huge crush on my first grade teacher, Sister Patricia. OMG! She was so pretty and sweet and gentle and kind. I was seven so all I wanted to do was look at her and listen to her and watch her float all that black cloth around the room.

    So here's the thing. How come I was never molested? What? Wasn't I good enough? Wasn't I cute enough? What was wrong with me? All these other kids all over the country were getting molested by their parish priests and I got nothing? It's just not fair. I'm fairly sure that if some ambulance chaser reads this he or she will be contacting me to discuss the possibility of litigation for me against the parish in which I grew up. Think of the psychological scars I've carried with me for years because everyone else got molested and I was passed over. I was a cute kid. It's just not fair. I'd ask for a refund but I'm not sure we ever paid anything. My parents just used the envelops now and again. Probably just enough to keep my brother and I in school if I know them. Hey, maybe that's why I was never molested. My parents didn't give enough money to the church. They gave enough for me to attend classes, sing in the choir and be a lame, alternate altar boy a couple of times but not enough to get me molested. There's got to be a law suit in there somewhere. Well, it's okay though. Don't feel sorry for me. My Dad was a child and wife beater so I guess it all evens out in the big scheme of things.

January 24, 2009

  • Hurt
    Should I be hurt that some of my favorite people never come around or should I get some new favorite people? Oh sure, for you it's probably not a problem but for me it has been my whole life. I like people. Not all of them, of course, but most of them. It's like Will Rogers said, I never met a man I didn't like. Or was that Mae West who said that? Meh. Maybe both of them said it at different times. Neither of them ever met me though or they might have changed their tune. I'm annoying. Yeah, I know a couple of people who I've known for nearly twenty-five years. They have a son who is now about thirteen. When he was younger, whatever age they are when they can still tell the truth, he told me I was annoying. I had to laugh because I could see his point. I say things that make people uncomfortable. Whenever we'd talk and he'd start getting uncomfortable and he'd say, Annoying Alert, Annoying Alert! Being a PITA has been a lifelong thing with me. I've learned to laugh at myself--finally!

    Recently the daughter of another person I know, she's seventeen, told me I was a bad person because I said shitty things--right to people's faces! That one stung. What made it worse was I had just finished telling her she was my favorite kid and that every
    time I saw her my heart went pitter-patter. Naturally I had a quick, sharp retort. Oh yeah, I said in my best House imitation, it's much better to talk about them behind their backs like everyone else does. So, yeah, I like people and they don't like me. I've tried to change and be the kind of person that people like but it makes me physically ill and emotionally repressed and then I don't like myself. The way I figure it is I've got to live with me 24/7 and they can get away whenever they want. This is a no brainer. Duh. Who is it more important to please? Them or me? Survival demanded that I choose me so I did and people get to not like me if they don't want to like me. As if they really had a choice, which I don't think they do because we learn early how not to like and never really make the effort to learn how to overcome that kink in our personalities. The weird thing is I still like them. True, the seventeen year old was no longer number one on my favorite kid list but I still like her and feel happy everytime I see her.

    If you're one of my favorite people and you don't come around that's okay because I still like you and come around to your place. I just don't comment because I don't want to annoy you further. As for the rest of you, well, you just wait. You'll see. I'm annoying.

January 23, 2009

  • Hoes
    We're not talking the garden variety here either. It's enough to turn people off from ever gardening again as far as I can tell. Not all people, of course. Some have a higher tolerance for hoes than others. I reckon if your name is John you have an inclination to hoes. That may not be fair. Okay, how's this? If your name is john you might have an inclination to hoes. Never having been with a hoe I've got no business talking about them experientially. Yeah, I'm going to talk about them anyway. You knew that didn't you? See how smart the people are who read here? Very cool.

    So, I was cruisin' Amazon Boulevard today looking for a book. It was really hard to find the book because standing on every corner, milling around all the booksellers were all these hoes. One group of hoes were peddling health and healing. Some other gang of hoes were hawking their wares on the corner. Their patter sounded like this:

    What would it be like to, first of all, make a lot of money so you didn't need to worry about your bills, have a lot of the things you've always wanted, and do the things you've always wished you could do if it weren't for the money?

    You wouldn't believe how many johns were digging into their wallets. I thought they could save a lot of money right now by putting their wallets away and moving on down the boulevard. They couldn't hear me over the din of the hawking hoes. As I rolled past another group of hoes I could hear Ella mourning in the background, Love for sale . . . . They were telling anyone who'd listen all about how to find their soul mate.

    One thing they all had in common is they weren't giving it away. They were selling it. I've got nothing going on about people making money. Everyone needs the stuff in our culture. Some things just shouldn't be for sale. Like the air we breath and the sun that warms our skin on a bright day; the smell of a freshly mowed lawn or the fragrance of a flower. These things have their price it's true. You must stop for a moment and realize where you are, what it is and what's really important in life. I've spent forty years encouraging people to take a moment to be in the moment. A chiropractor friend and I were talking one day about the podcasts I put out. He said, There's got to be a way to make some money from something like that. I told him I'd never thought about it. He said, No, that's not how you operate. You just give it away. Interestingly, he's never charged me for a visit. It all works out in the end. I guess as long as people keep paying for it someone will sell it.

    Dork Alert: I'm such a dork! I wrote this earlier and then left it private. I wondered why no one had anything to say about such a tasty subject. Duh!

December 24, 2008

  • Yesterday
    It was eight years ago yesterday that I answered Bianca's spam invitation to Xanga. Blogging was new, not yet part of pop culture, not yet infested. Those of us who were part of that first wave of newcomers probably didn't know what to expect. How could we? As far as we knew nothing like this had been done before. We didn't know there was going to be an age ceiling put on the world we began to shape and mold day after day. Many of today's bloggers here in xangadu were still going wee in their pants. Were still learning their communication skills from badly translated Japanese video games that boldly proclaimed, All your base are belong to us! They hadn't yet found their inner critic that would soon begin to swagger and whine about people too old for blogging cluttering up their world with their foreign language of spelling and English grammar. No, we adults were moaning about eProps and who had how many and who had how many subscribers and how that made them more popular and therefore more important than the rest of us. Though we had stopped going wee in our pants physically we made up for it with pouting, name calling, finger pointing and other forms of juvenile behaviors we'd all just as soon forget.

    The sprouts of friendships started back then have grown into trees that have given us shelter from the storms of life when we needed them. Now, whether we keep up here in xangadu or not, we are part of each other's lives and we still amuse, amaze and comfort one another with eMails, eCards and eLove. For the most part we're probably way beyond annoying one another any more. Some of the people who made up the first, second and third waves of bloggers who hit the beaches of xangadu tapping loudly on their keyboards have fallen and are no longer with us. For those of us who remain in the shadows the saying again proves true: Old soldiers never die they just fade away. Though these days I rarely cross T's with the inhabitants of xangadu from time to time I remember. It may appear to be a complaint but I have none to air. I am grateful for the practice I got writing here every day for years. Learning the ropes of hidden human relationships and how people behave toward one another when they are safe and anonymous behind a monitor was also interesting. It can bring out both our angels and demons. There are far more demons than angels I've learned. That just makes the angels all more exceptional and cherished.

    To those of you who have persevered I'd like to say thank you for everything. The good, the bad and the ugly. To those who have left xangadu for other parts, farewell. To those who have left these muddy shores of earth and rock for whatever lies beyond this mortal experience I wonder if you have regrets about some of the really mean and stupid things you said and did when you were here. For the rest of us I hope we make amends for the really mean and stupid things we said and did while we went crashing through life. Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night.

November 26, 2008

  • Autopilot
    Once upon a time I took a motorcycle safety course. The instructor told us that in life there was no such thing as safe. Every activity involves some risk. The idea of the course was to learn how to manage the considerable risks involved with riding a motorcycle, in general, and in Southern California in particular. When I rode, this week marked the beginning of my hightened risk management program. Now I call it the beginning of autopiloting season. There's something about holidays that lulls us to sleep causing us to move through our lives on autopilot. People get depressed automatically because life isn't the way it was when they were children. We find ourselves going through the motions like square dancers listening to the caller. The caller calls out the moves and we mindlessly dance telling ourselves how much fun we're having, or should be having. Traffic gets crazy and it's not just because there are more people on the roads. More people are also more distracted around the holidays. They're multitasking more than usual. The calendars are filling up with events, things to do, people to see, places to be.

    It's not like this is new. Every Thanksgiving Day people in America think they plan what they're going to do for the day. It's not true, but we can easily believe something that isn't true. We do it all on autopilot. What's for dinner? Duh. Why do you think some folks have taken to calling it turkey day? What's on television? Duh. Football games. Guess who's coming to dinner. A few of us are getting together on Thanksgiving Day. The menu? Was there ever any question? Sure there were many questions. Who's bringing the sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, bread, salad cranberry sauce, stuffing and how is the turkey going to be cooked? Wait, apple pie and pumpkin pie? How'd the apple pie get in there? Whose house will we have it at and what time do we get there? All those questions were answered pretty much the same way they were answered every year since heck was a pup. Since I hang with a very enlightened group of people none of them are on autopilot. They're all doing this consciously, wide awake. They're making choices based on what they want not what their parents did. Their food choices are made the same way. Well, yeah, it's what they always eat this time of year but it's not because they're on autopilot. It's not old associations, habits and beliefs. It's what they like and want.

    One thing I've learned over the years is not to talk to people about this. It annoys them. As Robert Heinlein so wisely said, Never try to teach a pig to sing; it wastes your time and it annoys the pig. So I'm writing it here instead. They'll never find it here. Okay, that's my story. Now, here's the public service announcement: Be mindful out there this time of year. People are on autopilot and, believe it or not, you're still a people. That means that even though you think you're wide awake and fully conscious you can still believe something that isn't true. Me? I'm not having a turkey dinner. I'm going to try something completely different.

November 1, 2008

  • Gold
    The feedback log keeps me amused, entertained and enlightened. I like to go there and look at the referrer. Sometimes it's some other blog and sometimes it's google.com where people searched for something and ended up at an old post. Since I've been at this since December 2000 there are a lot of posts. That's even taking into consideration the time the site got hacked by some kid who took exception to my age and removed all the posts. Three and a half years worth of writing gone in the blink of an eye. It didn't bother me because I knew where it came from. I can always write more. That was May of 2004. He's nineteen now and probably no longer around xangadu. On to bigger and better things, no doubt.

    Anyway, I click on where google sent them and
    read the old post. The thing is I can't always remember writing it but I can
    tell where my head was at when I did. It's interesting to see what
    changes have happened in there since I wrote whatever it was. Today's searcher was looking for "enjoying the apathy". Google sent the Aussie to
    a really great piece on Apathy.     The comments were cool too. I read it. I liked it. I'd write it again now but a little differently because I'm a little freer than I was on Monday, December 06, 2004. How cool is that? I'll never know who the random reader was who was referred to the essay on apathy by Google.com but I'd like to thank her. Yeah, I think it's a female. I don't know why. It's just a sense I have about it. Probably because I think women are more highly evolved than men. Stronger and more powerful in about every way possible outside the physical realm. The physical isn't that impressive to me anymore. Don't get me wrong, I like having a body and all. Well, most of the time. It's that I don't rely on it so much anymore.

    Back on track. I know people don't have time today. Everybody is so busy with the important stuff that it's hard to find time to feed the mind something nourishing. If you want to try this. Scroll down to the last bit in the column on the left side of the page. Posting Calendar. Pick and date and click Go! Read it. It's like a Chinese Fortune Cookie. See what you get. See if it is something feeds you in some inner way. It always works for me. I'm telling you, this place is a gold mine and here we are with too many things to do to pick up a nugget here and there. Life is funny like that. Oh, let me know if you tried and it what you got. Come on, it could be fun. Well, if you've got the time.

October 23, 2008

  • Beans
    Those familiar with Plato's account of the trial and subsequent execution of Socrates will understand why our nation was founded not as a democracy but rather as a democratic republic. It's why we pledge allegiance to the flag and to the republic for which it stands. It was human beans who allowed Plutocracy to murder the wise and gentle Socrates. It was the mob rule of the human beans that released rivers of blood in France during the French Revolution. It was ugly little pockets of human beans responsible for the vigilantism that lynched black men in this country for more than a hundred years. No form of government is perfect because human beans are not perfect. What we can do as a population is limited by the guiding principles of a constitution. Perhaps it would be fair to say human beans are not very good at self-governing without the guidance of higher principles. If this is true for human beans in general it is true for individual beans as well.

    Not being a social activist I do not direct my energies to human beans in general but rather to my own bean in particular with a willingness to share with other individual beans who may be attracted to the ideas I embrace. Because we do not all share the same level of understanding this can be a risky business as witnessed by the execution of Socrates for the high crimes of, engaging in inquiries into the things beneath the earth and in the heavens, of making the weaker argument appear the stronger, and of teaching others these same things (Apology 19). Perhaps someone will say, Why cannot you withdraw from Xanga, James, and hold your peace? It is the most difficult thing in the world to make you understand why I cannot do that. If I say that I cannot hold my peace because that would be to disobey the god, you will think that I am not in earnest and will not believe me. And if I tell you that no greater good can happen to a man than to discuss human excellence every day and the other matters about which you have heard me arguing and examining myself and others, and that an unexamined life is not worth living, then you will believe me still less (Apology 39).

    Please, do not for a moment think that I am pretending to be equal with Socrates. I consider he was a virtuous and wise man while I consider myself quite small and crude by comparison. Even a lowly acorn could become a mighty oak under the proper conditions. Isn't this the hope of all mankind? That we could be more than we currently are? Isn't this why we have heroes, standards and examples? It is precisely because I am so weak in character that I must use Socrates as an example of the possibility latent in all human beans. Socrates referred to himself as a gadfly but I do not intend to irritate or provoke people to anger or self-justification. These questions I ask myself because I am so imperfect yet wish to improve my lot. It is the ideas that drive me, not anything that originates with me. I beg your pardon for any offense you may have taken.

October 21, 2008

  • Twisted
    This morning I was reading over at queenie's place when I came across this: I do not hold grudges or ever stay pissed. This is about 99% true. I swear. Ask my kids, it freaks them out. No, I'm not going to ask her kids I'm going to believe her because I want to. It's something I really admire. Then I started to think about that quality and me. Yeah, I think I'm like that. There's just not much evidence lying around the kitchen to prove it. So I did a quick mental inventory to see where it was lying around. The quick mental inventory started to take a little longer than I thought it should. No matter where I looked, up, down, over there or under the bed, evidence was not in plain view. Unfortunately there's a reason for that. I'm not like that. I just think I am because I admire the quality and want to be that way. It's kind of a shock to have to admit that I'm not who I thought I was. It's even worse when you feel like you have to write it down for a few other people to see. That's how I felt. Like I needed to write it down, admit it to other people. What does it feel like? I'm glad you asked because I really want to tell you. Remember the scene in the Wizard of Oz where the Wicked Witch of the West sets Scarecrow on fire? Dorothy picks up a bucket of water and tosses it to put the fire out. The overflow hit the Wicked Witch. She started to smoke and shrivel while she moaned, I'm melting.

    It feels like that. Inside I'm moaning and melting, getting smaller and weaker. I really don't like the feeling. Then why am I standing here under the shower? Because I want to be like queenie is and never hold grudges or stay pissed. Now that I think about it, I don't usually stay pissed. That could be hooey too for all I know. No, it's true. There's evidence. One thing leads to another though and I've just discovered that I do stay hurt, which is almost as bad, in my opinion. The thing is if I continue to imagine that I am like that I will also continue to stay blind to the way I really am. Though that may feel better than melting it's that kind of twisted pretzel logic that stands in the way of changing for the better. Staying with the Steely Dan reference it's as if there's a monkey in my soul and it does things that I don't want it to do. The logic is that if I stand here in the light of consciousness and let it be, the monkey in my soul will diminish. The Wicked Witch that does what I don't want to do will melt away.

    If I can see it I don't have to be it. I don't really know how not to be hurt when people do things that hurt. That shouldn't matter since I don't know how I beat my heart, digest my food, grow my hair or move my muscles. If I can keep the light of consciousness on this thing in me that I don't want, it can't operate without me knowing it. Since I don't want it, when I see it, I won't let it do what it does. We are complex creatures with twisted paths leading deep and far into our hidden world of thoughts and feelings. It really is what we don't know about ourselves that can hurt us and others. I don't know how queenie got that way. What I do know is I want to be that way and I'm willing to melt to get there.

October 18, 2008

  • Graciousness
    There were some strong reactions, many insightful, to the last post about the character of Dr. House. Some perspectives I had not considered. How could I consider them if I didn't have them? Maybe the most shocking was WordJames' brilliant bit of deductive reasoning exposing the, now obvious, parallel between Dr. House and Sherlock Ho(l)mes. Wow! See why I'm happy to be back in xangadu? I would likely never have seen the connection on my own. Now it seems so obvious it's comical. It appears WordJames was able to apply the same objective needle to his own intellectual vein that Sherlock was able to bring to crime cases. I can almost hear WordJames saying, Elementary, my dear Watson. To add to the intrigue, that famous phrase does not appear in any of the Conan Doyle stories, only later in Sherlock Holmes' films. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle does have Holmes say, Exactly, my dear Watson, in three different stories. Imagine my surprise when another of my xangadu heroes, rideuponthewindagain, referenced P.G. Wodehouse. It just so happens that P.G. Wodehouse was the first to use the phrase, Elementary, my dear Watson, in Psmith Journalist in 1915. You could have knocked me over with a feather when I lined it all up and saw Wodehouse, Dr. House, his friend, Dr. James Wilson, Sherlock Ho(l)mes and his friend, Dr. John H. Watson in the same light. According to rideuponthewindagain, Hugh Laurie, who plays Dr. House, also played the part of Bertie Wooster in the PBS series of Jeeves, written by P.G. Wodehouse. I love synchronicity.

    Apart from and perhaps even because of the emotional responses to the personalities of Holmes and House, their drug abuse, superior intellect and, to many, offensive arrogance and acerbic nature they do make good dramatic characters. Their arrogance doesn't bother me because I don't think they really have an exaggerated sense of their own importance or abilities. They actually are brilliant. To my mind their ability to objectively and dispassionately admit when they are wrong is more important and admirable. I wish I could be as objective when I'm wrong, which is too often to my liking. Could be because I have an exaggerated sense of my own importance. Oh wait, who doesn't? Even if they can't admit it. It is also true that objectivity may appear quite cruel to someone in a more subjective state of mind. I do not enjoy or admire cruelty but am willing to attempt to understand what may cause it in human nature. How else am I expected to avoid it if I can't see it with some objectivity? Of course, I must see it in myself first before I will ever be able to understand it in another. This is not to excuse the behavior but rather to objectively, uncritically separate from it to study it scientifically, as it were. I'm sure my scientist friends will be able to understand the value of such an approach to human nature. I'm old. I can afford to be gracious. Thank you, each one, for your valuable opinions and insights.