The complete break from reality I am hearing as a response to the killings in Tucson is as frightening as the fact that there are complete lunatics running loose. It may be uncool to disagree when Palin or Tea Party people are up for scorn and ridicule, but I tend to think the truth is less uncool.
Sarah Palin is not the culprit here. The insane talk I've heard re talk radio and anything not left wing is so far out of the park that those people would never convince me of anything. Did they ever listen to Air America? There was serious hate expressed over the air, and many suggestions of ways to kill Bush, Cheney, and others. Also many odd sexual references which would have presumably not been fun for the victim. I do not think they were actually inciting assassination, but it was far closer than any of the talk radio being blamed for this murder spree.
The absurd thing is that the guy has not been shown to be a talk radio listener, Sarah Palin fan, or a tea party person. He has been shown to apparently read the Communist Manifesto, Hitler's Mein Kampf, the New Republic magazine.
I find it odd that when a guy, convincingly in league with the islamic jihadists movement, slaughters people on a military base, the same people who spouted their theories about the Tcson guy--painting him to be thick with their political enemies---still have yet to call the islamic lunatic what he is. There was all the caution not to rush to any conclusions, and on and on. Really, it is nuts.
The judge who was assassinated was a relatively conservative judge. A Bush appointee, I believe (which in no way guarantees not being as crazy as one appointed by Obama, or Stalin, himself.), however it does take wind out of sails of those who are painting this thing as a vast right wing conspiracy.
But, divisiveness works. If you ain't one of us, you're one of THEM! And people buy it. I'm not one of either. I'm much closer to those people on the Homeland security list who distrust government, despise an all encompassing authority, and who think if you have to have a government it ought to be held to strict boundaries--which is why they have a constitution--than I am to those who have been pontificating about causes for this murder and suggesting dumbass rules to further their names and power.
People like that obnoxious Joy Behar--really, women like that are such a turn off--think it is a joke and somehow stupid to complain if the ruling authority violates its boundaries. That is now the chic thing to say--oh what's with this constitution loving going on?
Idiots. No point explaining it. (There are people who use the word, but they don't read it or understand it either. And I think it gives government too much power--but nothing close to the power it has taken anyway)
So, we'll do like they did when other figures were shot and blame everything and everyone except the shooter. They've gone from "we all bear the blame. Ours is a sick society", to "It's because we got fried in the last election. It is the ugly talk of the election that did this. And talk radio". Gimme a friggin break.
I listen to both sides of the spectrum and catch radio frequently. There are things I think are off or incorrect, but I never have heard any of the usual suspects even begin to promote violence, or even intimidation by shouting and all that. I can't say the same for the Al Franken crowd. I had a hell of a time listening when he was on with, I can't think of that guy's name--they had a guy that was so angry and full of hate he couldn't issue a simple declarative statement of fact and back it up. It was sad. Really, that guy makes Hannity seem not at all annoying. And I find Hannity a bit annoying. I find all talk show people annoying who butt in when a caller is trying to say something. Half the time they jump to conclusions and don't get what is being said.
Even so, that won't spark the unstable to kill judges and democrats. It is more likely to spark people of that sort to assault the radio hosts.
OK. I spent too long. The problem is, that due to the Big Pretense, they are implying that speech and who can use it, and how, should be more closely monitored--controlled. And of course the complete morons of the world assume that making more gun laws will change everything.
All the while we still ignore the fact that everyone knows exactly which neighborhoods they can enter if they want to get shot, raped, tortured, beat, and/or robbed. And we'll pretend it is not a racial matter. Whatever the reasons for it, obviously it has been handled in some way that made it worse. Probably because people pretended right was wrong and up was down.
You cannot fix anything by pretending something other than the problem is the problem. Academia types have become addicted to the big pretense. I heard some twits on NPR talking in that reasoned affected academic tone about the ins and outs of all the causes of the Tuscon event. Like they have a clue.
I have a clue. The biggest problem which underlies everything is the goddam Big PRETENSE.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Break on Through to the Other Side
It felt like fourth and ten, and I had to go for it. Do or die.
That sounds very lame, dramatic, and a little cliche. Sorry. I'm a fan of going for it on fourth down. I like it when that happens. This is why I don't gamble in the context of betting or in casinos. I tend to jump without a parachute, so to speak. From high places.
This all has little to do with the barrier I'm talking about, even if it was beginning to seem like it. My barrier was that I was stuck on page 99 of my story, and I was thinking it sucks and that it was going to end up boring, slow, and ill conceived. Truthfully, I was thinking that is what you would think, and what anyone who has seen most of what I have up until now thinks.
Then I decided I get nowhere when I concern myself with what you think. No offense. It is just that I know myself well enough to know I care about what you think of any creative endeavor of mine, and it can make or break me if I am not real careful. Past experience tells me to just follow my instincts, and not let it bother me until the project is done. And even then to trust my own judgement.
There have been plenty of examples of this syndrome in my life, and almost without fail, if I yielded to doubts of friends or imagined negative response, it turned out I was wrong to give up on whatever it was. Imagining the rejection and disapproval before a thing is done, excluding the opportunity to fail fair and square, is stupid. OK, call me stupid.
A commitment to finish this thing was made early on. I'm not good at commitment or resolution. I have a friend back in NC who is solid like that. When JT resolves to do something, it is done. Doesn't matter how much hardship is involved. Matters out of his control may baffle him, but if he said he'd move the Empire state building to LA, brick by brick, by hand, using only a hammer, a trowel, and a wheelbarrow, he'd do it or die in the process. I hope he'll never see the need to do that.
Anyway, I was stuck at page 99. Finally I started making notes on a notepad trying to resolve a situation in the story. I forgot all about what anyone else may think. It has been a long time since I've written much with pen and paper, in my own script.
It still has to be typed now, and added to the ever growing file, and some things expanded from outline form, but I am way past page 100, and it feels like it is gaining some momentum. Blind faith. That's the foundation. I plow on because I have faith it will work out. Maybe not exactly how I think it will, but close enough, and possibly better. Possibly worse. The big deal here is to finish what I started.
The 100 page mark is a big deal. In my mind it is the crucial barrier to break. After that you're riding with the wind. Once it is finished, then I will edit the entire thing. And then I'll see what others have to say. Maybe during the editing process I'll allow limited, selective input--which I'll probably fight, ignore, and eventually heed. Then, we'll see.
The real story is baking in the back of my mind and I want to write it when this one is done. It's likely to have a lot more violence in it, but not because the topic is violent.
In short, the 100 page barrier has been shattered.
That sounds very lame, dramatic, and a little cliche. Sorry. I'm a fan of going for it on fourth down. I like it when that happens. This is why I don't gamble in the context of betting or in casinos. I tend to jump without a parachute, so to speak. From high places.
This all has little to do with the barrier I'm talking about, even if it was beginning to seem like it. My barrier was that I was stuck on page 99 of my story, and I was thinking it sucks and that it was going to end up boring, slow, and ill conceived. Truthfully, I was thinking that is what you would think, and what anyone who has seen most of what I have up until now thinks.
Then I decided I get nowhere when I concern myself with what you think. No offense. It is just that I know myself well enough to know I care about what you think of any creative endeavor of mine, and it can make or break me if I am not real careful. Past experience tells me to just follow my instincts, and not let it bother me until the project is done. And even then to trust my own judgement.
There have been plenty of examples of this syndrome in my life, and almost without fail, if I yielded to doubts of friends or imagined negative response, it turned out I was wrong to give up on whatever it was. Imagining the rejection and disapproval before a thing is done, excluding the opportunity to fail fair and square, is stupid. OK, call me stupid.
A commitment to finish this thing was made early on. I'm not good at commitment or resolution. I have a friend back in NC who is solid like that. When JT resolves to do something, it is done. Doesn't matter how much hardship is involved. Matters out of his control may baffle him, but if he said he'd move the Empire state building to LA, brick by brick, by hand, using only a hammer, a trowel, and a wheelbarrow, he'd do it or die in the process. I hope he'll never see the need to do that.
Anyway, I was stuck at page 99. Finally I started making notes on a notepad trying to resolve a situation in the story. I forgot all about what anyone else may think. It has been a long time since I've written much with pen and paper, in my own script.
It still has to be typed now, and added to the ever growing file, and some things expanded from outline form, but I am way past page 100, and it feels like it is gaining some momentum. Blind faith. That's the foundation. I plow on because I have faith it will work out. Maybe not exactly how I think it will, but close enough, and possibly better. Possibly worse. The big deal here is to finish what I started.
The 100 page mark is a big deal. In my mind it is the crucial barrier to break. After that you're riding with the wind. Once it is finished, then I will edit the entire thing. And then I'll see what others have to say. Maybe during the editing process I'll allow limited, selective input--which I'll probably fight, ignore, and eventually heed. Then, we'll see.
The real story is baking in the back of my mind and I want to write it when this one is done. It's likely to have a lot more violence in it, but not because the topic is violent.
In short, the 100 page barrier has been shattered.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Those Without a Clue Find Blind Faith Useful
It helps to have a few obligations here and there in the realm of work and else--bills excluded. I do not find the same usefulness in obligations of that nature that some do. That's because I live with my head in the clouds, or so I was told once or twice. No argument.
That brings me to a pressing question: What the heck is synthetic oil made of if it isn't oil? I got a good deal so I put it in the car this time. Still determined to do the oil changes myself. After much worry and anxiety, I did the plugs last oil change. They aren't super easy to get to and I was worried about opening a can of worms, especially after reading some forum posts regarding changing plugs in a car like mine. Just like most math teachers, they made it seem more complicated than it is.
Finally, I decided I was being a wimp and underselling myself to think that I couldn't find a way to install plugs, not lose the socket down the deep abyss, and not cross thread the things even though they are 20 feet down in a hole. It was not much more trouble than changing oil.
See, that was an example of blind faith. I knew no one who had done it on this type car, and had no step by step guide. Experience and logic told me which wires went to the spark plugs, so, as is so often the case, I just followed the electricity. In hindsight I should have done it while the engine was running, then sued because no clearly legible placards in my language of choice were posted telling me not to change spark plugs while the engine is running. Where's John Edwards when you need him? Oh, I guess his late wife wondered the same thing.
Gives NC a bad name. Too bad. Tar Heels are the salt of the earth. Really.
In my defense, I will say I had to remove a thing or two; some of the stuff they have on late model cars whose purpose is either well disguised, unknown, or non existent. I love these new plugs whose electrodes don't look like the old type, and which don't require gapping. Made of plutonium or uranium or something. DO NOT EAT.
Once again, blind faith. How could I be sure these funny looking things would work at all? Ponder that while you eat my dust. A bit of Subris there. If you missed it, that's the condition of subaru smugness. Actually, I don't fit the Subaru mold any more than I fit the vegetarian stereotype. For that I am grateful, I think.
Stuck at page 100. Need to work out a few things and remove from mind any considerations of what anyone else will think, then I will plow on and finish this thing. Then I can write the other things that have come to mind. I better make notes about them before I forget. Or fall into another cycle of the blues. Yoyo man. That is what I tauntingly call myself these days. Then I resent myself for that and plot ways to beat myself up if I say it again.
That brings me to a pressing question: What the heck is synthetic oil made of if it isn't oil? I got a good deal so I put it in the car this time. Still determined to do the oil changes myself. After much worry and anxiety, I did the plugs last oil change. They aren't super easy to get to and I was worried about opening a can of worms, especially after reading some forum posts regarding changing plugs in a car like mine. Just like most math teachers, they made it seem more complicated than it is.
Finally, I decided I was being a wimp and underselling myself to think that I couldn't find a way to install plugs, not lose the socket down the deep abyss, and not cross thread the things even though they are 20 feet down in a hole. It was not much more trouble than changing oil.
See, that was an example of blind faith. I knew no one who had done it on this type car, and had no step by step guide. Experience and logic told me which wires went to the spark plugs, so, as is so often the case, I just followed the electricity. In hindsight I should have done it while the engine was running, then sued because no clearly legible placards in my language of choice were posted telling me not to change spark plugs while the engine is running. Where's John Edwards when you need him? Oh, I guess his late wife wondered the same thing.
Gives NC a bad name. Too bad. Tar Heels are the salt of the earth. Really.
In my defense, I will say I had to remove a thing or two; some of the stuff they have on late model cars whose purpose is either well disguised, unknown, or non existent. I love these new plugs whose electrodes don't look like the old type, and which don't require gapping. Made of plutonium or uranium or something. DO NOT EAT.
Once again, blind faith. How could I be sure these funny looking things would work at all? Ponder that while you eat my dust. A bit of Subris there. If you missed it, that's the condition of subaru smugness. Actually, I don't fit the Subaru mold any more than I fit the vegetarian stereotype. For that I am grateful, I think.
Stuck at page 100. Need to work out a few things and remove from mind any considerations of what anyone else will think, then I will plow on and finish this thing. Then I can write the other things that have come to mind. I better make notes about them before I forget. Or fall into another cycle of the blues. Yoyo man. That is what I tauntingly call myself these days. Then I resent myself for that and plot ways to beat myself up if I say it again.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Rain and Rain
More rain in Southern California. There was some slight chance of snow at my altitude but it doesn't look like that will happen. Unlike other places I've lived, when it rains here it seems more difficult to ignore it.
It would be nice to once again be in the state of mind I enjoyed for a short period of time several years ago. For what seems like a brief moment I accepted what I am and what I am not and didn't feel apologetic about it. I was less inhibited when it came to being happily strange and what I think was creatively funny. Had to be there to get it.
Lately, the humor is nowhere to be found. It's easier to look at information which does me no good and which I can't change. Always plenty of food for thought and opinion. But I have lost interest in bothering with it. Conspiracies abound, I think. But that is considered mental illness now, suspecting that things are not as they seem in the big picture. If you don't trust your dedicated officials and self proclaimed leaders, you could find yourself on the wrong side of homeland security.
Not me. I believe it is all there for my own good and that various agencies and the Ad Council know best. I've seen the light.
Sometimes I wish I was still married, but I do recall certain things that lead me to believe it is possible that I may not have been in the right place with the right person. Even if I had been clear headed and sober, which I wasn't. That was a generation ago so it bears no relevance now.
Restless is what is going on now. Painfully restless with no thought of why or what I think is the cure. It will come to me. It always comes down to don't give up.
It would be nice to once again be in the state of mind I enjoyed for a short period of time several years ago. For what seems like a brief moment I accepted what I am and what I am not and didn't feel apologetic about it. I was less inhibited when it came to being happily strange and what I think was creatively funny. Had to be there to get it.
Lately, the humor is nowhere to be found. It's easier to look at information which does me no good and which I can't change. Always plenty of food for thought and opinion. But I have lost interest in bothering with it. Conspiracies abound, I think. But that is considered mental illness now, suspecting that things are not as they seem in the big picture. If you don't trust your dedicated officials and self proclaimed leaders, you could find yourself on the wrong side of homeland security.
Not me. I believe it is all there for my own good and that various agencies and the Ad Council know best. I've seen the light.
Sometimes I wish I was still married, but I do recall certain things that lead me to believe it is possible that I may not have been in the right place with the right person. Even if I had been clear headed and sober, which I wasn't. That was a generation ago so it bears no relevance now.
Restless is what is going on now. Painfully restless with no thought of why or what I think is the cure. It will come to me. It always comes down to don't give up.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Three Amigos
For some reason, on New Year's Eve, I thought of my three best friends from high school. By all appearances I had many friends at that time, but in reality I only had a very few close friends, and even then I wouldn't say we were all that close. It is all relative.
The thing that struck me was that all three died before reaching the age of 35, and all three in alcohol or drug related circumstances. One died while we were still in high school. He was a person who had taught me a lot and done much to help me out of a shell I was in. He was drunk, and the guy whose car he was sitting on was drunk. That guy had just had a tiff with his girlfriend, hopped in the car and took off. He rounded a corner half a block away and Eddie flew off the trunk and landed on his head on the sidewalk. The driver didn't even know he was there most likely. A week in a coma, and he was gone.
Many people thought Eddie was a nut. He was very bright and sometimes misunderstood, and sometimes he was a nut. We got along and I was glad that he and I always seemed to have an understanding that is not that common. It made it easier to take the loss because I had no regrets in the course of the friendship.
His cousin, David, and I remained good friends, and David proved to be as loyal a friend as I had. He wrecked a car at about age 30, while driving drunk, and that was it. I was long out of Miami by then but tried to find him on my return when I was 35. I did regret losing touch over the years. He was a solid person with a big heart. He drank like I did, at least.
Then there was Marq. Yea, with a Q. Anyway, he was another really bright guy who did not fit the mold, but of all of us he seemed to have the best life skills, and seemed the most likely to be heading up a corporation or otherwise finding success. But Marq liked to live fast and on the edge. He was one to push the envelope. He was maybe 33 when he overdosed on drugs. I'm not sure if it was heroin but I think so. I found out about him when I returned to Miami as well. Keeping contact with him may or may not have been a good idea. It seemed we tended to lead each other closer to the edge.
I think it is just the way of the draw that one of them is not here remembering me instead of how it is. There were many times when it should have or could have been me, long before the last two lives ended. But I seemed to have a guardian angel or very good luck. I could feel it, and on more than one occasion I was stunned at how I'd survived some mishap that seemed sure to be my last.
All of us were riding a roller coaster from the time we were fifteen, and it kept going faster with more sudden turns and dips. I guess I managed to get off before the car I was in completely derailed and crashed. Since then it has still been a roller coaster ride. Maybe I didn't really get off but managed to cut the power to it and it has just been coasting to a stop. Must have been hauling ass for the inertia to have carried so far for so long. It still almost flew off the track a time or two, but nothing like it was during those twenty years of chaos.
I guess when I decided to change the course of things I thought maybe they'd have already straightened out their lives. It was weird to discover they hadn't lasted long enough for us to have that conversation.
This is not meant to be a sad and morbid thing, though it may sound that way. Things are what they are. I remembered them with a feeling that they'd be cheering me on saying "Don't give up". Silly as that sounds, that is how it felt. As much as the current battle has everything to do with not giving up, I appreciated it.
The thing that struck me was that all three died before reaching the age of 35, and all three in alcohol or drug related circumstances. One died while we were still in high school. He was a person who had taught me a lot and done much to help me out of a shell I was in. He was drunk, and the guy whose car he was sitting on was drunk. That guy had just had a tiff with his girlfriend, hopped in the car and took off. He rounded a corner half a block away and Eddie flew off the trunk and landed on his head on the sidewalk. The driver didn't even know he was there most likely. A week in a coma, and he was gone.
Many people thought Eddie was a nut. He was very bright and sometimes misunderstood, and sometimes he was a nut. We got along and I was glad that he and I always seemed to have an understanding that is not that common. It made it easier to take the loss because I had no regrets in the course of the friendship.
His cousin, David, and I remained good friends, and David proved to be as loyal a friend as I had. He wrecked a car at about age 30, while driving drunk, and that was it. I was long out of Miami by then but tried to find him on my return when I was 35. I did regret losing touch over the years. He was a solid person with a big heart. He drank like I did, at least.
Then there was Marq. Yea, with a Q. Anyway, he was another really bright guy who did not fit the mold, but of all of us he seemed to have the best life skills, and seemed the most likely to be heading up a corporation or otherwise finding success. But Marq liked to live fast and on the edge. He was one to push the envelope. He was maybe 33 when he overdosed on drugs. I'm not sure if it was heroin but I think so. I found out about him when I returned to Miami as well. Keeping contact with him may or may not have been a good idea. It seemed we tended to lead each other closer to the edge.
I think it is just the way of the draw that one of them is not here remembering me instead of how it is. There were many times when it should have or could have been me, long before the last two lives ended. But I seemed to have a guardian angel or very good luck. I could feel it, and on more than one occasion I was stunned at how I'd survived some mishap that seemed sure to be my last.
All of us were riding a roller coaster from the time we were fifteen, and it kept going faster with more sudden turns and dips. I guess I managed to get off before the car I was in completely derailed and crashed. Since then it has still been a roller coaster ride. Maybe I didn't really get off but managed to cut the power to it and it has just been coasting to a stop. Must have been hauling ass for the inertia to have carried so far for so long. It still almost flew off the track a time or two, but nothing like it was during those twenty years of chaos.
I guess when I decided to change the course of things I thought maybe they'd have already straightened out their lives. It was weird to discover they hadn't lasted long enough for us to have that conversation.
This is not meant to be a sad and morbid thing, though it may sound that way. Things are what they are. I remembered them with a feeling that they'd be cheering me on saying "Don't give up". Silly as that sounds, that is how it felt. As much as the current battle has everything to do with not giving up, I appreciated it.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Car Show
A friend said, hey let's go to the car show. Didn't cost me anything, so, OK. I don't really care much about things I am not driving, and couldn't buy if I wanted to.
He's in a related business having to do with replacing and repairing wrecked rides. I thought he'd be into it, what my car people pals in NC called a "car queer". Turns out no.
What was interesting were the people. Old folks on Buicks, everyone on most cars, except the BMW people who were pawing the Beemers--they tend to be more easily identifiable. Very serious and posh sorts.
I thought it would be good to go so technology wouldn't take me by surprise. In reality, there is nothing all that new. Cars I thought were 100% electric have high horse power gas engines to make them practical. Practical if you ignore the purchase price.
Education is always good.
The best part was a wheelchair with half tracks and the low riders we saw lining the street at Chicano park just before entering the freeway on the way home.
They had four or five Packards lined up, then old pontiacs Chevy, etc. All in great shape and all sitting about an inch off the road because the shocks weren't pumped up. Must have been fifty cars or so. A regular weekend event, apparently.
I am suspect of any racist park name but that is how it is. Makes me think they probably hate every iota of a cracker, but maybe the low rider crowd is too busy making their cars shine and jump. I have to get down there again some weekend and see if they kill me or if I have fun.
Who knew jumping low riders were still on the scene? Not I.
And that is pretty much all you need to know about cars in 2011. Oh, and the price of Subarus is about the same as 2008. Also a new word I learned, "Subris", the condition that makes Subaru drivers think they can drive better than everyone else in the rain.
In my case, it is true- rain or shine.
He's in a related business having to do with replacing and repairing wrecked rides. I thought he'd be into it, what my car people pals in NC called a "car queer". Turns out no.
What was interesting were the people. Old folks on Buicks, everyone on most cars, except the BMW people who were pawing the Beemers--they tend to be more easily identifiable. Very serious and posh sorts.
I thought it would be good to go so technology wouldn't take me by surprise. In reality, there is nothing all that new. Cars I thought were 100% electric have high horse power gas engines to make them practical. Practical if you ignore the purchase price.
Education is always good.
The best part was a wheelchair with half tracks and the low riders we saw lining the street at Chicano park just before entering the freeway on the way home.
They had four or five Packards lined up, then old pontiacs Chevy, etc. All in great shape and all sitting about an inch off the road because the shocks weren't pumped up. Must have been fifty cars or so. A regular weekend event, apparently.
I am suspect of any racist park name but that is how it is. Makes me think they probably hate every iota of a cracker, but maybe the low rider crowd is too busy making their cars shine and jump. I have to get down there again some weekend and see if they kill me or if I have fun.
Who knew jumping low riders were still on the scene? Not I.
And that is pretty much all you need to know about cars in 2011. Oh, and the price of Subarus is about the same as 2008. Also a new word I learned, "Subris", the condition that makes Subaru drivers think they can drive better than everyone else in the rain.
In my case, it is true- rain or shine.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Just the Way I Like New Year's Eve, almost
The number way to bring in the year is to be in the middle of wild, in-love passion just as the clock chimes the midnight hour. Rarely does that timing work out.
The next best thing, if such a source of passion is not part of one's life, is to be up on a quiet mountain in just barely freezing weather, on a perfectly clear, quiet night, safe and secure in a Ballistic Cabin.
This year I am momentarily content. No self pity and woe because the imaginary Mrs and I can't host 24 of our closest friends and their offspring for the weekend in our lovely, comfortable, hospitable villa. I did venture out earlier to a back country gathering of a few people who relish not drinking at times like this.
Before that, I noticed my one TV station had Oprah on. I have not watched Oprah almost ever. Certainly not in many years. Not that I have ill feelings toward her. As a matter of fact I admire her continued success. Such things do not happen to total slackers on a long term basis. She has to have something special going for her, like it or not. We may not agree on some things, but I believe she's a far better person than, say, David Letterman, or many other big names.
Anyway, I was about to cut the sound off again when I realized she was interviewing JK Rowling, of Harry Potter fame. They discussed a bit of what it is like to make a billion dollars. I found it interesting.
JK is hot, if you ask me. But married--go figure. Her thoughts on the books and various topics were things I found somewhat inspirational. She was apparently at rock bottom when this whole thing began 17 years ago. She was told she'd never make money writing what amounted to children's books. So much for the advice of experts.
Then there was the bit about people deciding that her fantasy stories were somehow an affront to one religious belief or other. Really, people miss the whole point. Do those same people think that it is OK to put a hit out on the Satanic Verses guy? OK to kill people over rather innocuous cartoons? Maybe they don't see the parallels, although I doubt they went beyond book burnings and stupid lectures. Take the attitude my nephew did when he was in high school.
He and his brother, along with a couple of other friends made a self recorded little album. They ran off a bunch of copies, along with a little artwork and peddled it at school for $5 a pop. It was called the "S----- Brothers Blues Band". They covered some rather good tunes, particularly classics by Robert Johnson. And it was pretty good.
So, one guy hated N1. He expressed his disdain by purchasing the tape, then throwing it down and stomping it to bits in the hallway. N1 then encouraged any others who hated him to do the same while suggesting his anti-fan buy more to really vent his hatred. No one else publicly destroyed the album, however they did sell out quickly. 500 copies. Some relatives put in orders too late to get one. At one time I had 2 or 3. I jumped on it as soon as I heard what they were up to. Some believed I may have had an influence in the inspiration of the enterprise. Who knows. They surpassed anything I've ever done long ago.
If I could write a book that groups would buy and then burn in protest, I'd encourage it. Buy my book and show your disapproval by using it for outhouse purposes or fueling your fireplace!! I guess it gets riskier when you offend Islam, so maybe that is not a good target group to offend.
But that just makes people like me want to do it. I won't because they and their holy things do not interest me enough to include them in much that I'd write. If things I'd say or do inadvertently offend any such group then such groups are minding business that is not theirs way too much.
Outrage over free speech and its opponents is an odd and inconsistent thing. The press of the western world was largely bullied into not showing the truly inoffensive cartoons that sparked riots and murder, yet they insist on the "people's right to know" in so many instances when obscene, macabre, or much more offensive images, or even items which may have consequences to innocents, are in question.
I dare the artists who push the envelope with Jewish, Buddhist, or Christian imagery to do the same with Islamic icons. I agree that free expression ought to be free, but I find the defense of free expression rather selective and inconsistent in analogous circumstances.
Amazing that JK has actually become a billionaire. She has provided a lot of people much enjoyment and inspiration. She has served to induce people to read who may have otherwise never developed the skill enough to get through half a page.
What was nice was that she seems happy. Oprah may be happier than at some periods, but she seemed slightly less happy, but more used to being mega rich.
I wish everyone a year in which dreams can come true without the long arm of the law taking them away. Things can still happen that are better than you ever believed possible. Don't let The Man or Nitwit News people convince you different. Unless, of course, you feel better doing so.
The next best thing, if such a source of passion is not part of one's life, is to be up on a quiet mountain in just barely freezing weather, on a perfectly clear, quiet night, safe and secure in a Ballistic Cabin.
This year I am momentarily content. No self pity and woe because the imaginary Mrs and I can't host 24 of our closest friends and their offspring for the weekend in our lovely, comfortable, hospitable villa. I did venture out earlier to a back country gathering of a few people who relish not drinking at times like this.
Before that, I noticed my one TV station had Oprah on. I have not watched Oprah almost ever. Certainly not in many years. Not that I have ill feelings toward her. As a matter of fact I admire her continued success. Such things do not happen to total slackers on a long term basis. She has to have something special going for her, like it or not. We may not agree on some things, but I believe she's a far better person than, say, David Letterman, or many other big names.
Anyway, I was about to cut the sound off again when I realized she was interviewing JK Rowling, of Harry Potter fame. They discussed a bit of what it is like to make a billion dollars. I found it interesting.
JK is hot, if you ask me. But married--go figure. Her thoughts on the books and various topics were things I found somewhat inspirational. She was apparently at rock bottom when this whole thing began 17 years ago. She was told she'd never make money writing what amounted to children's books. So much for the advice of experts.
Then there was the bit about people deciding that her fantasy stories were somehow an affront to one religious belief or other. Really, people miss the whole point. Do those same people think that it is OK to put a hit out on the Satanic Verses guy? OK to kill people over rather innocuous cartoons? Maybe they don't see the parallels, although I doubt they went beyond book burnings and stupid lectures. Take the attitude my nephew did when he was in high school.
He and his brother, along with a couple of other friends made a self recorded little album. They ran off a bunch of copies, along with a little artwork and peddled it at school for $5 a pop. It was called the "S----- Brothers Blues Band". They covered some rather good tunes, particularly classics by Robert Johnson. And it was pretty good.
So, one guy hated N1. He expressed his disdain by purchasing the tape, then throwing it down and stomping it to bits in the hallway. N1 then encouraged any others who hated him to do the same while suggesting his anti-fan buy more to really vent his hatred. No one else publicly destroyed the album, however they did sell out quickly. 500 copies. Some relatives put in orders too late to get one. At one time I had 2 or 3. I jumped on it as soon as I heard what they were up to. Some believed I may have had an influence in the inspiration of the enterprise. Who knows. They surpassed anything I've ever done long ago.
If I could write a book that groups would buy and then burn in protest, I'd encourage it. Buy my book and show your disapproval by using it for outhouse purposes or fueling your fireplace!! I guess it gets riskier when you offend Islam, so maybe that is not a good target group to offend.
But that just makes people like me want to do it. I won't because they and their holy things do not interest me enough to include them in much that I'd write. If things I'd say or do inadvertently offend any such group then such groups are minding business that is not theirs way too much.
Outrage over free speech and its opponents is an odd and inconsistent thing. The press of the western world was largely bullied into not showing the truly inoffensive cartoons that sparked riots and murder, yet they insist on the "people's right to know" in so many instances when obscene, macabre, or much more offensive images, or even items which may have consequences to innocents, are in question.
I dare the artists who push the envelope with Jewish, Buddhist, or Christian imagery to do the same with Islamic icons. I agree that free expression ought to be free, but I find the defense of free expression rather selective and inconsistent in analogous circumstances.
Amazing that JK has actually become a billionaire. She has provided a lot of people much enjoyment and inspiration. She has served to induce people to read who may have otherwise never developed the skill enough to get through half a page.
What was nice was that she seems happy. Oprah may be happier than at some periods, but she seemed slightly less happy, but more used to being mega rich.
I wish everyone a year in which dreams can come true without the long arm of the law taking them away. Things can still happen that are better than you ever believed possible. Don't let The Man or Nitwit News people convince you different. Unless, of course, you feel better doing so.
Now It All Makes Dr Phil Sense
I was watching Dr Phil with the sound off. How this came about was that I thought maybe the one channel I can pull in would have a bowl game. It did for a minute but the end of the game was 30 seconds away. U of Miami lost to the Irish Catholics.
Next thing I know, Phil is on. So I turned the sound down. Then I became curious and turned it up just in time to hear that the judgement part of your brain is not done developing until you are 25, so if you do a hardcore amount of drinking, drugs, and/or headbanging prior to that time, chances are good you will cause permanent problems and do dumb things forever.
See, it is all because your limiting mechanism, the one that says, "No, do not get naked and mow the neighbor's lawn while her hubby is out of town and she is out sunning by the pool. Homeschooling her seven year old".
There are things you just don't do, if you can help yourself. However, there are many items which can stunt the growth of the part of the brain that will keep you safe, keep you out of jail, and provide a long and happy domestic life, even allow you to get rich.
This explains everything. What I now need to know is who to sue. First my head was bounced and battered far more than was prudent or necessary. Strike one.
Then because I was told it was smart and cool by a reliable source, I began drinking. I started right off heavy at it. No sips of Papa's wine at the table growing up. For one thing, had he had it at the table, I doubt he'd have been willing to share. That would have resulted in more head banging.
Soon, there were very peculiar people from the police department giving talks at school in order to let us know what were the best drugs, where you get them, how they are made, and what makes them so cool. Oh, and of course, don't you kids do drugs now, y'hear?
Curiosity could only be put off so long. The odd police people upped the number and intensity of their talks, as the media coverage became more intense and glamorous as well. I guess they did that for kids who didn't go to school. Now everyone knew the names of things, what it looked like and had seen images of really stoned out very hot hippie chicks running around naked eager to spread their love in fields of daisies.
There frontal lobes seemed to be quite healthy, but probably not the type Dr Phil's pal was referencing. So, everyone was putting their good sense at risk. This accounts for dimwits and nincompoops throughout a certain generation or two. Or three.
They decided to expand this effort at government promotion and educations concerning drugs. They felt that it would be a good idea to also declare war on drugs. If you think about it, that phrase means nothing. You going to line up a bunch of poppies and valium against the wall and shoot them?
So, we now have people who probably fried their lobes before turning 25 populating an agency that arbitrarily fries people for small offenses or lets off foreign smugglers--no consistency to it--running an agency which has declared war on a very broad word. Is caffeine a drug? Pepper?
Now I know, my problems stem from stunted development of my brain and good sense. I do believe that I was a sucker for the glamor that media sources and the government itself attached to the art of self destruction.
Odd how it all works. But there is a certain type of being who likes it this way. Those are the ones you would have slapped silly in elementary school had you not been placed on heavy medication.
So, now I can blame substances, and government for my poor judgement and often risky behavior. I intend to sue.
=====
Even I have enough judgement to know that shooting a firearm into the air in a populated area is a very stupid thing to do. It is an issue in some areas of CA. Cultural diversity.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Roots of Confusion:#6; Flirtation part 2
It all started just a minute ago when I was thinking about another topic altogether. Then a quotation came to mind which caused me to recall times I've heard people say, in that affected Ivy League/Hollywood/Garrison Keillor tone, "Someone once said...".
Someone once said? Come on, someone once said all kinds of things, I thought to myself. Then I remembered an example.
Someone once said, "I'll show you mine if you show me yours". "OK. You first. Show me how it's done", I replied, sincerely having no clue what this was about. So she very discretely showed me. We were in first grade, in the class. It was an under desk situation, sort of.
At that moment the evil Mrs. Marshall (aptly named) roared about talking in class and stalked toward us. "Sorry, I can't show you now--the teacher!"
I wasn't sorry. I had no intention of keeping that bargain. It wasn't my idea. For some reason though, it did make me a little bit fonder of that girl.
We escaped that one unfazed by the long and evil arm of Mrs Marshall.
Soon after that little ice breaker with the little girl with glasses, we were lining up for something. We were always lining up for something, and the line was a big damned deal to the teacher. Like everything she tried to make it as unpleasant and confusing as humanly possible.
In a rare display of wit, as I was lining up in the boy's line I reached over and tapped the little glasses girl, quite gently, on the back while musically admonishing her, "Better get in line!". She smiled because it was so clever a mocking of the tyrant's wishes.
Next thing I know, I am being man handled by the evil woman who stole tax money pretending to teach children. I was in big trouble mister--how dare I?
Everyone in the area was both confused and scared. Right then and there I was sentenced. Crime: battering the little glasses girl.
Mrs. Marshall's hobby was striking kids with a wooden ruler in front of the class until they cried. Humiliation of little kids was her life. At that time you could do that. I know that is a foreign concept to many. A little leeway would be helpful in our times, but not like that. It was cruel.
A kid named Bucky was paddled daily for some unknown reason. It was painful to witness. He was not at all a bad kid. I wouldn't have blamed him if he'd brought a knife to school and cut off Mrs Marshall's paddle hand.
Anyway, I was marched to the front of the class and received several licks with her stupid custom made torture ruler. I received more licks than most because A--I denied any wrongdoing, and B--I wouldn't cry. Other than the public nature of the event, it was child's play compared to the home version and I refused to cry for them too. I was much tougher as a child than I am as an adult.
The thing that I find interesting is that my first flirtation was initiated by the glasses girl, and I played it perfectly. She made the first move and I got it for free. But, when I showed a tinge of affection, I was arrested and flogged.
Now, what kind of message would that send to a tender innocent child? I'm sure I don't know. I think someone once said something on that subject.
Someone once said. A stupid, pretentious prelude to bullshit if ever I heard such a thing.
I'll forever be grateful to the little glasses girl. She tried to say I hadn't done anything wrong, but to push it any further would have resulted in her being flogged as well. I've yet to meet the woman who would go to those lengths for me on a matter of principle. The only other time I was flogged by that evil teacher was for defending a kid against false charges being brought against him.
Crude as it was, I feel the little glasses girl's attempt to be my friend was kind, sincere, and educational.
Needless to say, I learned almost nothing in first grade. By year's end I was considered one of the "slow" children. She had successfully labeled me for future teachers. Fortunately my second grade teacher, Mrs. Keller, was an angel of mercy who had not taken the job out of her love of torturing little kids. She figured me out and managed to get me into the swing of things. By third grade the school officials were baffled and inquired of my mother how I went from being a hopeless dimwit to an underachieving over achiever.
Compared to many I suppose my schools were good, but I have to say, many of South Miami Elementary's teachers were rigid, unyielding morons. But compared to South Miami Jr High, they were the best of the best. The Jr High was run by an army of Mrs Marshall types and first rate perverts.
Though a great many who teach in public schools are good and honorable people, it is the nature of the public school structuring that they tend to beat down the good and promote bad things. They are set up like prison communes. It is absurd how the Great Pretense flourishes there more than anywhere else. And it flourishes a lot elsewhere.
Someone once said? Come on, someone once said all kinds of things, I thought to myself. Then I remembered an example.
Someone once said, "I'll show you mine if you show me yours". "OK. You first. Show me how it's done", I replied, sincerely having no clue what this was about. So she very discretely showed me. We were in first grade, in the class. It was an under desk situation, sort of.
At that moment the evil Mrs. Marshall (aptly named) roared about talking in class and stalked toward us. "Sorry, I can't show you now--the teacher!"
I wasn't sorry. I had no intention of keeping that bargain. It wasn't my idea. For some reason though, it did make me a little bit fonder of that girl.
We escaped that one unfazed by the long and evil arm of Mrs Marshall.
Soon after that little ice breaker with the little girl with glasses, we were lining up for something. We were always lining up for something, and the line was a big damned deal to the teacher. Like everything she tried to make it as unpleasant and confusing as humanly possible.
In a rare display of wit, as I was lining up in the boy's line I reached over and tapped the little glasses girl, quite gently, on the back while musically admonishing her, "Better get in line!". She smiled because it was so clever a mocking of the tyrant's wishes.
Next thing I know, I am being man handled by the evil woman who stole tax money pretending to teach children. I was in big trouble mister--how dare I?
Everyone in the area was both confused and scared. Right then and there I was sentenced. Crime: battering the little glasses girl.
Mrs. Marshall's hobby was striking kids with a wooden ruler in front of the class until they cried. Humiliation of little kids was her life. At that time you could do that. I know that is a foreign concept to many. A little leeway would be helpful in our times, but not like that. It was cruel.
A kid named Bucky was paddled daily for some unknown reason. It was painful to witness. He was not at all a bad kid. I wouldn't have blamed him if he'd brought a knife to school and cut off Mrs Marshall's paddle hand.
Anyway, I was marched to the front of the class and received several licks with her stupid custom made torture ruler. I received more licks than most because A--I denied any wrongdoing, and B--I wouldn't cry. Other than the public nature of the event, it was child's play compared to the home version and I refused to cry for them too. I was much tougher as a child than I am as an adult.
The thing that I find interesting is that my first flirtation was initiated by the glasses girl, and I played it perfectly. She made the first move and I got it for free. But, when I showed a tinge of affection, I was arrested and flogged.
Now, what kind of message would that send to a tender innocent child? I'm sure I don't know. I think someone once said something on that subject.
Someone once said. A stupid, pretentious prelude to bullshit if ever I heard such a thing.
I'll forever be grateful to the little glasses girl. She tried to say I hadn't done anything wrong, but to push it any further would have resulted in her being flogged as well. I've yet to meet the woman who would go to those lengths for me on a matter of principle. The only other time I was flogged by that evil teacher was for defending a kid against false charges being brought against him.
Crude as it was, I feel the little glasses girl's attempt to be my friend was kind, sincere, and educational.
Needless to say, I learned almost nothing in first grade. By year's end I was considered one of the "slow" children. She had successfully labeled me for future teachers. Fortunately my second grade teacher, Mrs. Keller, was an angel of mercy who had not taken the job out of her love of torturing little kids. She figured me out and managed to get me into the swing of things. By third grade the school officials were baffled and inquired of my mother how I went from being a hopeless dimwit to an underachieving over achiever.
Compared to many I suppose my schools were good, but I have to say, many of South Miami Elementary's teachers were rigid, unyielding morons. But compared to South Miami Jr High, they were the best of the best. The Jr High was run by an army of Mrs Marshall types and first rate perverts.
Though a great many who teach in public schools are good and honorable people, it is the nature of the public school structuring that they tend to beat down the good and promote bad things. They are set up like prison communes. It is absurd how the Great Pretense flourishes there more than anywhere else. And it flourishes a lot elsewhere.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
More Ghosts of the Past and Present
Pipe organ in Charlotte, NC--31-year-old Zimmer & Sons pipe organ
Thought Scrib might like that. It's at St Patrick's Cathedral in the state of states, NC.
These are times that try men's souls. For the universally challenged, the word "men" in this case applies to any human, or, if you prefer, hu-being, with a soul. It is highly possible that most times are trying. Especially when people organize themselves such that they are ruled by select groups and individuals without limit.
Not my problem.
The times are not really what try my soul. My ability to adapt to them, maybe. In any case, you carry on as best you can, and depending on your basic internal constitution, refuse to give up the dreams. That is the tough part. Most dreams die on the mind's cutting room floor. Deemed unrealistic, impossible because they are my dreams, etc.; the reasons for aborting them number more than the stars in the sky. In my own case, history shows that the substance of the negating rationales is far less than the substance of the dream being squashed. But that is, of course, hindsight.
Some people claim that hindsight is 20/20. I disagree. It depends upon who is doing the analysis. Too often history as we know it is full of inaccuracies and false premise, therefore one may think he is able to spot the cause and effect which resulted in the reality of the time, yet he may be lost in fiction. Happens all the time. Political people and those who control them depend upon that fact.
I thought the Christmas season held no pressure and depressing demons for me. That may not be true. It seems the season of retrospection and worse, sometimes. My own code prevents me from embracing such realizations because I like the spirit of the thing, even if I curse myself for lack of family and wealth.
What I have concluded is that there is no way I would have ever been happy trying to participate in the corporate cultures to which I've been exposed. Not for any real length of time. Even in low level positions I often agonized for years over instances when I "just did my job" by following the company policy, following instructions from above, rather than following what I knew to be the right thing.
The result of that is always someone or some group being unnecessarily slighted, harmed, inconvenienced, or penalized in some way. You know it is wrong, but you "are just doing your job". Makes no damned sense.
Even though it put me in a vulnerable spot a time or two, I do not regret the times when I stood on my values and did not let a less than stellar salary buy my soul. I never felt bad about not leaving my conscience at the door when entering the work place, even though that is how you please the employer. My way was not something that cost them money in the long run. But it is surprising how far most places go in their efforts to save a dollar, and reinforce the serf status of underlings. They'll cost themselves thousands in the process.
Most larger firms are so tied in with government in one way or another that they lose all sense of reason in efforts to satisfy directives and obvious opportunities to earn political favor. It is rather sick, I think.
So, clearly, I do not belong in such places. Many have told me that is cutting off your nose to spite your face. I agree, but I am not cut out to do anything else. If they levied a small tax on all my neighbors in order to fill my pockets, I couldn't very well accept it. That is what separates some people from others in these matters. When the money trail is complex and less obvious, most people and businesses have no problem with it ending up in their pocket by that means. I envy them. They know how to get paid, and don't bother looking beyond the fact that it is legal. Legal, but not a truly voluntary transaction. Not always even really above board and honest.
Still, the ones I really admire are those who know how to get paid and manage it through eyes-wide-open voluntary trade. I hope I find such an endeavor that yields more than my current efforts do, before I am too tired and sullen to try.
This year's New Year's resolution: Avoid any and all New Year's Eve parties. I've never liked them. Amateur night. I'm in no mood for drunks. When I get grouchy like this, I just want to beat them with a 2x4.
Maybe that is because I was once in their shoes, but less as an amateur. I'm pretty sure people wanted to beat me with a 2x4 a time or two, and probably did. I just didn't feel it until a day or two later.
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About Me
- John0 Juanderlust
- Ballistic Mountain, CA, United States
- Like spring on a summer's day
