Art

I think I mentioned somewhere that I am an artist. Kinda sorta. Here's a self-portrait I did for my pointless myspace page. Done entirely in Corel Painter, with some touchup in Photoshop.

Meditation

I fell asleep while sitting this afternoon. Not for long -- probably less than a minute. That's the first time that's ever happened.

The whole sitting was difficult in terms of staying with the breath. I tried again later in the day with only slightly better success.

Ah, the good old days

I found a picture of me taken when I lived in San Antonio. This was during my year-long retreat from society.

Those were the good old days.

Look how brown my hair was! This was 2000.

Rain

It has been raining all night, I guess. We've needed it desperately.

The sound of the rain drumming on the roof and running in the gutters puts me in mind of someone who I wish was around, but isn't. I have been doing a pretty good job of getting over it after many painful weeks, but right now she is in my thoughts.

Down that path of thought lies pervasive dissatisfaction. Attachment.

What I should probably do is sit right now and deal with it.

But I think I'm going back to bed.

Hardball addendum

There is also a 'call to action' encouraging progressive Americans to demand an apology from Chris Matthews and/or MSNBC and/or NBC for Matthews' remarks that we have 'advised' bin Laden on how to conduct the propaganda angle of his operations.

Personally, I think an apology is pointless:


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To: steve.capus@nbc.com
From: Michael Carpenter
Subject: Chris Matthews
Date: Wed, 25 Jan 2006 18:46:46 -0600

I can't actually say I've heard Chris Matthews spinning this 'bin Laden gets his talking points from Michael Moore' line. I quit watching MSNBC after you put that crackpot Michael Savage on the air, then professed shock and surprise that he would say exactly the kind of thing he's been getting paid to say for years.

No, I don't want an apology. It would be pretty much like a whore apologizing for a bad blow job.

And I would never see it, because I've quit watching.

Michael Carpenter
Oklahoma City, OK



If we are not already a fascist state, we are a hair's breadth away. And guys like Matthews are mainly concerned about staying on the cocktail party invitation list.

Toxic

I used to be, as I think I mentioned before, a pretty snarky guy. And I was good at it. Rapier wit. I sought to emulate the style (though not the politics) of Mencken and the Algonquin Round Table.

But you know what? That shit is toxic. It poisons everyone involved. We celebrate it, admire it, quote it. But it is toxic.

I snarked, therefore I was. I couldn't quit for a long time, because I felt that to cease being, as one of my friends called me, "Dr. Sardonicus," would cause me to almost wink out of existence altogether.

Then I decided I didn't care if I winked out. I couldn't go on being that kind of person. I couldn't go on being toxic to others and to myself.

But I still struggle with it. An easy target is hard to pass by. But I am doing better.

Fed up with Chris Matthews

I dashed off some emails to various 'Hardball' sponsors telling them I wouldn't buy their products as long as they advertised on that show.

Check "Open Letter to Chris Matthews" for more info.

There is a blogspot page with some very nice tweaking of the stopdesign Blogger template. (That is poorly worded: the Blogger templates were all created by stopdesign – the link is to stopdesign's web site.)

The guy who did the tweaks is Kyle Stoneman, who is also involved with this interesting website and this one.

And Chris Matthews is a horse's ass.

It's called a balmacaan

John Long came into the Red Cup this morning wearing a black fedora and a tan overcoat. The black fedora was similar to the one worn by Republican bagman Jack Abramoff, but since John was wearing one that fit instead of being a size and a half too small like Jacko's, it looked rakish rather than like part of the costume for Luca Brasi in a community theater production of "The Godfather."

But it was the topcoat that caught my attention. I almost bought a similar one years ago at McCall's in Edmond. I knew this particular coat had a name, but I couldn't think of it this morning. So I Googled it and after much searching, came up with the name: balmacaan.

The balmacaan, as the name suggests, is of Scottish origin. It has raglan sleeves and what I think is known as a half-collar, ie, more like a shirt than a suit coat with lapels. They're single-breasted, no belt, little or no ornamentation.

I think it implies a certain degree of self-confidence to wear such a plain coat. It's much safer, sartorially speaking, to wrap oneself up in Burberry belts and buckles and epaulets and button-on throat flaps.

(Speaking of which: I looked at the Burberry web site this morning while doing my research. Is Burberry turning into another Abercrombie & Fitch? Anyone who was ever in a real Abercrombie & Fitch knows what a travesty the current incarnation is. Good lord.)

A balmacaan is too 'country' in the British sense of the word to be worn with something as dressy as that black fedora. Something like a driving cap or even a Sherlock Holmes deerstalker would be more like it. But John, as always, made it work.

John revealed that he had acquired his balmacaan in a thrift store in New Orleans for six dollars. And it looked like a million bucks. If I wore a six-dollar coat from a thrift store, people would be wondering where my shopping cart was.

Some guys can wear clothes, and John is one of them.

I am not. Well, yeah, I wear clothes -- lots of them, as a public service if nothing else. But they're just covering skin -- that's the most I can say.

I once loved clothes. One time back in the eighties, I totalled up all the clothing store receipts from the previous year, and they ran to about $6,000. And that was just the ones I could find.

But although I loved clothes, the clothes did not love me. They refused to make me look like Cary Grant, or the brooding, squinting models in GQ or Esquire. I still looked like a big, lumpy guy.

I could buy a suit at Harold's and make it look like it came from C.R. Anthony. Or a dumpster behind C.R. Anthony. "Hey, is that thing wash and wear?" That was my magic. That was my mojo.

As I write this I am wearing:

• a pair of eleven-year-old Gap jeans


• a Banana Republic henley that's older than the jeans


• an 'unconstructed' khaki blazer from Target (Target! I went in to buy light bulbs and toilet paper, and came out with a blazer)


• a black fake suede ball cap from SteinMart


• a pair of Birkenstock mules whose heels are worn down to the cork


• no socks

which, on John Long, would probably like a catalog ad. On me, it looks like... well, it looks like me.

But at least the PowerBook kicks ass.

I'll tell ya something else...

...myspace is about as slow as America Online back in the day. I don't know when the last time was that I had to wait and wait and wait for a page to load.

And when it does load... well, I can't figure out what the ^%$& is going on. It's a mess – just my opinion, of course. Too many ads, stuff placed where you don't expect to find it, impossible to figure out what you're supposed to do.

The best thing they can do right now is get a usability expert in there to straighten out the interface.

I have been a member of The WELL for almost ten years. I think I'm paying ten bucks a month for it. No ads, no smileys, no three-word posts in all lower case.

Okay, there are a few three-word posts in all lower case.

The Well began in 1985 as an offshoot of The Whole Earth Catalog, and is still leaps and bounds ahead of everything that's come since.

Just saying.

You've got space!

I created a myspace.com account last night -- mainly because it seemed everyone else I know has one.

The technology has changed, but myspace reminds me a lot of where America Online was maybe ten years ago. Needless to say, I don't quite get the fascination.

myspace was recently acquired by Rupert Murdoch, who accomplished such wonderful things with Delphi. I was a member of Delphi for a few years long before Murdoch, when it still ran on a text-based VAX. Does it even exist anymore?

I've already forgotten my myspace user name. Somebody already had 'mcarp,' so I'm mcarpok or mcarpokc or something like that.

Personals ads, part 2

I still have ads up. I don't know why.

I'm afraid to look at them.

Because if I look at them, and someone has left a message there for me, I'll feel like I'm morally obligated to answer it, and I probably won't want to. Then I'll feel like a bastard because I didn't, and like an arrogant bastard because I didn't want to.

It's not a huge problem. I didn't make up a bunch of crap about myself being an outlaw biker or country singer or Nichols Hills resident or anything like that, so the profiles are pretty boring. No one's interested.

Cats!

I have several cats. Some are permanent staff and some just drift in and out.

Roscoe, for example, was in the neighborhood when I moved here. He used to hide from me and cower whenever anyone or anything came near, but over the course of almost five years he's gotten to where he not only trusts me but even comes in the house from time to time. Sometimes he'll stay for several days before wandering off again.

He walks around with his tongue sticking out most of the time. I suspect that's the result of some injury. That injury may also be the reason he seems so afraid of people.

In any event, I walked back into my laundry room this evening to find Roscoe there, peeing in my laundry. Little asshat. I didn't even know he was in the house.

Do Not Call

I don't know why I waited so long to do this, but I finally added my phone number to the National Do Not Call Registry today. No more telemarketers until 2011!

The difference

I was confronted again today between the difference bewteen who I am and who I wish to be.

Someone made an unintended joke at another person's expense. And I had to laugh, as did others. If it had been intentional, it wouldn't have been funny. It was the irony of the remark that made it humorous.

But rather than let the situation pull me down to a level where I don't wish to be, I wish I coul∂ instead have risen above it. When my ego is running completely away from reality, I would like to be the kind of person whose very presence elevates others to a higher level of consciousness. Yeah -- that's it -- the Mcarp Lama.

If you know me, you know what a total flight of fantasy that is. As long as I'm wishing, I wish the Supreme Court would appoint me President of the United States.

It would be enough, though, to be the person I want to be, rather than be the person into which my surroundings turn me.

When I started this...

...I thought I would have lots of good stuff write about.

What happened?

Well, a lot of things that seemed important to me at one time don't seem important now. I have a daily routine that, while not exciting, keeps me from getting enmeshed in too much crazy thinking, obsession and angst. Things are pretty boring, and that's a good thing, I think.

Essential Events

I'm sure you'll be relieved to know I'm still eating.

More on happiness

I'm not saying it's bad or undesirable to be happy. I'm just saying, 'what's the relevance?'

I'm happy. The sky is blue. The grass is green. Dogs bark. Birds sing.

I'm unhappy. The sky is blue. The grass is green. Dogs bark. Birds sing.

I'm somewhere between happy and unhappy. Same result.

Early on (one hopes), we figure out that the pursuit of happiness doesn't involve SUV's, plasma TV's, designere chocolate, etc.

Later, some of us begin to believe it doesn't involve successful relationships or personal achievement.

And some of us eventually think, "You know, maybe this happiness thing is a complete delusion. If there is no self, who is there to be happy?"

---

According to AP, Alito appears headed toward confirmation. Kiss your ass and the Bill of Rights goodbye.

Bob Schadel

I guess I should mention a friend of mine died recently. Bob Schadel died of a heart attack, probably on New Year's Day, in his apartment in San Antonio. They found him a day or two later. His memorial service was this evening in Texas and I debated whether to drive down there. Then when I saw the snow, that settled it for me, and I stayed home.

Instead, I sent a remembrance for a mutual friend to read:

Bob and I worked at competing stations for 15 years –– or maybe more –– in Oklahoma City and never once crossed paths. We met for the first time at the San Antonio airport, when he arrived to give me a lift back to the world headquarters of the The Texas Network. If it wasn't for Bob, I wouldn't have had that job, and at the time, I needed it.

It was Bob who gave me the nickname "The Prince of Darkness," which I didn't really deserve. But The Texas Network needed a Prince of Darkness. We had a couple of Princes of Dim Light –– no names necessary, I assume –– but if there was going to be a Prince of Darkness, it might as well be me.

But that wasn't really me, and Bob knew it. We joked about it after hours. We spent enough time sitting together around in that little bar within staggering distance of my apartment on Blanco Road that he knew that I was just another grumpy middle-aged guy trying to figure out what the hell had happened to his world.

Bob was an inspiration to me then. My life was pretty much a mess, but he'd been through a lot worse –– surviving cancer, losing his wife, plus all the crap that anyone in the TV news business has to endure. It wasn't that he had a lot of profound advice to give. He didn't. But he just kept marching, head up, chin out. If he could do it, I decided, so could I.

I learned of Bob's passing by reading a post on MediaLine. By the third response down, someone was already asking where to send tapes to apply for his job. I can imagine Bob sitting across the table from me at Lindy's -- is Lindy's still open? -- offering his take on the matter. I won't ask Brian to repeat it, since I don't know who's in the room, but I think you can all imagine the gist of it.

But Bob never gave up on TV news. And by 'TV News,' I don't mean the 'holy smokes take a look at this shocking video' stuff that is the bread and butter of today's product, or exclusive HealthCast reports on people who make their own goat cheese -- I mean real news produced by real reporters who know where City Hall is and the difference between a senator and a representative and so on. Yes, TV news was actually like that once and Bob held out hope that someday it would be that way again.

I've cut my hair, turned on the lights, pretty much quit drinking and embraced the Tao. I don't lose my temper as much as I used to, and when I do, I don't throw things across the room. I loved San Antonio, and I often reflect fondly on the time I was there. But that was a crazy time in my life, and Bob helped me get through it.

Thanks for saving my ass, brother.

Bob was 59 years old.

Where I should be...

is floating in space, a billion miles from earth, with nothing else around. Just me. No people, no dogs and cats, no music or sound, nothing.

No point in living, no point in dying.

No point.

What matters?

I'm thinking about what actually matters, and wondering if anything does. Everything is temporary, transitory.

Does happiness matter? Why should it matter to me if I'm happy? Is there a point to being happy? It's better than being unhappy, I suppose, but what if I'm neither happy nor unhappy? Am I required to be one or the other?

What I'm reading

I'm working through "Thoughts Without a Thinker" by Mark Epstein, MD. Epstein is a Buddhist psychiatrist in New York. Maybe the best book I've read tying Buddhism to western psychology.

Never finished "On Love and Loneliness" by J. Krishnamurti so I need to do that.

Recent Essential Events

I've been eating the usual stuff. Had the pork chops at Las Mariachis for lunch today. Breakfast was the breakfast burrito at the Red Cup.

Dinner was penne pasta with marinara sauce at the RC.

It's not important

It's not important. But it's not unimportant.

Whatever it is.

It doesn't need to be classified or prioritized.

There goes the neighborhood

This is why I stay away from NW 39 & Penn. People see you hanging around there, and they're liable to think you're a Baptist preacher.

Why does anyone listen to fundamentalists anymore?

The dog does not let me sleep

Haley needs constant attention. Let me define constant: every       freakin'       minute.

She sleeps all day when I'm at work, so when I'm home, she's up and roaming around, trying to get into bed with me, trying to get me up, etc., etc. I've had two decent nights' sleep since I got her.

She's a retriever –– she needs activity. I'm a lump –– I need rest.

Essential events 051229-060102

The usual crap plus Tony's spread on New Year's Eve, Ron's black-eyed peas New Year's Day, broiled chicken on rice at Lido today. And a Braum's burger later. And Wendy's chili this evening.

Thanks

... to Tony for the great New Year's Eve party. I saw so much food there was water comin' from my eyes.

... to Ron for the black-eyed peas New Year's Day.

... to Jen for "Zen Shorts", a wonderful children's book that features a panda named Stillwater who tells Zen (and Taoist) parables to a group of children. Jon J. Muth, whose comic books I read as a young man, is the artist and writer. Jen gave me this for my 53rd birthday, which was December 30. She is a wonderful friend who got me started on the eastern path.

Roles we play

It is said that Dean Martin was something of a teetotaler. He played a cheerful, boozy party guy because that was the character the public expected of him.

We can all get trapped in the 'characters' we play, and sometimes I get trapped in the character of the grousing, sardonic misanthrope. I get laughs that way, but sometimes I say things 'in character' that don't reflect my real feelings.

Life is actually pretty good for me. And as I get further into Buddhist/Taoist thought, even the concept of 'pretty good' ceases to have meaning. There's no need to rate my life. It just is.

2006

Catching up tonight from my laptop because the video display in my desktop Mac died today...

It has been suggested I should resolve to be more effervescent in 2006. So here I go....




















okay, enough of that. I'm exhausted.