Hey. Mr. Flathead! You want a piece of me?
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
When I'm hungry, I eat
Some of you have heard me use the expression, "When I'm hungry, I eat, and when I'm tired, I sleep."
Here's the whole story, as told on kwanumzen.com
Here's the whole story, as told on kwanumzen.com
One day, a Sutra Master came and he questioned Zen Master Dae-Ju. "I understand that you have attained Satori. What is Zen?''
Dae-Ju said, "Zen is very easy. It is not difficult at all. When I am hungry, I eat; when I am tired, I sleep.''
The Sutra Master said, "This is doing the same as all people do. Attaining Satori and not attaining are then the same.''
"No, no, people on the outside and on the inside are different.''
The Sutra Master said, ''When I am hungry, I eat. When I am tired, I sleep. Why is the outside different from the inside?"
Dae-Ju said, "When people are hungry, they eat. Only the outside, the body, is eating. On the inside, they are thinking, and they have desire for money, fame, sex, food, and they feel anger. And so when they are tired, because of these wants, they do not sleep. So, the outside and the inside are different. But when I am hungry, I only eat. When I am tired, I only sleep. I have no thinking, and so I have no inside and no outside.''
The Sutra Master bowed respectfully, and became Dae-Ju's student.
What Cory Doctorow said
Read this.
Cory Doctorow writes about social networking (MySpace, Facebook, etc.)
Cory Doctorow writes about social networking (MySpace, Facebook, etc.)
"Facebook is no paragon of virtue. It bears the hallmarks of the kind of pump-and-dump service that sees us as sticky, monetizable eyeballs in need of pimping."
Monday, November 26, 2007
The scarf
Although I don't have a picture that really does it justice, I should mention the fabulous 12-foot long scarf my friend Joanie crocheted and presented to me on Thanksgiving Day.
I had mentioned to her that I have a hard time finding scarves long enough for me, and that I really needed something similar to the scarves Tom Baker wore as Dr. Who. Less than two weeks later, she presented me with this amazing scarf that is more like a narrow blanket.
You can't tell from this picture, of course, but this scarf reaches my ankles.
I had mentioned to her that I have a hard time finding scarves long enough for me, and that I really needed something similar to the scarves Tom Baker wore as Dr. Who. Less than two weeks later, she presented me with this amazing scarf that is more like a narrow blanket.You can't tell from this picture, of course, but this scarf reaches my ankles.
Commitment phobia, part 2
I'll agree I'm relationship-phobic. I'm not sure it's costing me happiness.
Lately, I've been thinking that happiness is not something that should be pursued (no matter what the Declaration of Independence says), but something that should be enjoyed when it happens to come 'round.
Most of my peace has come not from pursuing happiness, but from avoiding, where possible, things that make me unhappy.
Unavoidable things come in life which bring both happiness and unhappiness, and we have to make our peace with both. We can't hide from every setback or misfortune. But I'm not going to stick my hand in boiling water or walk out into rush hour traffic to prove my detachment from pain or discomfort.
And I try not to become 'addicted' to experiences that bring happiness and comfort, although that happens on a small scale almost daily.
Lately, I've been thinking that happiness is not something that should be pursued (no matter what the Declaration of Independence says), but something that should be enjoyed when it happens to come 'round.
Most of my peace has come not from pursuing happiness, but from avoiding, where possible, things that make me unhappy.
Unavoidable things come in life which bring both happiness and unhappiness, and we have to make our peace with both. We can't hide from every setback or misfortune. But I'm not going to stick my hand in boiling water or walk out into rush hour traffic to prove my detachment from pain or discomfort.
And I try not to become 'addicted' to experiences that bring happiness and comfort, although that happens on a small scale almost daily.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Survey says: commitment phobia
"The unexamined life is not worth living," Socrates said.
I know of no better way to follow the path to self-realization than the online web survey.
(Too bad the Socmeister didn't have the Internets back in the day. Instead of drinking hemlock, he could have just cancelled his MySpace page... or died of natural causes waiting for all the %^$#&# ads to load. Hit Aristotle and win a free ringtone!)
Following Nina/Christina's lead, I took the BeliefNet Commitment Phobia Quiz, and here's what it said:
Well, maybe.
Results of previous online surveys:
I'm a Mahayana Buddhist
I'm INTP
I'm depressed
I know of no better way to follow the path to self-realization than the online web survey.
(Too bad the Socmeister didn't have the Internets back in the day. Instead of drinking hemlock, he could have just cancelled his MySpace page... or died of natural causes waiting for all the %^$#&# ads to load. Hit Aristotle and win a free ringtone!)
Following Nina/Christina's lead, I took the BeliefNet Commitment Phobia Quiz, and here's what it said:
You scored 85, on a scale of 30 to 100. Here's how to interpret your score:
75 - 100 Commitment-Phobic: Your fear of relationships is costing you happiness. You may want to take steps to break your pattern.
Well, maybe.
Results of previous online surveys:
I'm a Mahayana Buddhist
I'm INTP
I'm depressed
Sunday evening
I have to say that I've been in a pretty good mood since just before Thanksgiving.
I'm wondering if the fish oil is finally having some effect on my demeanor. I think I wrote previously that the jury is still out on the benefits of fish oil on depression... at least from what I've read on the Internets.
But Tall Ed says it's helped him.
In any event, the past four or five days have been pretty darn good.
I'm wondering if the fish oil is finally having some effect on my demeanor. I think I wrote previously that the jury is still out on the benefits of fish oil on depression... at least from what I've read on the Internets.
But Tall Ed says it's helped him.
In any event, the past four or five days have been pretty darn good.
Another social networking rant
There was an article in Slate a few days ago about how young people no longer use email, preferring to use text messaging and MySpace or Facebook instead.
As I've said before, I don't think MySpace is much more than warmed over America Online.
To get my regular email, I click on mail.app, and after a few seconds pf downloading, there are all my latest messages. With MySpace, it's a different story.
I get my MySpace email by:
1. Clicking on my MySpace bookmark.
2. Waiting for page to load. There's the banner... there are the google ads... there's the outline for the match.com ad with a woman flirting with her monitor, eventually followed by the video clip itself... there are the announcements for MySpace 'events'... finally, when all the ads are loaded and I have my browser back... I can
3. Click on 'home,' wait for more ads to load... there's the dancing mortgage reindeer... and, when I have my browser back,
4. click on 'log in'.
5. Wait for more ads to load. Click on 'inbox.'
And so on. And all during this time, my mail is more or less 'trapped' in MySpace. I don't have local copies. If I cancel MySpace (or if, for some reason, MySpace closes my account), I lose my 'paper trail' of messages.
And as I've said before, MySpace is, from a visual standpoint, an abomination. Cluttered, counterintuitive and just plain ugly. FaceBook is better, I suppose – based on what little I've seen of it.
But I still believe these social networks are basically a fad, just as all-day AOL chat was in the nineties, and eventually they'll go away or evolve into something more usable and sane.
As I've said before, I don't think MySpace is much more than warmed over America Online.
To get my regular email, I click on mail.app, and after a few seconds pf downloading, there are all my latest messages. With MySpace, it's a different story.
I get my MySpace email by:
1. Clicking on my MySpace bookmark.
2. Waiting for page to load. There's the banner... there are the google ads... there's the outline for the match.com ad with a woman flirting with her monitor, eventually followed by the video clip itself... there are the announcements for MySpace 'events'... finally, when all the ads are loaded and I have my browser back... I can
3. Click on 'home,' wait for more ads to load... there's the dancing mortgage reindeer... and, when I have my browser back,
4. click on 'log in'.
5. Wait for more ads to load. Click on 'inbox.'
And so on. And all during this time, my mail is more or less 'trapped' in MySpace. I don't have local copies. If I cancel MySpace (or if, for some reason, MySpace closes my account), I lose my 'paper trail' of messages.
And as I've said before, MySpace is, from a visual standpoint, an abomination. Cluttered, counterintuitive and just plain ugly. FaceBook is better, I suppose – based on what little I've seen of it.
But I still believe these social networks are basically a fad, just as all-day AOL chat was in the nineties, and eventually they'll go away or evolve into something more usable and sane.
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Just say "no" to Black Friday
Well, it's too late now, of course, but next year for sure... right?
From SFGate.com:
More here.
I ate lunch at a restaurant with television on Friday and caught a little bit of one cable news network's Black Friday coverage.
While this one of the busiest shopping days of the year, it is also one of the slowest days for real news, which means news operations struggling to fill time between paid commercials are tempted to run what amount to free commercials about the Christmas shopping rush.
One reporter I saw was doing a live report from the aisles of what looked like a Wal-Mart or Target store. The sound was off, so I could only guess at what he was saying. But judging from the graphics full-screened during the report, it was another of those 'What's Hot' lists.
When I was a reporter, I always thought those stories were basically bogus. Some marketing company sends out press releases announcing that a client's product is 'hot,' content-starved news outlets report it as fact, and the reportage makes the press release reality. How many times have you seen one of those 'What's Hot' lists, and you've never even heard of half the stuff on it?
I'm doing my Christmas shopping (what there is of it) online this year.
From SFGate.com:
"It's disgusting when you see people line up in stores drooling to just buy stuff," said Buehlman, 38, who e-mailed about 100 friends and family this year urging them to abstain from buying anything today. "People have such a hard time going inside themselves to fix things, they try to buy stuff to fix things on the outside."
More here.
I ate lunch at a restaurant with television on Friday and caught a little bit of one cable news network's Black Friday coverage.
While this one of the busiest shopping days of the year, it is also one of the slowest days for real news, which means news operations struggling to fill time between paid commercials are tempted to run what amount to free commercials about the Christmas shopping rush.
One reporter I saw was doing a live report from the aisles of what looked like a Wal-Mart or Target store. The sound was off, so I could only guess at what he was saying. But judging from the graphics full-screened during the report, it was another of those 'What's Hot' lists.
When I was a reporter, I always thought those stories were basically bogus. Some marketing company sends out press releases announcing that a client's product is 'hot,' content-starved news outlets report it as fact, and the reportage makes the press release reality. How many times have you seen one of those 'What's Hot' lists, and you've never even heard of half the stuff on it?
I'm doing my Christmas shopping (what there is of it) online this year.
Saturday evening
Okay, a quick rundown of Thanksgiving: dinner at a friend's home with a few Red Cup friends, which consumed the afternoon and early evening.
Later... sitting by the firepit at Sauced! with some of those same friends and others. The temperature had dropped below freezing, but we were all bundled up and warm in front of the fire Ed built for us.
For the moment, at least, my life has calm and serenity, which are the things I most sought.
Later... sitting by the firepit at Sauced! with some of those same friends and others. The temperature had dropped below freezing, but we were all bundled up and warm in front of the fire Ed built for us.
For the moment, at least, my life has calm and serenity, which are the things I most sought.
Saturday morning
Well, it's two days since Thanksgiving and I still haven't written about it as I promised to.
I haven't been much in the mood to blog. Which is not to say I'm depressed; quite the opposite, actually. Everything's fine. But I just want a mini-vacation from blogging and computer stuff in general.
I haven't been much in the mood to blog. Which is not to say I'm depressed; quite the opposite, actually. Everything's fine. But I just want a mini-vacation from blogging and computer stuff in general.
Friday, November 23, 2007
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Monday, November 19, 2007
What I should be doing..
...is cleaning up my turd-spangled back porch/laundry room. That's where the litter boxes are, but I guess the cats aren't always motivated to climb in them. They think the general vicinity is close enough.
Not doin' nothin, day 109
I've spent another day not doing much of anything except being an unmotivated layabout.
The zen tradition is that if you don't work, you don't eat. Well, I'm not working, or at least not working very much, but I am eating. Make of that what you will, or better yet, make nothing at all of it. Have no concept of making something of it. Don't even think 'it is what it is.'
I feel very fortunate to be in this space. I probably shouldn't have any feeling about it at all, at least not in terms of it being 'fortunate' or 'unfortunate.'
No concept of anything. No concept of even having or not having a concept.
Waaaugh.
The zen tradition is that if you don't work, you don't eat. Well, I'm not working, or at least not working very much, but I am eating. Make of that what you will, or better yet, make nothing at all of it. Have no concept of making something of it. Don't even think 'it is what it is.'
I feel very fortunate to be in this space. I probably shouldn't have any feeling about it at all, at least not in terms of it being 'fortunate' or 'unfortunate.'
No concept of anything. No concept of even having or not having a concept.
Waaaugh.
Team Knight Rider update
I forgot to mention soartstar, who gave me a ride to pick up the battery at the auto parts store.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Just like Team Knight Rider, only with a minivan
Replaced the battery and a badly corroded cable terminal, and the minivan is again ready for thrilling fast-paced adventures.
Much thanks to Tony O for loaning me his socket set and to Randy S for figuring out how to get the old battery out of the engine well. (There was a bracket on the bottom I had forgotten about.)
Thanks to Tish for offering to send her mechanic to help me and to Lauren and Cristin for stopping to offer aid.
It's a good life in the bubble.
Much thanks to Tony O for loaning me his socket set and to Randy S for figuring out how to get the old battery out of the engine well. (There was a bracket on the bottom I had forgotten about.)
Thanks to Tish for offering to send her mechanic to help me and to Lauren and Cristin for stopping to offer aid.
It's a good life in the bubble.
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Saturday evening
Woops... the minivan died tonight at the Red Cup. Stuck the key in the ignition and zip... nothing. The little alarm buzzer beeped feebly, but that was all. No lights, no nothing. I hope it's just a dead battery. This would have to happen on Saturday night. I can ride the bike tomorrow, no problem there. But I guess I'll have to wait until Monday to get the car looked at.
When I was in my twenties, car problems were always a big deal. I didn't have a lot of money, so even minor repairs were a burden. I think about that when I see some of the younger Red Cup regulars struggling with old beaters.
And I drove maybe sixty miles a day just on routine business, so being without a car was huge problem.
And there was a certain level of panic that set in when the car was out of commission. A car, after all, equals freedom. Without it, you're a prisoner in your own neighborhood.
Nowadays I probably don't drive sixty miles in two weeks. Everything I need to do is within bicycle distance, and a couple of my friends - guys my age - use a bicycle most or all the time. I'm a prisoner in my own neighborhood by choice.
As I think about it, it's really crazy that we became so dependent on the automobile. It's expensive, immensely complicated, requires constant maintenance, is loud, smells bad, and uses most of the energy it consumes just hauling itself around. When was the last time I hauled something so big I needed a minivan to move it?
Well, just Friday evening, as a matter of fact, when I helped someone get a big bag of beanbag chair stuffing back to her house because her wheels were in the shop.
But by and large, I can get along without it these days, and I'm glad to be able to do so.
When I was in my twenties, car problems were always a big deal. I didn't have a lot of money, so even minor repairs were a burden. I think about that when I see some of the younger Red Cup regulars struggling with old beaters.
And I drove maybe sixty miles a day just on routine business, so being without a car was huge problem.
And there was a certain level of panic that set in when the car was out of commission. A car, after all, equals freedom. Without it, you're a prisoner in your own neighborhood.
Nowadays I probably don't drive sixty miles in two weeks. Everything I need to do is within bicycle distance, and a couple of my friends - guys my age - use a bicycle most or all the time. I'm a prisoner in my own neighborhood by choice.
As I think about it, it's really crazy that we became so dependent on the automobile. It's expensive, immensely complicated, requires constant maintenance, is loud, smells bad, and uses most of the energy it consumes just hauling itself around. When was the last time I hauled something so big I needed a minivan to move it?
Well, just Friday evening, as a matter of fact, when I helped someone get a big bag of beanbag chair stuffing back to her house because her wheels were in the shop.
But by and large, I can get along without it these days, and I'm glad to be able to do so.
Friday, November 16, 2007
My Shrinking Space
I've been sleeping on a futon in the dining room for more than a year now. I have a bedroom with a very nice queen-size bed, but it began to feel alien and unwelcoming to me. I didn't like being in there. Eventually I let it fill up with old clothes and junk and then just closed the door. The walls in that room are pink. Maybe if I painted it it would feel more comfortable.
I have a back bedroom that is also full of old clothes, old books and stuff from my mother's house. I think it's pink, too... I don't recall without going back there. But I never go back there, either. I am down to living in my den and dining room, and if I could consolidate that, I could live in just one room.
I obviously have too much stuff. And the amount of personal space I need is shrinking with my sense of self. If there is no self, after all, who is it that needs this space?
I have a back bedroom that is also full of old clothes, old books and stuff from my mother's house. I think it's pink, too... I don't recall without going back there. But I never go back there, either. I am down to living in my den and dining room, and if I could consolidate that, I could live in just one room.
I obviously have too much stuff. And the amount of personal space I need is shrinking with my sense of self. If there is no self, after all, who is it that needs this space?
Cultivating Stillness
The book is actually called Cultivating Stillness.
And instead of Medicine Park, maybe I should move to Washington state.
And instead of Medicine Park, maybe I should move to Washington state.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Thursday update
Freelance projects are out of the pipe and done, thank heaven.
Started trying to read a book which I think is called The Art of Stillness. It's an old – I guess ancient – Taoist text, and not very easy going.
Started trying to read a book which I think is called The Art of Stillness. It's an old – I guess ancient – Taoist text, and not very easy going.
Thursday afternoon
I have two freelance projects in the pipeline, which is two more than I'd prefer.
Anybody here ever been to Medicine Park? I wonder what the cost of living is like there.
Anybody here ever been to Medicine Park? I wonder what the cost of living is like there.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
More boxes
Online OS and political debates
Web 2.0
The way my hair looks on any given morning
One by one, the unimportant things drop off the radar
Web 2.0
The way my hair looks on any given morning
One by one, the unimportant things drop off the radar
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
The empty boxes
That item I posted a couple of days ago about the empty boxes was just the product of a wandering mind – I didn't mean for it to be a meditative exercise.
But I think I stumbled onto something useful with that. For the past couple of days, when I find myself perturbed or anxious about something, I imagine that thing as a box, and I open it. Of course, there's nothing inside, except occasionally another box, which is empty.
But I think I stumbled onto something useful with that. For the past couple of days, when I find myself perturbed or anxious about something, I imagine that thing as a box, and I open it. Of course, there's nothing inside, except occasionally another box, which is empty.
From the first, not a thing is
Once I understood the full impact of that statement (from the sixth ancestor, Hui-Neng) it was the best news I'd had in years. Maybe the best news ever.
Monday, November 12, 2007
The other 3D Danny
If you were in Oklahoma City in the late fifties or early sixties, you no doubt remember 3D Danny on WKY-TV, portrayed by Danny Williams.
The picture at right, though, is not him.
Maybe everyone else already knew this, but I just discovered this week that there was another 3D Danny, whose Space Science Center was in the studios of WTVT in Tampa, FL.
As you can tell from the photo, the name was no coincidence.
You can find out more about the other 3D Danny here.
And the real 3D Danny has a web page here.
The picture at right, though, is not him.Maybe everyone else already knew this, but I just discovered this week that there was another 3D Danny, whose Space Science Center was in the studios of WTVT in Tampa, FL.
As you can tell from the photo, the name was no coincidence.
You can find out more about the other 3D Danny here.
And the real 3D Danny has a web page here.
After that...
After the previous post, I went back to bed and had another dream.
In this dream, there were three of us reporters hanging around in the corridor of a government building. It might have been the state capitol or the federal courthouse. The three of us were me, Gan Matthews and somebody I didn't recognize. We were waiting for a news conference to start.
To pass the time, Gan began singing the second stanza of Surfin' Bird by The Trashmen, and the other guy and I joined in:
And then I woke up and went to the Red Cup.
In this dream, there were three of us reporters hanging around in the corridor of a government building. It might have been the state capitol or the federal courthouse. The three of us were me, Gan Matthews and somebody I didn't recognize. We were waiting for a news conference to start.
To pass the time, Gan began singing the second stanza of Surfin' Bird by The Trashmen, and the other guy and I joined in:
Papa-ooma-mow-mow, papa-ooma-mow-mow
Papa-ooma-mow-mow, papa-ooma-mow-mow
Ooma-mow-mow, papa-ooma-mow-mow
Papa-ooma-mow-mow, papa-ooma-mow-mow
Papa-ooma-mow-mow, papa-ooma-mow-mow
Oom-oom-oom-oom-ooma-mow-mow
Papa-ooma-mow-mow, papa-oom-oom-oom
Oom-ooma-mow-mow, papa-ooma-mow-mow
Ooma-mow-mow, papa-ooma-mow-mow
Papa-a-mow-mow, papa-ooma-mow-mow
Papa-ooma-mow-mow, ooma-mow-mow
Papa-ooma-mow-mow, ooma-mow-mow
Papa-oom-oom-oom-oom-ooma-mow-mow
Oom-oom-oom-oom-ooma-mow-mow
Ooma-mow-mow, papa-ooma-mow-mow
Papa-ooma-mow-mow, ooma-mow-mow
Well don't you know about the bird?
Well, everybody knows that the bird is the word!
A-well-a bird, bird, b-bird's the word
And then I woke up and went to the Red Cup.
Man the barricades!
I just woke up from another bizarre and unpleasant dream about my former career. These come so frequently - one about every two weeks - that I think there must be some unresolved issues.
Make no mistake: I consider that 25 years of my life to be an almost complete waste of mental, emotional and physical energy. If I took all the positive memories I hold from that time of my life and placed them end to end, they might cover about eighteen months. The rest was crap.
I think part of the reason I have all these dreams even after nine years away from that life is because I've built a lot of barricades against those memories during my waking hours. I don't want to remember that stuff or think about it.
As I lay in bed thinking about this, it occurred to me I have other barricades. I let that wisteria tree grow until it covered half the front of my house so it could serve as a physical barrier against seeing or being seen by neighbors and passers-by.
I have read and have been told that people who accumulate clutter the way I do use it as a barricade to keep other people away. I'm not 100% sure this is true in my case, but damn, I do like my privacy.
I have sometimes dozed off when surrounded by eight or nine people carrying on three or four simultaneous conversations at the Red Cup. I can feel myself getting sleepy as soon as the din reaches a certain level. This is another barricade to shut out the sensory overload.
I sometimes daydream about going Cold Mountain and just living somewhere almost isolated from society.
From a Buddhist perspective, I'm not sure how useful or healthy these barricades are. There are some contemporary writers who talk about being soft, open and accepting, but I'm not sure I buy that.
We live, like it or not, in a culture that tends to encourage and celebrate predatory behavior. It's only the most extreme cases that evoke our dismay and contempt; our reaction to most everything else ranges from mild amusement to outright admiration. So you have to watch your step out there... guard your heart and count your change.
I've posted here before about how I've cut myself off from mass media. I built a barricade to protect myself from the barrage of marketing and advertising messages, and a big part of the reason I can live so simply now is that I don't expose myself to messages telling me I'd be a lot happier if I bought a SUV or bleached my teeth or got botox or wore Tommy. But it's another barricade.
I've also posted about being 'emotionally unavailable.' This is also a barricade, and one I've consciously built to protect my own sanity and stability. I won't go into that again - more than enough has been said previously.
Even my current profile pic sort of says, "stay the fuck away from me." I could have used a smiling full-face picture shot on a sunny day, but this one more accurately reflects my state of mind.
I don't know how zen or taoist it is to throw up coils of razor wire all around msyelf, but I'll tell you this: I don't know how I would have lasted this long without them.
Make no mistake: I consider that 25 years of my life to be an almost complete waste of mental, emotional and physical energy. If I took all the positive memories I hold from that time of my life and placed them end to end, they might cover about eighteen months. The rest was crap.
I think part of the reason I have all these dreams even after nine years away from that life is because I've built a lot of barricades against those memories during my waking hours. I don't want to remember that stuff or think about it.
As I lay in bed thinking about this, it occurred to me I have other barricades. I let that wisteria tree grow until it covered half the front of my house so it could serve as a physical barrier against seeing or being seen by neighbors and passers-by.
I have read and have been told that people who accumulate clutter the way I do use it as a barricade to keep other people away. I'm not 100% sure this is true in my case, but damn, I do like my privacy.
I have sometimes dozed off when surrounded by eight or nine people carrying on three or four simultaneous conversations at the Red Cup. I can feel myself getting sleepy as soon as the din reaches a certain level. This is another barricade to shut out the sensory overload.
I sometimes daydream about going Cold Mountain and just living somewhere almost isolated from society.
From a Buddhist perspective, I'm not sure how useful or healthy these barricades are. There are some contemporary writers who talk about being soft, open and accepting, but I'm not sure I buy that.
We live, like it or not, in a culture that tends to encourage and celebrate predatory behavior. It's only the most extreme cases that evoke our dismay and contempt; our reaction to most everything else ranges from mild amusement to outright admiration. So you have to watch your step out there... guard your heart and count your change.
I've posted here before about how I've cut myself off from mass media. I built a barricade to protect myself from the barrage of marketing and advertising messages, and a big part of the reason I can live so simply now is that I don't expose myself to messages telling me I'd be a lot happier if I bought a SUV or bleached my teeth or got botox or wore Tommy. But it's another barricade.
I've also posted about being 'emotionally unavailable.' This is also a barricade, and one I've consciously built to protect my own sanity and stability. I won't go into that again - more than enough has been said previously.Even my current profile pic sort of says, "stay the fuck away from me." I could have used a smiling full-face picture shot on a sunny day, but this one more accurately reflects my state of mind.
I don't know how zen or taoist it is to throw up coils of razor wire all around msyelf, but I'll tell you this: I don't know how I would have lasted this long without them.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
But is it art?
Believer Magazine interviews art critic Dave Hickey.
I'm not an artist, except in a can-you-redo-this-in-Helvetica-by-noon-Wednesday sense, but others may find solace, outrage or simply confusion in this interview.
"In twenty years we’ve gone from a totally academicized art world to a totally commercialized art world, and in neither case is criticism a function. We’re all supposed to be positive about art. Nobody plays defense! I mean, my job, to a certain extent, is to be in the net. My job is to mow stuff down."
I'm not an artist, except in a can-you-redo-this-in-Helvetica-by-noon-Wednesday sense, but others may find solace, outrage or simply confusion in this interview.
Mmmmm... pancakes
If you went to a fast food place and got dinner, then took it home and found only an empty box, you'd probably be annoyed. Maybe you'd make it a point never to go back to that place.
But we are surrounded with piles of empty boxes, and it often never occurs to us stop acquiring them. In fact, we seldom even look in our boxes to see if there's anything in them.
Here's the consumerism box: empty.
The capitalism box: empty.
The socialism box: empty.
The 'Am I hot or not?' box: empty.
The career goals box: empty.
The self-esteem box: empty.
The righteous indignation box: empty.
The religion box: empty.
The 'What's in all these other boxes?' box: empty.
Eventually, you'll discover every box is empty. So then what?
For me, the answer is, "Have some pancakes."
But what about the pancake box? Empty, of course.
So, if the pancake box is empty, how am I going to get pancakes?
I just go up to the counter and ask for them, and they bring them out to me.
"Wait," you may say. "How can the pancake box be empty if you're eating pancakes?"
Open your philosophical conundrum box and see what's in it.
But we are surrounded with piles of empty boxes, and it often never occurs to us stop acquiring them. In fact, we seldom even look in our boxes to see if there's anything in them.
Here's the consumerism box: empty.
The capitalism box: empty.
The socialism box: empty.
The 'Am I hot or not?' box: empty.
The career goals box: empty.
The self-esteem box: empty.
The righteous indignation box: empty.
The religion box: empty.
The 'What's in all these other boxes?' box: empty.
Eventually, you'll discover every box is empty. So then what?
For me, the answer is, "Have some pancakes."
But what about the pancake box? Empty, of course.
So, if the pancake box is empty, how am I going to get pancakes?
I just go up to the counter and ask for them, and they bring them out to me.
"Wait," you may say. "How can the pancake box be empty if you're eating pancakes?"
Open your philosophical conundrum box and see what's in it.
Why are women always playing with my hair?
I raised this question this afternoon with a couple of female friends. There's nothing particularly special about my hair.
One friend told me it's because I'm 'cuddly.'
This was not the goal I set for myself, frankly. I've been trying to seethe with raw, barely contained animal menace.
Apparently it's not working.
One friend told me it's because I'm 'cuddly.'
This was not the goal I set for myself, frankly. I've been trying to seethe with raw, barely contained animal menace.
Apparently it's not working.
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Friday, November 09, 2007
Angst delay
I know I'm past due for posting some long angsty philosophical thing. I'm just low on angst right now, what with getting the house painted and all.
Someone broke off one of my cactus plants, and I was pretty annoyed about that, but then I remembered this, which applies to cactus as well.
Someone broke off one of my cactus plants, and I was pretty annoyed about that, but then I remembered this, which applies to cactus as well.
Questions to snopes.com
You probably already know that snopes.com is the Internet clearing house for urban legends – some of which are true, some of which are not.
Here is a page of questions submitted to snopes which they consider 'unanswerable.'
Among them:
Here is a page of questions submitted to snopes which they consider 'unanswerable.'
Among them:
They say that if a person has a pet cat and dies, if the person's body is not found fairly soon after death, the cat, having not been fed, will become ravenously hungry and eat the dead person's face off— JUST the face!
Is this true? My cat often looks me in the face. I used to think he was just being friendly. Now I know he's just sizing me up, like a chef at a butcher shop, waiting for "the big day". Since hearing this rumor, every time my cat licks his chops it gives me the willies!
Is some one can tell me how to read expire date on corona beer box/bottle. code I have on box is DC08C088. What this mean. reply me ASAP.
Can people see into your house if it's darker in your house than it is outside? When I look around at other houses that don't have lights on, I see darkness, a reflection or only what is immediately in front of the window (curtains, plants, etc.). As a result, I tend to act as though no one can see what I'm doing inside as long as the lights are off and there is no other source of light illuminating me. My wife, however, is often appalled by this behavior. Should she be appalled, or am I correct?
Thursday, November 08, 2007
Long hair or short
You've probably noticed I've been letting my hair grow out again.
I've gone from shoulder-length to having my head shaved over the past seven years, with several lengths in between. I don't know if I'll let it get this long again:
But I might.
I've gone from shoulder-length to having my head shaved over the past seven years, with several lengths in between. I don't know if I'll let it get this long again:
But I might.
Come on Fido... let's go for a ride.
I don't know what an immobilizer chip is, but apparently you shouldn't let your dog eat it.
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
More than you ever wanted to know about Benny Lava
The two people in the video are not the singers.
She is Jayasheel.
He is Prabhu Deva.
A hard-to-follow translation of the lyrics here.
Another blogger parses the original Tamil lyrics for phonetic similarities to English. (The 'I want to swim in his beeeeeeejaaayyyy" line isn't even someone singing.)
Good lord... what am I doing with my life?
She is Jayasheel.
He is Prabhu Deva.
A hard-to-follow translation of the lyrics here.
Another blogger parses the original Tamil lyrics for phonetic similarities to English. (The 'I want to swim in his beeeeeeejaaayyyy" line isn't even someone singing.)
Good lord... what am I doing with my life?
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
Now poop on them, Oliver
Having finished my daily rounds, I return to my Fortress of Solitude to enjoy music of faraway lands.
Don't laugh. This makes more sense than anything by America.
And the female lead singer in this video is adorable.
Except that she sings like a chipmunk.
For that matter, so does he.
How do they do that?
Don't laugh. This makes more sense than anything by America.
And the female lead singer in this video is adorable.
Except that she sings like a chipmunk.
For that matter, so does he.
How do they do that?
Afternoon update
I continue my efforts from another undisclosed location.
Eternal vigilance is the price of liberty.
Eternal vigilance is the price of liberty.
Vader in love redux
It's been awhile since I overanalyzed the hell out of something, and I've got a few free minutes in my otherwise busy schedule, so I'm going to write some more about the 'Darth Vader in Love' skit.
There's a lot of stuff going on here, and what makes it funny, I think – at least for men – is the way it all happens 'according to script.'
Although this starts off with some Mel Brooks-level humor – Vader infatuated with the 'Sith chick' Commander Larkin in pink hemlet and armor – it quickly moves to more sophisticated territory. Vader, perhaps pop culture's number one control freak, suddenly finds himself in a situation over which he has absolutely no control. Not only has he lost control of external events, he's lost control of himself, which for him is far worse.
One of the things you've picked up on if you've read my favorite book, Alan Watts' The Wisdom of Insecurity or anything by Pema Chödrön, is that we don't have control over anything, when you get right down to it, and it's better to learn to live with the shifting sands of uncertainty than to futilely try to find refuge in fortresses that ultimately can't defend us from reality.
So here's Vader with a 'teachable moment,' but no one there to teach him. He's hanging over the abyss of what is fundamentally the mere biochemical processes of his own brain, and it's funny to any of us who have had similar experiences. (Some of us, though, remain blithely unaware of such processes and plow forward regardless of possible consequences. Even Darth Vader wouldn't offer the Prime Minister of Germany a free backrub at a formal meeting of an economic summit.)
An enlightened Vader would have sensed his attraction, recognized it for it what it was, remembered that there is no 'Vader,' no 'Commander Larkin,' and that the Force that can be named is not the true Force – and he would have gone on with the business at hand of torturing the captured rebel.
So we laugh at Vader's floundering around because it looks so much like us.
And then there's the birthday party scene, and here's where Commander Larkin reveals the inevitable previously-undisclosed boyfriend. Of course, she waits until she's got Vader in a room full of people and has given him the gift before dropping the 'Chris bomb' on him.
More typically, 'Chris' would have been the ne'er-do-well heir to the Harkonnen Spice Fortune back on Arrakis, but since it's pretty hard to top a Sith lord in a 'fabulously wealthy bad boy' contest, the writers counter-programmed with an IT geek.
Clearly Larkin has figured out Lord Vader is on the make and has timed the counterstrike for maximum embarrassment and dicomfiture, not to mention drama. Again, Lord Vader: no Darth, no Larkin, no Chris, no drama. Detach and move on, dude.
Anyway, that's why it's funny.
To me, anyway.
Not that anything like this has ever happened to me. I'm just talking in the abstract, of course.
There's a lot of stuff going on here, and what makes it funny, I think – at least for men – is the way it all happens 'according to script.'
Although this starts off with some Mel Brooks-level humor – Vader infatuated with the 'Sith chick' Commander Larkin in pink hemlet and armor – it quickly moves to more sophisticated territory. Vader, perhaps pop culture's number one control freak, suddenly finds himself in a situation over which he has absolutely no control. Not only has he lost control of external events, he's lost control of himself, which for him is far worse.
One of the things you've picked up on if you've read my favorite book, Alan Watts' The Wisdom of Insecurity or anything by Pema Chödrön, is that we don't have control over anything, when you get right down to it, and it's better to learn to live with the shifting sands of uncertainty than to futilely try to find refuge in fortresses that ultimately can't defend us from reality.
So here's Vader with a 'teachable moment,' but no one there to teach him. He's hanging over the abyss of what is fundamentally the mere biochemical processes of his own brain, and it's funny to any of us who have had similar experiences. (Some of us, though, remain blithely unaware of such processes and plow forward regardless of possible consequences. Even Darth Vader wouldn't offer the Prime Minister of Germany a free backrub at a formal meeting of an economic summit.)
An enlightened Vader would have sensed his attraction, recognized it for it what it was, remembered that there is no 'Vader,' no 'Commander Larkin,' and that the Force that can be named is not the true Force – and he would have gone on with the business at hand of torturing the captured rebel.
So we laugh at Vader's floundering around because it looks so much like us.
And then there's the birthday party scene, and here's where Commander Larkin reveals the inevitable previously-undisclosed boyfriend. Of course, she waits until she's got Vader in a room full of people and has given him the gift before dropping the 'Chris bomb' on him.
More typically, 'Chris' would have been the ne'er-do-well heir to the Harkonnen Spice Fortune back on Arrakis, but since it's pretty hard to top a Sith lord in a 'fabulously wealthy bad boy' contest, the writers counter-programmed with an IT geek.
Clearly Larkin has figured out Lord Vader is on the make and has timed the counterstrike for maximum embarrassment and dicomfiture, not to mention drama. Again, Lord Vader: no Darth, no Larkin, no Chris, no drama. Detach and move on, dude.
Anyway, that's why it's funny.
To me, anyway.
Not that anything like this has ever happened to me. I'm just talking in the abstract, of course.
House painting
I'm having the exterior of the house painted this week.
This will be a top-to-bottom job with an all-new paint scheme. Somewhere I have some pics of the house with its current paint scheme, but at the moment I can't find them. The paint scheme, done by the previous owners, is a cool gray base with white and teal/aqua accents. Which is okay, I guess, but not authentic bungalow colors. And it gives the house a kind of feminine, dollhouse look – hardly appropriate for a rugged, two-fisted minivan owner like myself.
The new paint scheme is a sort of dark taupe with dark green and dark red/brown trim.
This was done more out of necessity than vanity. The white trim was flaking off everywhere, and the scraping lifted quite a bit of the gray as well. But now that the process is under way, I'm developing a certain attachment to the outcome. I'm pretty excited about it.
This will be a top-to-bottom job with an all-new paint scheme. Somewhere I have some pics of the house with its current paint scheme, but at the moment I can't find them. The paint scheme, done by the previous owners, is a cool gray base with white and teal/aqua accents. Which is okay, I guess, but not authentic bungalow colors. And it gives the house a kind of feminine, dollhouse look – hardly appropriate for a rugged, two-fisted minivan owner like myself.
The new paint scheme is a sort of dark taupe with dark green and dark red/brown trim.
This was done more out of necessity than vanity. The white trim was flaking off everywhere, and the scraping lifted quite a bit of the gray as well. But now that the process is under way, I'm developing a certain attachment to the outcome. I'm pretty excited about it.
Monday, November 05, 2007
Another day in which I did almost nothing
I spent the entire day, from about 9 am to about 6 pm, shuttling between hangouts. I did some art – well, sort of art – along the way, which I will post here once everyone's cool with it.
And then we are made foolish
Last month I posted this item about infatuation.
The matter at hand was the infatuation with 'sense objects,' which includes all the tangible items, feelings and desires that are part of 'self.'
Generally, though, we use the word infatuation to mean romantic or sexual fascination, as exhibited in this skit blogblah! first posted from YouTube a few days ago:
When I first saw this on John's blog, I wondered if women would realize what a dead-on sendup this is of the way men deal with infatuation (well, except maybe for the drunken dialing bit at the end – I know it happens but I was never prone to it).
It's a gag, of course, but what makes it funny is that it's such a perfect representation of infatuation behavior. And even a customer as cold-blooded as Darth Vader can be made foolish by it.
The clip is from the BBC's "Peter Serafinowicz Show," by thw way.
The matter at hand was the infatuation with 'sense objects,' which includes all the tangible items, feelings and desires that are part of 'self.'
Generally, though, we use the word infatuation to mean romantic or sexual fascination, as exhibited in this skit blogblah! first posted from YouTube a few days ago:
When I first saw this on John's blog, I wondered if women would realize what a dead-on sendup this is of the way men deal with infatuation (well, except maybe for the drunken dialing bit at the end – I know it happens but I was never prone to it).
It's a gag, of course, but what makes it funny is that it's such a perfect representation of infatuation behavior. And even a customer as cold-blooded as Darth Vader can be made foolish by it.
The clip is from the BBC's "Peter Serafinowicz Show," by thw way.
Sunday, November 04, 2007
A day in which I did almost nothing.
I did whack on the wisteria tree a little and cleared the last of the dangling branches.
Beyond that, I arrived at the Red Cup at 9:30, where the first words spoken to me (shouted from across the room, actually) were: "Are you circumcised?"
From there to Sauced! around noon, from there to Galileo around 1:30, from there back to Sauced! around 4:30-ish, and from there back home around 6:30-ish.
Beyond that, I arrived at the Red Cup at 9:30, where the first words spoken to me (shouted from across the room, actually) were: "Are you circumcised?"
From there to Sauced! around noon, from there to Galileo around 1:30, from there back to Sauced! around 4:30-ish, and from there back home around 6:30-ish.
Saturday, November 03, 2007
Tourist visits to US fall since 9/11
The drop in the value of the dollar makes it cheaper to visit the U.S.
Even so, fewer people want to.
Of course, they're all a bunch of damn foreigners, so who cares, right?
Even so, fewer people want to.
Of course, they're all a bunch of damn foreigners, so who cares, right?
Even my cats have cat hair on them
I picked up one of the cats the other day and he was covered with cat hair. I mean other cats' hair.
It's everywhere.
It's everywhere.
Father forgive me, for I have sinned
Despite my earlier pledge to give such things up, I again wandered on to a politically-oriented discussion board and told a couple of clueless Bush-worshipping troglodytes that I thought they should thoughtfully reconsider their positions after they pulled their little pinheads out of their pimply right-wing asses.
Despite the title of this post, I don't believe in 'sin' – at least not the kind of 'sin' that deprives me of fellowship with God and the Republican National Committee and increases my risk that when the rapture comes and all the concealed carry permit holders are carried up directly into heaven, I'll be left behind.
The Buddha would certainly not rage angrily and sardonically against people who disagreed with him, even if they were slobbering ignorami. To angrily dispute with such cretins reinforces the false notions of self and dualism – I am, after all, only arguing with myself, since we are all one.
But other parts of me are such crazy fucking morons!
No more political discussions for me. I mean it.
Despite the title of this post, I don't believe in 'sin' – at least not the kind of 'sin' that deprives me of fellowship with God and the Republican National Committee and increases my risk that when the rapture comes and all the concealed carry permit holders are carried up directly into heaven, I'll be left behind.
The Buddha would certainly not rage angrily and sardonically against people who disagreed with him, even if they were slobbering ignorami. To angrily dispute with such cretins reinforces the false notions of self and dualism – I am, after all, only arguing with myself, since we are all one.
But other parts of me are such crazy fucking morons!
No more political discussions for me. I mean it.
Thursday, November 01, 2007
Cat DNA decoded
Now we're getting somewhere: researchers decode the DNA of a house cat.
Let me know when they isolate the gene for shitting on the dining room floor.
Let me know when they isolate the gene for shitting on the dining room floor.
Washoe: dead at 42
Washoe the chimpanzee, who lived in Norman during much of the 1970's, is dead.
More at msnbc.com
I met Washoe and the other sign-language chimps – Tatu, Loulis and Dar – in the early 80's when I went to Ellensburg, WA for a story on what had been happening with the chimps since leaving Oklahoma.
More at msnbc.com
I met Washoe and the other sign-language chimps – Tatu, Loulis and Dar – in the early 80's when I went to Ellensburg, WA for a story on what had been happening with the chimps since leaving Oklahoma.
Another dream...
I dreamt that Abraham Lincoln was still alive, a 190-something-year-old ex-president still living in Washington, DC, revered as a national treasure.
But honest Abe is ill and close to death. In the meantime, the US teeters on the brink of what seems like an inevitable nuclear exchange with jihadists.
Against this backdrop, I am on my way to someone's house to deliver a loaf of bread or some other household staple, and my goal is to get there before Lincoln dies and the bombs start arriving.
I'm headed down the street, constantly keeping an eye out for places to hide in case of the worst. Suddenly the sky lights up and a I feel a wave of warmth coming from behind me. But it doesn't get any worse than that, so I decide to keep going.
The dream jumps forward to another location. It's some kind of building designed to accommodate a lot of people, like a school or a convention center. There's some sort of event going on, but there aren't a lot of people there.
I'm hungry. There's something to eat, but it doesn't look very appetizing – whatever it is – and I'm trying to figure out how to get a steak and potato when I wake up.
But honest Abe is ill and close to death. In the meantime, the US teeters on the brink of what seems like an inevitable nuclear exchange with jihadists.
Against this backdrop, I am on my way to someone's house to deliver a loaf of bread or some other household staple, and my goal is to get there before Lincoln dies and the bombs start arriving.
I'm headed down the street, constantly keeping an eye out for places to hide in case of the worst. Suddenly the sky lights up and a I feel a wave of warmth coming from behind me. But it doesn't get any worse than that, so I decide to keep going.
The dream jumps forward to another location. It's some kind of building designed to accommodate a lot of people, like a school or a convention center. There's some sort of event going on, but there aren't a lot of people there.
I'm hungry. There's something to eat, but it doesn't look very appetizing – whatever it is – and I'm trying to figure out how to get a steak and potato when I wake up.
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