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.
Monday, November 05, 2007
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.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
I am not immune...
...to infatuation, by the way.
Just in case you were wondering.
But I'm still emotionally unavailable and covered with cat hair, so the point is largely moot.
Just in case you were wondering.
But I'm still emotionally unavailable and covered with cat hair, so the point is largely moot.
More non-attachment
One of the best things for me about non-attachment is not having to worry about things so much. Developing non-attachment in regards to a certain area or thing is like marking an item off your 'to-do' list.
(Well, that's an assumption on my part. I practice non-attachment to 'to-do' lists, and was doing so even when I was a Southern Baptist.)
Most of my attachment manifested itself in one of three ways: the desire to 'take care' of someone, i.e., codependence (and not to be confused with compassion); the desire to own something; or pointless worry about something. As I've mentioned before, I think all of these are actually symptoms of some other problem, which is probably just ego (not egomania, or egocentrism, but simply the presence of ego).
I have profoundly simplified my life just by getting rid of attachments, and when I uncover another one, I'm grateful for the opportunity to simplify even further.
I used to wonder how people could stand to live in the relatively primitive conditions of rural communes. Not that I have any intention of doing it, but I can see now why it was attractive.
(Well, that's an assumption on my part. I practice non-attachment to 'to-do' lists, and was doing so even when I was a Southern Baptist.)
Most of my attachment manifested itself in one of three ways: the desire to 'take care' of someone, i.e., codependence (and not to be confused with compassion); the desire to own something; or pointless worry about something. As I've mentioned before, I think all of these are actually symptoms of some other problem, which is probably just ego (not egomania, or egocentrism, but simply the presence of ego).
I have profoundly simplified my life just by getting rid of attachments, and when I uncover another one, I'm grateful for the opportunity to simplify even further.
I used to wonder how people could stand to live in the relatively primitive conditions of rural communes. Not that I have any intention of doing it, but I can see now why it was attractive.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Non-attachment vs reversed attachment
Because I don't know what else to call it.
Let's say, for example (since it's a pet issue for me) someone decided he's going to detach himself from, or practice non-attachment to, material possessions. That's an admirable goal. But what if, instead of reaching non-attachment to material possessions, this person just flips his attachment on its head and he becomes attached to not having anything? That's probably preferable to being attached to possessions, but it's still attachment.
A person has to find that state that is a non-state. But he risks becoming attached to finding the non-state, or becoming attached to being in the non-state.
This is the point at which the sage stretches out, puts his feet up, and asks someone to check on his pancakes.
Let's say, for example (since it's a pet issue for me) someone decided he's going to detach himself from, or practice non-attachment to, material possessions. That's an admirable goal. But what if, instead of reaching non-attachment to material possessions, this person just flips his attachment on its head and he becomes attached to not having anything? That's probably preferable to being attached to possessions, but it's still attachment.
A person has to find that state that is a non-state. But he risks becoming attached to finding the non-state, or becoming attached to being in the non-state.
This is the point at which the sage stretches out, puts his feet up, and asks someone to check on his pancakes.
Monday, October 29, 2007
Monday evening
I saw a guy in the grocery store this evening who had shaved his scalp and had a map of Texas tattooed on the back of his head.
Leopard
Loaded the new version of OS X, called Leopard, onto my home Mac this afternoon, and had huge problems. This won't mean anything to you if you're not a regular Mac user, but the system hung as the Finder was loading. I got the spinning beach ball, and then the mouse and keyboard had only limited function.
Oddly enough, everything worked fine with the Camino and Firefox web browsers, and Safari was mostly functional. Other programs loaded slowly or not at all.
Some Googling on the internets led me to a page suggesting my problem might be caused by a system directory installed by the DivX video codec called DivXNetworks, and that my problem would be solved if I changed the directory name to DivX.
This isn't that easy if you can't boot the computer all the way up.
Eventually I got it into single-user mode (if you're a Windows user, this is somewhat akin to the DOS mode that used to load before Windows loaded on top of it) and made the change there, and sure enough it worked.
Oddly enough, everything worked fine with the Camino and Firefox web browsers, and Safari was mostly functional. Other programs loaded slowly or not at all.
Some Googling on the internets led me to a page suggesting my problem might be caused by a system directory installed by the DivX video codec called DivXNetworks, and that my problem would be solved if I changed the directory name to DivX.
This isn't that easy if you can't boot the computer all the way up.
Eventually I got it into single-user mode (if you're a Windows user, this is somewhat akin to the DOS mode that used to load before Windows loaded on top of it) and made the change there, and sure enough it worked.
An afternoon reality
Certain irrational and essentially useless (at least for me) biological drives run as background processes and interfere with my ability to have a calm, peaceful day.
As I've said before, I'm old, fat and covered with cat hair. Why can't I have a biological drive for cleaning house and picking up cat shit? That would be more constructive.
As I've said before, I'm old, fat and covered with cat hair. Why can't I have a biological drive for cleaning house and picking up cat shit? That would be more constructive.
An afternoon daydream
It goes like this:
I'm living in some village on the Mediterranean or Aegean Sea. I've been here a long time. There are a few other Americans around, but not many. This isn't a tourist destination. Few people know I'm an American, and those who know don't care. Most people around here don't know me at all – I keep pretty much to myself. I don't read the papers: I don't know who's leading in the AFC East, or what the president's approval rating is or whose natural resources we're stealing because Jesus wants us to. I long ago lost contact with the states. People I knew, women I loved (yes, there have been some) and places I went are all like a dream I once had.
I live in a second-floor apartment. I have one room that is a combination living room/library and a smaller room that's the bedroom. There's no kitchen; I usually eat in a small local restaurant downstairs.
It's the middle of the afternoon, and I'm lying on the bed, drifting between sleep and dim wakefulness. The walls of my bedroom are cream-colored. There's the bed and a small desk and chair in the room, all painted white, and no other furniture. There's a glass and a pitcher of water on the desk. A few ice cubes, melted almost completely away, float in the pitcher.
It's about seventy degrees. The bedroom window is open, and a breeze is coming off the sea. Sailboats drift across the small harbor.
This is my day, this is every day, this is my life. At least in the daydream.
I'm living in some village on the Mediterranean or Aegean Sea. I've been here a long time. There are a few other Americans around, but not many. This isn't a tourist destination. Few people know I'm an American, and those who know don't care. Most people around here don't know me at all – I keep pretty much to myself. I don't read the papers: I don't know who's leading in the AFC East, or what the president's approval rating is or whose natural resources we're stealing because Jesus wants us to. I long ago lost contact with the states. People I knew, women I loved (yes, there have been some) and places I went are all like a dream I once had.
I live in a second-floor apartment. I have one room that is a combination living room/library and a smaller room that's the bedroom. There's no kitchen; I usually eat in a small local restaurant downstairs.
It's the middle of the afternoon, and I'm lying on the bed, drifting between sleep and dim wakefulness. The walls of my bedroom are cream-colored. There's the bed and a small desk and chair in the room, all painted white, and no other furniture. There's a glass and a pitcher of water on the desk. A few ice cubes, melted almost completely away, float in the pitcher.
It's about seventy degrees. The bedroom window is open, and a breeze is coming off the sea. Sailboats drift across the small harbor.
This is my day, this is every day, this is my life. At least in the daydream.
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Some other blogs...
...have a link at the bottom of the page that lets you go to previous posts. I don't have that, and I don't know why. Some kind of Blogger code I haven't figured out.
The Evangelical Crackup
Found via The Huffington Post – an interesting article from the NYT Magazine about The Evangelical Crackup and the growing voice of moderation among evangelicals.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Speaking of mundane tasks
Today I spent about 90 minutes (or maybe it just seemed like 90 minutes) whacking back a wisteria bush/tree in front of my house. Most of the shrubbery surrounding the house will have to be trimmed in preparation for a paint job coming in early November – the wisteria, which I planted myself, is the biggest item on the list. I only got about a third done today.
I originally planted the wisteria to get some privacy while on the porch, and I certainly got it. The thing grew into a one-plant jungle. I hope it will start growing back in the spring. It will take a couple of summers' growth to reach its former size.
Also today, I went to the mall, planning to quickly pick up a copy of the newest Apple operating system, called OS X Leopard. I can't remember ever seeing the mall that crowded except before Christmas. Perhaps the shopping season has already begun. It was a mess.
I originally planted the wisteria to get some privacy while on the porch, and I certainly got it. The thing grew into a one-plant jungle. I hope it will start growing back in the spring. It will take a couple of summers' growth to reach its former size.
Also today, I went to the mall, planning to quickly pick up a copy of the newest Apple operating system, called OS X Leopard. I can't remember ever seeing the mall that crowded except before Christmas. Perhaps the shopping season has already begun. It was a mess.
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