if a cat barfs and no one is there to hear...did she barf??
Boy, do I ever know the answer to that one.
Which is worse to step in after you've kicked off your Birkenstocks at the front door? Fresh, warm cat barf or cold, mid-morning cat barf?
Saturday, July 15, 2006
The sound of one cat barfing
RJ asks:
Boy, do I ever know the answer to that one.
Which is worse to step in after you've kicked off your Birkenstocks at the front door? Fresh, warm cat barf or cold, mid-morning cat barf?
Boy, do I ever know the answer to that one.
Which is worse to step in after you've kicked off your Birkenstocks at the front door? Fresh, warm cat barf or cold, mid-morning cat barf?
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Never Mind (Sorry, Jerry)
I just found out what the minimum is I have to raise for this jail thing.
I won't give you a dollar figure, but it's a lot. And they say it's the minimum. Like what? I'll languish in MDA jail at the Bourbon Street Cafe for years and years if I can't raise this? This is a lot of money, folks, at least for any of my friends.
Unless they are willing to take payment in the precious heirloom investment of original cat barf art, I think MDA is going to have to let me off the hook.
I won't give you a dollar figure, but it's a lot. And they say it's the minimum. Like what? I'll languish in MDA jail at the Bourbon Street Cafe for years and years if I can't raise this? This is a lot of money, folks, at least for any of my friends.
Unless they are willing to take payment in the precious heirloom investment of original cat barf art, I think MDA is going to have to let me off the hook.
3:15 am
I'm ready to go live in the cave now. I mean, right now. Me, some cats, and plenty of sinus spray. In a cave. Om mani padme hum.
iTunes: Rama Sreerama, U Srinivas
iTunes: Rama Sreerama, U Srinivas
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Other news: MDA Lockup
I have been volunteered for the MDA Executive Lockup, which is not far away. I don't even know how much I'm supposed to raise -- it's on a web site which seems to be not very Mac-friendly -- I can't even read it.
So expect to hear from me. Put money aside now, because if I'm in jail, I can't blog.
So expect to hear from me. Put money aside now, because if I'm in jail, I can't blog.
Pop-up Zen books
Okay, no pop-up Zen books, but:
Zen Shorts, by Jon J. Muth
I first becamse aware of Muth as a late seventies/early eighties comic book artist. He is the author of this children's book featuring a Zen master panda named Stillwater who shares Zen and Taoist tales with children.
The Tao of Pooh, by Benjamin Hoff
The follow-up, Te of Piglet, is very political, extremely dated and therefore utterly forgettable (in my opinion), but Tao of Pooh is a classic. It is also now, I think, the only place you can find the original, pre-Disney illustrations from Milne's children's books.
The Perfect Zen Companion, featuring teachings by Seung Sahn
This is the book I totally didn't get when I first read it, then one day, months later, ping! Suddenly it made sense. He's da man. Well, now he's dead. But he was da man. A posthumous book of his teachings, "Seeking Enlightenment is a Big Mistake!" is due out next month.
And, as always, anything by Alan Watts. Also dead, also da man.
Zen Shorts, by Jon J. Muth
I first becamse aware of Muth as a late seventies/early eighties comic book artist. He is the author of this children's book featuring a Zen master panda named Stillwater who shares Zen and Taoist tales with children.
The Tao of Pooh, by Benjamin Hoff
The follow-up, Te of Piglet, is very political, extremely dated and therefore utterly forgettable (in my opinion), but Tao of Pooh is a classic. It is also now, I think, the only place you can find the original, pre-Disney illustrations from Milne's children's books.
The Perfect Zen Companion, featuring teachings by Seung Sahn
This is the book I totally didn't get when I first read it, then one day, months later, ping! Suddenly it made sense. He's da man. Well, now he's dead. But he was da man. A posthumous book of his teachings, "Seeking Enlightenment is a Big Mistake!" is due out next month.
And, as always, anything by Alan Watts. Also dead, also da man.
Wednesday, 3:20 a.m.
Wheee, just like the good old days. I can't sleep. Quiet mind, where the hell are you?
iTunes: Koku, Okada Michiaki
iTunes: Koku, Okada Michiaki
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
The Quiet Mind - Where the %$&@ is it, dammit? #$*&^!!
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Monday, July 10, 2006
Here...
Front row: Ron, RJ, Nurse McCampbell (or is it MacCampbell? I dunno)
Back row: The Gary, Dave R, Tall Ed, Igor
iTunes: Kyabdro Semkye, Choying Drolma and Steve Tibbets
For god's sake, make up a name or something
We've got more anonymous comments here than a truck stop men's room stall.
Sunday, July 09, 2006
Random Stuff redux
anonymous aka Blogblah! said: Thus, you will ALWAYS have an excuse to make yourself unhappy.
Well, I like to have that fallback.
They are only two of the 2,800 Americans who could pay an estate tax under current law.
I remember reading somewhere –– probably in a Kevin Phillips or Robert Reich book –– that the estate tax wasn't created because we needed the money. It was created to prevent the kind of huge hereditary fortunes that dominated European culture and politics.
90 billion would cover about 60 days of the war in Iraq.
anonymous number two said: The real problem is going to Target, or much much worse Wal Mart, on a Sunday morning. Don't do it! Put your hands up and walk away from creepy, depressing capitalism. Besides, you should be in church.
I was out of toothpaste. How else am I going to style my hair?
anonymous 3 said: There are tremendous social inequities in the American system that ought to be overcome, but probably won't before the whole thing implodes on itself and we must become accustomed to a very unfamiliar (for us) new social norm, that of packing iron and dodging others' bullets as we go about our daily bidness. Imagine present-day Baghdad.
I don't think we'll reach that point. I think we'll be like the present-day UK, with China or India taking over our current role.
"Luck," The Really Big Star said. "Don't bullshit yourself into thinking I'm any more talented or capable or determined than those guys. I'm just luckier."
And what do you do about THAT?
I don't think I have any right to ask other people to feel sorry for me if I'm not willing to show some initiative and feel sorry for myself first.
Random stuff
I went to Target this morning and picked up some stuff I forgot the other day. I noticed a few guys working there, decked out in khakis and the red Tarjay polo shirt, who seemed to be my age or close to it, hauling around hand trucks loaded with garden supplies and Skil saws. Every time I see that or something like it, I have to ask myself what circumstances led them to where they are and led me to where I am.
My recently-retired boss hired me when it would have been in her own self-interest to choose someone else. I was, in most respects, eminently qualified for the job. But a more popular choice would have been someone maybe 70% as good, twenty years younger, a lot better-looking, and with a more energetic personality. (I do a lot of work; it's just that I don't look busy when I'm doing it. This got me into all kinds of trouble in my TV career, where the image is vastly more important than the reality.)
In fact, she could have found someone just as good and twenty years younger and a lot better-looking. But she chose me instead, and as a result, I have a job I mostly enjoy, with decent pay, a great vacation schedule, and a fairly conventional 8-to-5 40-hour week.
But it's Sunday morning, I'm off, and the Target guys –– who work just as hard as me and are probably as smart as me and maybe even better-educated than me, a college dropout –– are hauling around dollies and hand trucks.
And I don't know why. The natural flow of the Tao? Bad karma?
After leaving Target, near my own neighborhood, I passed a man with long, dirty hair, and a huge untrimmed beard. He was very thin, but not emaciated, shirtless and wearing a pair of dirty jeans. He was hauling a shopping cart which held a battered and obviously no-longer-functional window air conditioner and a few other pieces of scrap metal. I assume he found the air conditioner on someone's curb, awaiting bulky waste pickup. As I passed him he stooped and picked up a discarded Dr. Pepper can and threw it in the shopping cart.
Why is he where he is, scavenging (I assume) to survive, while the Target guys are working in an air-conditioned building with regular pay and some benefits, and I'm off for the day altogether? Tao? Karma?
On a somewhat, but not completely related note:
Most of us come face-to-face at some point in our lives with the dicovery that our national 'meritocracy' is sort of like the idea of Santa Claus or his second cousin, a compassionate loving God: it would be great if it were true. Certainly our national culture has some meritocratic aspects –– moreso that Victorian England, for example –– but to say that it's based entirely on merit is foolish. Moreover, it's becoming less based on merit with each passing day.
iTunes: Maha Shakti, Debashish Bhattacharya
My recently-retired boss hired me when it would have been in her own self-interest to choose someone else. I was, in most respects, eminently qualified for the job. But a more popular choice would have been someone maybe 70% as good, twenty years younger, a lot better-looking, and with a more energetic personality. (I do a lot of work; it's just that I don't look busy when I'm doing it. This got me into all kinds of trouble in my TV career, where the image is vastly more important than the reality.)
In fact, she could have found someone just as good and twenty years younger and a lot better-looking. But she chose me instead, and as a result, I have a job I mostly enjoy, with decent pay, a great vacation schedule, and a fairly conventional 8-to-5 40-hour week.
But it's Sunday morning, I'm off, and the Target guys –– who work just as hard as me and are probably as smart as me and maybe even better-educated than me, a college dropout –– are hauling around dollies and hand trucks.
And I don't know why. The natural flow of the Tao? Bad karma?
After leaving Target, near my own neighborhood, I passed a man with long, dirty hair, and a huge untrimmed beard. He was very thin, but not emaciated, shirtless and wearing a pair of dirty jeans. He was hauling a shopping cart which held a battered and obviously no-longer-functional window air conditioner and a few other pieces of scrap metal. I assume he found the air conditioner on someone's curb, awaiting bulky waste pickup. As I passed him he stooped and picked up a discarded Dr. Pepper can and threw it in the shopping cart.
Why is he where he is, scavenging (I assume) to survive, while the Target guys are working in an air-conditioned building with regular pay and some benefits, and I'm off for the day altogether? Tao? Karma?
On a somewhat, but not completely related note:
Most of us come face-to-face at some point in our lives with the dicovery that our national 'meritocracy' is sort of like the idea of Santa Claus or his second cousin, a compassionate loving God: it would be great if it were true. Certainly our national culture has some meritocratic aspects –– moreso that Victorian England, for example –– but to say that it's based entirely on merit is foolish. Moreover, it's becoming less based on merit with each passing day.
iTunes: Maha Shakti, Debashish Bhattacharya
Saturday, July 08, 2006
Saturday PM
I'm spending the evening with Alan Watts and Orville Redenbacher.
There's some sandalwood vanilla incense burning.
iTunes: Dance - The Angels of Light, Riley Lee
There's some sandalwood vanilla incense burning.
iTunes: Dance - The Angels of Light, Riley Lee
Responses to comments
Patrizia: You don't answer comments, do you?
Often I respond with another comment, so it's down at the bottom of the list of comments for that post. I know some bloggers put responses in separate posts. I've done that a few times; maybe I should make it standard practice.
(btw: I have yet to figure out how post comments on Mallory's Camera. Do I have to have an account with your blog host?)
anonymous: you seem happy compared to me. Wonder why that is?
blogblah
I think that's a matter of perception. My perception is that you're usually much more engaged in the conversation than I am, and seem more upbeat than me.
But if I do seem happier than you, it may be the minivan, which gives that jaunty air of mindless suburban cheerfulness.
nina: In the movie, Travellers and Magicians the monk says, “Urban life is depressing.”
This is something I've been thinking about. Buddhism and Taoism both arose in times when their home countries were divided into small kingdoms. Fashions and politics changed, but technology remained constant for thousands of years. We got gunpowder (primarily for entertainment, since no one had invented a gun, yet) and block printing, but beyond that, technology consisted mainly of breeding stronger oxen. So, for the average Buddhist or Taoist or Chan/Zen practitioner, everyday life remained essentially unchanged for generation after generation.
What would Bodhidharma or Chuang-Tzu make of the Dallas mixmaster? Or any cable pundit show? I think they'd throw up their hands and walk off into the woods.
Urban life runs counter to millions of years of evolution. Natural selection pulled us toward small tribal communities (anthropologists and geneticists feel free to dispute this), but our own advanced intellect pulled us toward the gawdawful messes we have now.
anonymous (aka, I assume, JohnX):...but if you spontaneously combust, can I video it?
Sure, but I'm not expecting combustion. I think I'll just swell up, like I have a really bad case of gas, then keep swelling until I pop. There'll be innards all over the place, which I assume the cats will then eat.
And probably barf.
Soartstar: At least you're not normal.
I didn't need a test to find that out.
Friday, July 07, 2006
Depression test results
Now, let's not go leaping to conclusions here.
For example, if someone feels like they're a pointless failure, and they actually are a pointless failure, does that count as depression?
I want more information.
Well, actually I don't want more information. Screw it.
Thursday, July 06, 2006
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
Meanwhile...
I see where North Korea launched six missiles out over the sea. So at least somebody's getting something done.
I still have laundry piled up ankle-deep.
I still have laundry piled up ankle-deep.
Happy as a freakin' clam
I guess I conveyed the impression in a previous post that I'm depressed.
But I'm not. What do I have to be depressed about? I'm so happy I could explode.
So if you hear something coming from my part of town, that might be it... me just blowing up because I'm so freakin' happy.
But I'm not. What do I have to be depressed about? I'm so happy I could explode.
So if you hear something coming from my part of town, that might be it... me just blowing up because I'm so freakin' happy.
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
Independence Day – 10:30 pm
Feeling a little down. But life is. It just is. What else?
Three sticks of Craig's clove incense burning.
Going to bed.
I'm grateful to know all of you.
Om mani padme hum.
iTunes: Silk Thread to the Cosmos, Riley Lee
Three sticks of Craig's clove incense burning.
Going to bed.
I'm grateful to know all of you.
Om mani padme hum.
iTunes: Silk Thread to the Cosmos, Riley Lee
Monday, July 03, 2006
Independence Day Eve
July 3rd. It's Monday, which is a 'quiet day' for me even when it's not the day before a holiday.
I could be sitting right now, or doing some housecleaning, or working in the yard before darkness falls. But here I am at the computer.
I went to Homeland tonight to pick up groceries and some cash for tomorrow. I forgot to get cat food. Tonight, I put some Life cereal out for them. I eat it dry out of the box all the time –– if Mikey likes it, maybe the cats will, too.
Satori started nibbling on it right away, but the other cats seem unimpressed.
I think I failed to mention I have a new vacuum cleaner, chosen for me over the weekend by RJ, who is Kat's mom. I have had vacuum cleaners in the past, and I eventually gave up on them because they're loud, obnoxious, have long power cords that have to be recoiled, accessories that fall off and get lost, they scare the cats, etc., etc. But I am determined to de-squalor the house, and Kat and RJ believe a vacuum cleaner will help. So I yield to their better-informed opinion in this matter.
When the house is totally back in order, I'll have a garage sale consisting entirely of orphaned vacuum cleaner attachments that have turned up during the cleaning.
Here's a question: does the house look like hell because I am non-attached to neatness, or because I am attached to lying around on my butt? Or just attached to my butt, upon which I happen to lie around?
Round round, lie around, I lie around
Yeah
Lie around lie around, I lie around
Lie around round round I lie around
I lie around
Lie around round round I lie around
I'm lyin' down
Lie around round round I lie around
I get a bad rap
Lie around round round I lie around
Cause my house looks like crap.
I've been following Nina's Flibbertigibbet! blog about her search for what's-his-name. Even when I was sure I was possessed of vast measures of useful advice –– a belief about which I now have contradicting enlightenment –– I never tried to tell people about relationships.
Well, actually, I did. But I was full of shit. Getting relationship advice from me is like getting popularity tips from Dick Cheney.
Personally, I'd be scared to put my face on one of those 'Am I hot or not?' web sites. I don't think there's that much 'not' available on the Internet.
I wonder if there's a "Am I depressed or not?" web site. Soartstar thinks I'm depressed. I say that it's possible to hope a meteor hits your house and vaporizes you instantly and painlessly in your sleep without letting it turn into depression.
iTunes: Midare (Disorder), Aiko Hasegawa, followed by Voice of the Moon, Anoushka Shankar
I could be sitting right now, or doing some housecleaning, or working in the yard before darkness falls. But here I am at the computer.
I went to Homeland tonight to pick up groceries and some cash for tomorrow. I forgot to get cat food. Tonight, I put some Life cereal out for them. I eat it dry out of the box all the time –– if Mikey likes it, maybe the cats will, too.
Satori started nibbling on it right away, but the other cats seem unimpressed.
I think I failed to mention I have a new vacuum cleaner, chosen for me over the weekend by RJ, who is Kat's mom. I have had vacuum cleaners in the past, and I eventually gave up on them because they're loud, obnoxious, have long power cords that have to be recoiled, accessories that fall off and get lost, they scare the cats, etc., etc. But I am determined to de-squalor the house, and Kat and RJ believe a vacuum cleaner will help. So I yield to their better-informed opinion in this matter.
When the house is totally back in order, I'll have a garage sale consisting entirely of orphaned vacuum cleaner attachments that have turned up during the cleaning.
Here's a question: does the house look like hell because I am non-attached to neatness, or because I am attached to lying around on my butt? Or just attached to my butt, upon which I happen to lie around?
Round round, lie around, I lie around
Yeah
Lie around lie around, I lie around
Lie around round round I lie around
I lie around
Lie around round round I lie around
I'm lyin' down
Lie around round round I lie around
I get a bad rap
Lie around round round I lie around
Cause my house looks like crap.
I've been following Nina's Flibbertigibbet! blog about her search for what's-his-name. Even when I was sure I was possessed of vast measures of useful advice –– a belief about which I now have contradicting enlightenment –– I never tried to tell people about relationships.
Well, actually, I did. But I was full of shit. Getting relationship advice from me is like getting popularity tips from Dick Cheney.
Personally, I'd be scared to put my face on one of those 'Am I hot or not?' web sites. I don't think there's that much 'not' available on the Internet.
I wonder if there's a "Am I depressed or not?" web site. Soartstar thinks I'm depressed. I say that it's possible to hope a meteor hits your house and vaporizes you instantly and painlessly in your sleep without letting it turn into depression.
iTunes: Midare (Disorder), Aiko Hasegawa, followed by Voice of the Moon, Anoushka Shankar
Sunday, July 02, 2006
Sunday evening
I had lunch today at Catfish Cabin... first time I had eaten there since 197-something. Great comfort food.
iTunes: Sahanaa Vavavtu, Ravi Shankar
iTunes: Sahanaa Vavavtu, Ravi Shankar
Friday, June 30, 2006
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Of course, there are a lot of golf courses in the Dominican Republic, too.
...but I never heard of anyone taking Viagra for a golf trip.
My day job
When I'm at work, here is part of what I do:
I shot the preceding photo Friday during the taping of a commercial for our Household Hazardous Waste Collection Facility. You'll be seeing the commercials starting in July. I needed to use this photo for some print ads that will support the television spots.
The next picture, annotated with comments, shows the modifications I made to make it printable.
And here's a draft of the final ad, which may or may not see the light of day in this form.
I drew those buckets and bottles in the background since we didn't have any photographed.
By the way... the Hazardous Waste Collection Facility is not at my house.
I shot the preceding photo Friday during the taping of a commercial for our Household Hazardous Waste Collection Facility. You'll be seeing the commercials starting in July. I needed to use this photo for some print ads that will support the television spots.
The next picture, annotated with comments, shows the modifications I made to make it printable.
And here's a draft of the final ad, which may or may not see the light of day in this form.
I drew those buckets and bottles in the background since we didn't have any photographed.
By the way... the Hazardous Waste Collection Facility is not at my house.
Monday, June 26, 2006
The house still looks clean.
I was kind of afriad that at midnight, the house would turn into a big cluttered pumpkin again.
This is wonderful.
Kat reminds me of Mother Teresa. Or maybe Jonas Salk. Or Dr. Phil.
iTunes: Vandana Trayee, Ravi Shankar
This is wonderful.
Kat reminds me of Mother Teresa. Or maybe Jonas Salk. Or Dr. Phil.
iTunes: Vandana Trayee, Ravi Shankar
Sunday, June 25, 2006
A quick trip to the store...
and when I returned, I opened the front door and was again greeted by a clean, and more importantly, serene living room and dining room.
I don't want to overstate this, but holy shit, this is a remarkable improvement.
I've lived with clutter most of my adult life, but it's been only recently that I've begun to equate clutter with a busy, spinning, whirling, unordered mind. It's a lot harder to maintain serenity and mindfulness surrounded by piles of crap than in it is in an environment that reflects calm and order.
iTunes: Midare, Yamato Ensemble
I don't want to overstate this, but holy shit, this is a remarkable improvement.
I've lived with clutter most of my adult life, but it's been only recently that I've begun to equate clutter with a busy, spinning, whirling, unordered mind. It's a lot harder to maintain serenity and mindfulness surrounded by piles of crap than in it is in an environment that reflects calm and order.
iTunes: Midare, Yamato Ensemble
Wen-Tzu
Tonight I'm reading Understanding the Mysteries by Wen-Tzu (trans. by Thos. Cleary) for the third time. My Ajahn Chah book has disappeared; I'll learn its whereabouts from K tomorrow.
Wen-Tzu is as important for me as Proverbs is for Christians. It actually is, in large part, a book of Taoist proverbs.
I should read some of this every day, just to keep my attitude right.
iTunes: Aconquija, John Williams
Wen-Tzu is as important for me as Proverbs is for Christians. It actually is, in large part, a book of Taoist proverbs.
I should read some of this every day, just to keep my attitude right.
iTunes: Aconquija, John Williams
Om mani padme hum.
Time to get myself back on track.
I've been 'way off my meditation and everything else for about six weeks. Things have gotten a little out of control. The house is a mess, laundry is piled up, yard work needs to be done.
My own mental and emotional state, while not terrible or miserable, has been a little off balance.
Kat with K is coming over to nudge my house back toward respectability and it's time I did the same for myself.
I need exercise, I need self-discipline. I need non-attachment from all the stuff that's distracted me.
Om mani padme hum.
I've been 'way off my meditation and everything else for about six weeks. Things have gotten a little out of control. The house is a mess, laundry is piled up, yard work needs to be done.
My own mental and emotional state, while not terrible or miserable, has been a little off balance.
Kat with K is coming over to nudge my house back toward respectability and it's time I did the same for myself.
I need exercise, I need self-discipline. I need non-attachment from all the stuff that's distracted me.
Om mani padme hum.
Friday, June 23, 2006
Wow...
I can whip these out in no time.
RJ, as soon as I've sold my first cat barf art... I'm buying you dinner.
That's a promise.
RJ, as soon as I've sold my first cat barf art... I'm buying you dinner.
That's a promise.
I'm on to something here
Part of the reason I never pursued a career as an artist is because I didn't know what to draw.
Little cottages nestled in the mountains? Sad children with huge eyes?
It was so obvious. How could I have not realized before now?
mcarp, Painter of Cat Barf
Little cottages nestled in the mountains? Sad children with huge eyes?
It was so obvious. How could I have not realized before now?
mcarp, Painter of Cat Barf
Friday AM
Day two of manual toothbrush use. I'm reminded of Thoreau's experiences at Walden pond. I'm getting back to the essential forces of nature.
Today I must go to Target and replenish my basic household supplies.
Begone, dried cat vomit!
iTunes:Reflection, Ravi Shankar
Today I must go to Target and replenish my basic household supplies.
Begone, dried cat vomit!
iTunes:Reflection, Ravi Shankar
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Thursday PM
I'm sitting at the Red Cup instead of doing my pre-cleaning cleaning.
You know what that means.
You know what that means.
Mine isn't bent like that
More doodling. But I got the stylus a little bent. Maybe I should work on it more. But I have to stop somewhere.
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
Bleak times ahead
First of all, the Hobson's choice: face the dreary and exhausting task of going up to Target this evening to buy a new electric toothbrush, or face the dreary and exhausting task of brushing with a manual toothbrush tonight and tomorrow morning?
Do I even have a manual toothbrush?
Then there's the 'pre-cleaning' thing. Kat is coming over Saturday (and Sunday, if Saturday doesn't drive her over the edge) to start cleaning, and I need to do some 'pre-cleaning' cleaning to prep. But I don't know where to start.
If you were cleaning my house, which would you least like to deal with?
Dried cat vomit.
Wet cat vomit.
Dirty socks.
Dirty underwear.
Anything with mildew.
An old divorce decree and other legal documents the cat peed on.
Litter boxes.
I should get one of those online polling programs so we can tabulate votes.
iTunes: Raga Bhairavi, Ali Akbar Khan
Do I even have a manual toothbrush?
Then there's the 'pre-cleaning' thing. Kat is coming over Saturday (and Sunday, if Saturday doesn't drive her over the edge) to start cleaning, and I need to do some 'pre-cleaning' cleaning to prep. But I don't know where to start.
If you were cleaning my house, which would you least like to deal with?
Dried cat vomit.
Wet cat vomit.
Dirty socks.
Dirty underwear.
Anything with mildew.
An old divorce decree and other legal documents the cat peed on.
Litter boxes.
I should get one of those online polling programs so we can tabulate votes.
iTunes: Raga Bhairavi, Ali Akbar Khan
Bored? Me?!
Here's a drawing of the cradle that holds my cordless mouse. Drew it in Corel Painter this morning while waiting for a phone call.
Revolt of the machines
The switch on my electric toothbrush has quit working. It won't turn off.
iTunes: Tango, John Williams
and why is my iTunes suddenly playing John Williams all the time?
Something is up, I tell you, and I don't like it. Today is the summer solstice. Coincidence? Perhaps.
But I'd stay away from that Dremel Moto-Tool today, if I were you.
iTunes: Tango, John Williams
and why is my iTunes suddenly playing John Williams all the time?
Something is up, I tell you, and I don't like it. Today is the summer solstice. Coincidence? Perhaps.
But I'd stay away from that Dremel Moto-Tool today, if I were you.
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
1:50-something a.m.
Awake. Brain running in about 2nd gear. That is all.
iTunes: Julia Florida (barcarola), John Williams, followed by Moonlight on the Mountain, Richard Warner
iTunes: Julia Florida (barcarola), John Williams, followed by Moonlight on the Mountain, Richard Warner
Monday, June 19, 2006
Monday PM
Came home, planned to go back out, fell asleep instead.
Happy birthday, anyway.
iTunes: Sevilla, John "Geetar" Williams, followed by Kojo-No-Tsuki, Yo-Yo "Strawberry Cello" Ma
Happy birthday, anyway.
iTunes: Sevilla, John "Geetar" Williams, followed by Kojo-No-Tsuki, Yo-Yo "Strawberry Cello" Ma
Monday AM
Good news. Slept pretty well, and managed to sit for about 20 minutes this morning. Maybe I can get stuff off my desk at work and come home and sit longer this afternoon.
iTunes: Pasaje "Aragueno", John Williams
iTunes: Pasaje "Aragueno", John Williams
Sunday, June 18, 2006
Also:
I want to mention how grateful I am for each and every friend I have, both those I've met and those I haven't.
This means you, patrizia, dzaster, John, RJ, soartstar, JohnX, catie, jules, bratwood, kgf, nina, divinea and anyone I've forgotten to name. I know there are many more. I really need that aspirin, I think.
iTunes: Dhun Man Pasand, Ravi Shankar
When is that didgeridoomania coming on?
This means you, patrizia, dzaster, John, RJ, soartstar, JohnX, catie, jules, bratwood, kgf, nina, divinea and anyone I've forgotten to name. I know there are many more. I really need that aspirin, I think.
iTunes: Dhun Man Pasand, Ravi Shankar
When is that didgeridoomania coming on?
The new desk & other matters
Whoa. This thing looks a lot bigger in here than it did in the store. I really don't know what to do with this. It's in the living room right now.
I think I did something to my back dragging it in. Just that little twinge I sometimes get when I lift something I shouldn't. I hurt it pretty badly about ten years ago -- running a weed-eater, of all things -- and I've had intermittent trouble with it ever since.
When I lived in San Antonio, my entire living space was the living room and dining area of a one-bedroom apartment. The bedroom was full of crap I brought with me. That apartment was really nice. Lots of windows, trees all over the property, not at all like most modern apartment complexes. Beasley, Smudge and I were quite content in that living room and dining area. Beasley was a full-time indoor cat back then, as Smudge still is, and we all got along great.
Now I'm in a space three times that size, and I feel worse off in many ways. I have a back bedroom, again filled with crap, which I can't bring myself to enter. The laundry room -- which is a walled-in sleeping porch -- is so nasty I can't stand to be in it. I'll go out the front door and around to the back to avoid going through that nasty little laundry room.
There's an interesting article in the current Buddhadharma magazine questioning whether Western Buddhists have 'gone soft' on renunciation. As I mentioned here before, although probably in different words, renunciation shouldn't be a chore or a sacrifice, but a joy. I certainly didn't feel I was sacrificing when I emptied those twenty or however many trash bins of junk. (Was that just last year? How did the place get so full again?) Getting rid of that stuff -- renouncing it, in essence -- was liberating and exhilarating. As was giving up the 'suit life' when I ended one of my previous careers. I need to renounce more stuff and get my material life back to where it was in 2000-2001.
Hit Borders and B&N today -- yes, more material stuff to renounce.
Two CD's: Three ragas by Ustad Ali Akbar Khan and Didgeridoomania II by David Corter.
Plus a book on the teachings of Ajahn Chah -- the 'glass is already broken' guy I mentioned a few weeks back.
So, iTunes is back on, I have a bigass desk in my living room, two sticks of Nag Champa are burning, and even as I write this, my back is starting to bother me. I'm going to take some aspirin and try to sleep.
iTunes: Tibetan Sound Bowls, Karunesh
I think I did something to my back dragging it in. Just that little twinge I sometimes get when I lift something I shouldn't. I hurt it pretty badly about ten years ago -- running a weed-eater, of all things -- and I've had intermittent trouble with it ever since.
When I lived in San Antonio, my entire living space was the living room and dining area of a one-bedroom apartment. The bedroom was full of crap I brought with me. That apartment was really nice. Lots of windows, trees all over the property, not at all like most modern apartment complexes. Beasley, Smudge and I were quite content in that living room and dining area. Beasley was a full-time indoor cat back then, as Smudge still is, and we all got along great.
Now I'm in a space three times that size, and I feel worse off in many ways. I have a back bedroom, again filled with crap, which I can't bring myself to enter. The laundry room -- which is a walled-in sleeping porch -- is so nasty I can't stand to be in it. I'll go out the front door and around to the back to avoid going through that nasty little laundry room.
There's an interesting article in the current Buddhadharma magazine questioning whether Western Buddhists have 'gone soft' on renunciation. As I mentioned here before, although probably in different words, renunciation shouldn't be a chore or a sacrifice, but a joy. I certainly didn't feel I was sacrificing when I emptied those twenty or however many trash bins of junk. (Was that just last year? How did the place get so full again?) Getting rid of that stuff -- renouncing it, in essence -- was liberating and exhilarating. As was giving up the 'suit life' when I ended one of my previous careers. I need to renounce more stuff and get my material life back to where it was in 2000-2001.
Hit Borders and B&N today -- yes, more material stuff to renounce.
Two CD's: Three ragas by Ustad Ali Akbar Khan and Didgeridoomania II by David Corter.
Plus a book on the teachings of Ajahn Chah -- the 'glass is already broken' guy I mentioned a few weeks back.
So, iTunes is back on, I have a bigass desk in my living room, two sticks of Nag Champa are burning, and even as I write this, my back is starting to bother me. I'm going to take some aspirin and try to sleep.
iTunes: Tibetan Sound Bowls, Karunesh
Clutter. Minivan. Me.
From a 1:08 a.m. Flibbertigibbet! (and Molly) post:
I have been thinking about this same thing for a few years now, especially as regards my home.
My ego? My self-esteem has gone from poor to average to, if there's no self, irrelevant. Besides, I'm kind of shaped like my minivan these days, so I don't have much of a foundation for vanity.
But my home? Absolutely reflects my struggle for inner calm, and my inability to find it. The house has been fastiduously clean for maybe ten days in the past five years. Most of the rest of the time, it has absolutely looked like hell.
A friend once theorized that I surround my self with clutter and crap to keep other people away, and I think there might be something to that.
But I hate the way I live. I want that Zen-like minimalism.
Maybe that's why I spend so much time away from home. But mentally, emotionally, I take the clutter and mess with me. And it has more effect on me when I'm around other people that when I'm alone.
We determined that a person’s home is a reflection of their inward life and their car a reflection of their ego.
I have been thinking about this same thing for a few years now, especially as regards my home.
My ego? My self-esteem has gone from poor to average to, if there's no self, irrelevant. Besides, I'm kind of shaped like my minivan these days, so I don't have much of a foundation for vanity.
But my home? Absolutely reflects my struggle for inner calm, and my inability to find it. The house has been fastiduously clean for maybe ten days in the past five years. Most of the rest of the time, it has absolutely looked like hell.
A friend once theorized that I surround my self with clutter and crap to keep other people away, and I think there might be something to that.
But I hate the way I live. I want that Zen-like minimalism.
Maybe that's why I spend so much time away from home. But mentally, emotionally, I take the clutter and mess with me. And it has more effect on me when I'm around other people that when I'm alone.
Saturday, June 17, 2006
Whoops...
I meant to say, of course, almost inconceivably got completely wack on cheap rum, etc.
Damn. Came within a hair's breadth of having a bestseller and blew it.
Damn. Came within a hair's breadth of having a bestseller and blew it.
In the parallel universe...
In the parallel universe, soartstar and I met in our twenties, fell in love, got married and had three kids: Austin Sean, Brittany Morgan, and Bucky.
All three were National Merit Scholars. Austin Sean was national president of the Ripon Society, and went on to be an accountant with Arthur Andersen. Brittany Morgan loved theater and was in the national touring companies of "Cats" and "The Phantom," and had a small recurring role on two WB network situation comedies. Bucky became an analyst with the National Security Agency, where he oversaw domestic wiretapping operations.
But we were never prouder of them than when they came home for the holidays one December, got completely wack on cheap rum, diet pills and jelly beans, then shot up the Thomas Kinkade store at the mall.
All three were National Merit Scholars. Austin Sean was national president of the Ripon Society, and went on to be an accountant with Arthur Andersen. Brittany Morgan loved theater and was in the national touring companies of "Cats" and "The Phantom," and had a small recurring role on two WB network situation comedies. Bucky became an analyst with the National Security Agency, where he oversaw domestic wiretapping operations.
But we were never prouder of them than when they came home for the holidays one December, got completely wack on cheap rum, diet pills and jelly beans, then shot up the Thomas Kinkade store at the mall.
I have sinned
I bought, totally on impulse, a student desk at an antique store this afternoon. It's in the minivan now (and would never fit in a Chrysler Sebring, by the way), waiting for me to work up the energy to haul it into the house.
It was not expensive, nor is it especially well-crafted. The drawer is held together with wood screws rather than dovetails. You'd normally expect to find that on a piece of furniture that had been inexpertly repaired, but this appears to be original construction.
It fits the rest of the house's decor, though, and it has bookshelves built into it, which is what first caught my attention.
But... good lord, I totally do not need any more furniture. I need to get rid of stuff I've got now.
It was not expensive, nor is it especially well-crafted. The drawer is held together with wood screws rather than dovetails. You'd normally expect to find that on a piece of furniture that had been inexpertly repaired, but this appears to be original construction.
It fits the rest of the house's decor, though, and it has bookshelves built into it, which is what first caught my attention.
But... good lord, I totally do not need any more furniture. I need to get rid of stuff I've got now.
Friday, June 16, 2006
Even More Almost Inconceivably
Two people who I personally know to be better writers than Dan Brown have weighed in more or less in his defense. I have no more to say on that subject.
Meanwhile, a woman I've never met lost a puppy I've seen only in pictures to what sounds like parvo virus, and I'm kinda bummed out about it. I love dogs and cats.
RIP, Sonny.
Meanwhile, a woman I've never met lost a puppy I've seen only in pictures to what sounds like parvo virus, and I'm kinda bummed out about it. I love dogs and cats.
RIP, Sonny.
Thursday, June 15, 2006
The Dan Brown Code: Almost Inconceivably, But Not Quite
A couple of months ago, I posted here about reading The Da Vinci Code and how disappointed I was with the travelogue plot and, more significantly, the abysmal writing.
Almost everyone with whom I've talked about it since then really liked DaVinci, but I stuck by my guns, and now, I'm finding others who share my distaste for Dan Brown's TV-news-intern writing style.
"Renowned author Dan Brown staggered through his formulaic opening sentence."
"Almost inconceivably, the gun into which she was now staring was clutched in the pale hand of an enormous albino with long white hair."
Almost everyone with whom I've talked about it since then really liked DaVinci, but I stuck by my guns, and now, I'm finding others who share my distaste for Dan Brown's TV-news-intern writing style.
"Renowned author Dan Brown staggered through his formulaic opening sentence."
"Almost inconceivably, the gun into which she was now staring was clutched in the pale hand of an enormous albino with long white hair."
On iTunes
Nothing, lately. I turned it off in the hope the silence would help me sleep. It hasn't, and it seems to make the cats more restless.
I would give anything right now for about six consecutive hours of sleep, which I've had once in the past month.
I would give anything right now for about six consecutive hours of sleep, which I've had once in the past month.
Flibbertigibbet!
I've added a link to Nina's 'Flibbertigibbet!' blog. Nina started blogging on myspace, where I found her -- through what turned out to be a case of mistaken identity -- in someone else's friends list. (I was actually supposed to be looking for someone else, who I later met.)
Nina shares my interest in Alan Watts' writings, including the somewhat obscure "The Wisdom of Uncertainty."
Nina shares my interest in Alan Watts' writings, including the somewhat obscure "The Wisdom of Uncertainty."
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
Does this body make me look fat?
I look like hell. I've got to get some e... ex... ex...
I gotta start doing some stuff.
I gotta start doing some stuff.
Tuesday PM
Left work about 5:45, went to Galileo. Sat inside, drank a Rolling Rock (a salute to the late Bob Schadel was in order, given the beverage of choice), ate a steak, then took another RR out to the street. Saw a couple of people I kinda sorta know.
At the table next to me, two young women were like, "okay, so, y'know? I mean, like totally. So then I go, like, okay, y'know? Okay."
That went on for, well, quite awhile.
Now I'm home. Three sticks of Nag Champa are burning, which will either mellow me out or give me a headache.
iTunes: Vedic Chanting, Ravi Shankar
At the table next to me, two young women were like, "okay, so, y'know? I mean, like totally. So then I go, like, okay, y'know? Okay."
That went on for, well, quite awhile.
Now I'm home. Three sticks of Nag Champa are burning, which will either mellow me out or give me a headache.
iTunes: Vedic Chanting, Ravi Shankar
Monday, June 12, 2006
11:09 PM
Trying to sleep. I think I ate too much BBQ. Had the peach 'crisp,' too.
Incense is burning, but I can't persuade myself I am in ancient China. I keep telling myself they had laundry piles and cats coughing up hairballs in ancient China, too, but it's not working. I'm still at my house and it's 2006.
Detach. Detach. Detach.
Of course, I have a rather uninformed view of ancient China. I actually don't know anything about it, but I like to imagine sages my age sitting around discussing the Tao and griping and b.s.-ing, while younger people do all the work and wait on us hand and foot.
In other words, I imagine ancient China being a lot like the Red Cup, which it probably was, except Kurt has never cut off a customer's foot for misbehaving. Imagine the Red Cup with customers riding up on oxen, and there you have it.
iTunes: Voice of the Moon, Anoushka Shankar, followed by Ohshu Sashi, Yonemura Reisho
Humans! Humans! Tara protect me from reality.
Hey, I know I could do that 700 sq. ft. apartment. I just have to get rid of more crap. Once Kat (with a K) gets here, crap's gonna go flying out the door. Well, except for the stuff I really need.
Shave my head, paint myself blue.
I'm going back to bed now.
Incense is burning, but I can't persuade myself I am in ancient China. I keep telling myself they had laundry piles and cats coughing up hairballs in ancient China, too, but it's not working. I'm still at my house and it's 2006.
Detach. Detach. Detach.
Of course, I have a rather uninformed view of ancient China. I actually don't know anything about it, but I like to imagine sages my age sitting around discussing the Tao and griping and b.s.-ing, while younger people do all the work and wait on us hand and foot.
In other words, I imagine ancient China being a lot like the Red Cup, which it probably was, except Kurt has never cut off a customer's foot for misbehaving. Imagine the Red Cup with customers riding up on oxen, and there you have it.
iTunes: Voice of the Moon, Anoushka Shankar, followed by Ohshu Sashi, Yonemura Reisho
Humans! Humans! Tara protect me from reality.
Hey, I know I could do that 700 sq. ft. apartment. I just have to get rid of more crap. Once Kat (with a K) gets here, crap's gonna go flying out the door. Well, except for the stuff I really need.
Shave my head, paint myself blue.
I'm going back to bed now.
Made it through Monday
Did my eight hours, went to Iron Starr and had dinner alone in the second booth from the back then came home. Too worn out to do anything, not tired enough to sleep, although I tried.
Gonna light some incense and pretend I'm on a mountaintop in ancient China.
iTunes: The First Erho Concerto, Zhu Shiao Sheng
I need some new music, too.
I've decided my pipe dream house should have a big stained glass Tao symbol in the living room window.
I need to sleep for about 32 consecutive hours.
Gonna light some incense and pretend I'm on a mountaintop in ancient China.
iTunes: The First Erho Concerto, Zhu Shiao Sheng
I need some new music, too.
I've decided my pipe dream house should have a big stained glass Tao symbol in the living room window.
I need to sleep for about 32 consecutive hours.
Rough night
Hardly slept at all. Couldn't stop thinking, and when I was able to sleep, I dreamt. Five different dreams I remember, and woke up after each one.
There's too much going on in my brain... I wish I had a switch to turn it off.
iTunes: Profound Elixir, Riley Lee
There's too much going on in my brain... I wish I had a switch to turn it off.
iTunes: Profound Elixir, Riley Lee
Sunday, June 11, 2006
Sunday PM
Almost time for bed. I burnt some clove incense, did a little housekeeping this evening.
Usually, by the time I'm ready for bed, my state of mind is that I am ready to spend the rest of my life in relative solitude. I feel mentally exhausted by the day's events. This is more noticeable now than even just a year ago. The day just wears me out, mentally and emotionally.
Even today, which was a breakfast at Red Cup/lunch at Galileo/sleep/blog day, has left me feeling worn out. Right now, I dread the idea of going back to work tomorrow. I'll be okay with it in the morning, but tonight the thought depresses me.
My pipe dream is to buy a nice airplane bungalow over in the Paseo neighborhood, close to the arts district itself... spend some money rehabilitating it, and create a simple, low-impact low-crap living space -- something very quiet, very Tao/Zen, very simple and low-maintenance. I was sitting is soartstar's office the other day and realized that an apartment the size of that office and gallery would meet all my needs, even though it's a third the size of my small house. Of course, the cats would need some space, too.
But perhaps I could reduce my living space in the bungalow to the bedroom and den (which is pretty much my situation here), use the upstairs room for a studio, and maybe turn the living and dining rooms into some sort of commons where people could just come and sit and talk or meditate or whatever.In the right neighborhood, I'd be within cycling distance of the Red Cup and the Paseo, and I'd be pretty happy with that.
A pipe dream.
iTunes: The Lament, Zhou You & Ensemble, followed by Echo of the Sacred, Riley Lee
Usually, by the time I'm ready for bed, my state of mind is that I am ready to spend the rest of my life in relative solitude. I feel mentally exhausted by the day's events. This is more noticeable now than even just a year ago. The day just wears me out, mentally and emotionally.
Even today, which was a breakfast at Red Cup/lunch at Galileo/sleep/blog day, has left me feeling worn out. Right now, I dread the idea of going back to work tomorrow. I'll be okay with it in the morning, but tonight the thought depresses me.
My pipe dream is to buy a nice airplane bungalow over in the Paseo neighborhood, close to the arts district itself... spend some money rehabilitating it, and create a simple, low-impact low-crap living space -- something very quiet, very Tao/Zen, very simple and low-maintenance. I was sitting is soartstar's office the other day and realized that an apartment the size of that office and gallery would meet all my needs, even though it's a third the size of my small house. Of course, the cats would need some space, too.
But perhaps I could reduce my living space in the bungalow to the bedroom and den (which is pretty much my situation here), use the upstairs room for a studio, and maybe turn the living and dining rooms into some sort of commons where people could just come and sit and talk or meditate or whatever.In the right neighborhood, I'd be within cycling distance of the Red Cup and the Paseo, and I'd be pretty happy with that.
A pipe dream.
iTunes: The Lament, Zhou You & Ensemble, followed by Echo of the Sacred, Riley Lee
None dare call it conspiracy
What the hell has our democracy come to, by the way, when a minivan –– the sane, sensible, Al Gore of motor vehicles –– can lose a vote to a Chrysler Sebring convertible? Did Katherine Harris oversee the vote?
Nevertheless, I shall practice non-attachment.
iTunes: Raga Madhu-Kauns, Ravi Shankar
Nevertheless, I shall practice non-attachment.
iTunes: Raga Madhu-Kauns, Ravi Shankar
Random notes
Partly cloudy and 97 outside. Too hot for me to even move. Cats are lying motionless on the front porch.
After breakfast at the RC and lunch at Galileo, I dropped about $60 on incense at Craig's then went to the post office and put my tax returns in the mail, then came home and slept.
I have committed to hire Kat (with a K) to do some housecleaning.
She has no idea.
I seem to be psychologically incapable of housecleaning. I can do it in time slices of five or seven minutes, but rarely longer. Even though I am seldom at home to create mess, the mess seems to always outrun my ability to clean. Of course, I could be cleaning right now, instead of blogging. Blogging is more fun, and so is everything else. Including root canals.
iTunes: Usha, Debashish Bhattacharya
After breakfast at the RC and lunch at Galileo, I dropped about $60 on incense at Craig's then went to the post office and put my tax returns in the mail, then came home and slept.
I have committed to hire Kat (with a K) to do some housecleaning.
She has no idea.
I seem to be psychologically incapable of housecleaning. I can do it in time slices of five or seven minutes, but rarely longer. Even though I am seldom at home to create mess, the mess seems to always outrun my ability to clean. Of course, I could be cleaning right now, instead of blogging. Blogging is more fun, and so is everything else. Including root canals.
iTunes: Usha, Debashish Bhattacharya
Saturday, June 10, 2006
Thursday, June 08, 2006
Thursday PM
I asked MCARP to tell me some good Buddhist stuff about letting go of material things and today he posts about his sense of loss over an old Volvo. Perverse s.o.b.
That's from John Long's blogblah! entry about the accident that claimed his Miata covertible Wednesday evening.
And yes, his accident got me to reminiscing about the Volvo.
I could say something about the impermanence of material things, and for that matter the impermanence of our own selves; about the Buddhist notion that there is no "I", and therefore no "I" to mourn the loss of a car, or a dream or an ambition or a lifestyle; all that stuff about how, when you look at objects at the subatomic level, you can't tell where one object ends and the next begins, and so there is, actually, no wrecked Miata or abandoned Volvo, no mcarp and no John Long, just atoms in the universe, and particles within the atoms, all one thing and yet nothing at all.
I could write about all that, and I will later. But right now, I want to focus on one concept:
Minivans.
You've wrecked your sports car and you're ready for a change. So when that insurance check arrives, why not treat yourself to a roomy, practical yet comfortable minivan like my Plymouth Voyager? They have more cargo room than most SUV's, get much better gas mileage and have lower insurance premiums. You're sitting up higher –– a lot higher than in a Miata, so you get a better view of what's going on around you. Great leg room, lots of shoulder room, and if you take out all the back seats, you can fill the thing with a ton of crap.
Did you know I keep my extra cat food in mine? I buy two 40-lb bags at PetsMart and just leave one in the van until I need it. Sometimes if I leave a window open wide enough, a cat will get in there and tear the bag open, but that doesn't happen often. You could carry enough Science Diet to feed Sinatra for three months. Or buy more and feed the rest of the Cat Pack when they start hanging around the patio. And of course, if you're ever trapped in a snow drift during a blizzard or something, it does have a crunchy ocean fish taste and texture.
And since you're in a minivan, you can stretch out and snooze, staying warm –– maybe with your grateful significant other –– under your laundry and leftover Whataburger wrappers until help arrives. Although I have to tell you honestly, none of my dates have ever really 'gotten' the safety aspects of laundry and fast food wrappers.
We're all glad you're up and blogging, John.
iTunes: Kogetsu Cho, Tozan Nakao
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
I cried over a 1979 Volvo
I'm not sure why people get so attached to their cars. They're just machines, after all, no different than a blender or lawn mower. But I cried like a little kid when I finally gave up my 17-year-old Volvo to the salvage yard.
The car had 140,000 miles, which is not much by Volvo standards, but I had not taken very good care of it and it had been wrecked twice. It hadn't been drivable for months (months, hell... years) and had been ticketed for an inoperable vehicle code violation when my estranged wife finally persuaded me to part with it –– it was parked in her driveway, after all. I couldn't bear to be there when the wrecker came. I don't remember where I was. I remember I cried when I came back and the driveway was empty. It still pains me to think about it now.
The Volvo was the first new car I had ever owned. I bought it at Fretwell's in 1979. It was a yellow ochre 244 DL –– the boxy forerunner and lookalike of the sedan later known only as the DL.
I had just gotten a promotion at work. The word 'yuppie' was still two years in the future, but I was one, and the Volvo was the first token of my new upwardly-mobile status.
I got fired from that job less than six months later, and I never held a position that high in an organization again. Nor did I want to. That was a miserable experience, and it soured me on a management career for the next twenty years.
But I hung on to the car. If it no longer represented who I was, I suppose it represented what I had briefly been. I kept it through my two years in Tulsa. I drove it to my brief home in San Jose, California, hauling a trailer that it could barely pull over the Santa Rosa pass in New Mexico. (I was at 10 mph and slowing when I crested, wondering if I would have to detour hundreds of miles south to find a grade I could climb.) A month later, when I left California broke, unemployed and dejected, the Volvo got me back home.
I had the Volvo when I married, and it was parked dead in the driveway when we separated.
I'd had the car through four jobs, three cities, two states and one marriage. And I knew as I stood there looking at the empty driveway, tears streaming down my face, that I was mourning not only the loss of my car, but the loss of all those things I'd hoped for back in '79, all the plans I had, all the stuff that didn't happen and wasn't going to happen.
A few days later, I was describing the whole thing to my therapist, and I told him, "You know, I didn't cry when my marriage broke up, but I cried over that damn car." And then I burst into tears again.
But it was just a car. I guess it's in a salvage yard somewhere. I saved the grill, and it's here in the house somewhere. I like to think the car's spirit and soul still reside in that grill, but that's just my frankly sad way of continuing to cling to the past.
I don't want to think about it anymore tonight.
But it's interesting how attached we get to our cars.
iTunes: Homage to Baba Alauddin, Ravi Shankar
The car had 140,000 miles, which is not much by Volvo standards, but I had not taken very good care of it and it had been wrecked twice. It hadn't been drivable for months (months, hell... years) and had been ticketed for an inoperable vehicle code violation when my estranged wife finally persuaded me to part with it –– it was parked in her driveway, after all. I couldn't bear to be there when the wrecker came. I don't remember where I was. I remember I cried when I came back and the driveway was empty. It still pains me to think about it now.
The Volvo was the first new car I had ever owned. I bought it at Fretwell's in 1979. It was a yellow ochre 244 DL –– the boxy forerunner and lookalike of the sedan later known only as the DL.
I had just gotten a promotion at work. The word 'yuppie' was still two years in the future, but I was one, and the Volvo was the first token of my new upwardly-mobile status.
I got fired from that job less than six months later, and I never held a position that high in an organization again. Nor did I want to. That was a miserable experience, and it soured me on a management career for the next twenty years.
But I hung on to the car. If it no longer represented who I was, I suppose it represented what I had briefly been. I kept it through my two years in Tulsa. I drove it to my brief home in San Jose, California, hauling a trailer that it could barely pull over the Santa Rosa pass in New Mexico. (I was at 10 mph and slowing when I crested, wondering if I would have to detour hundreds of miles south to find a grade I could climb.) A month later, when I left California broke, unemployed and dejected, the Volvo got me back home.
I had the Volvo when I married, and it was parked dead in the driveway when we separated.
I'd had the car through four jobs, three cities, two states and one marriage. And I knew as I stood there looking at the empty driveway, tears streaming down my face, that I was mourning not only the loss of my car, but the loss of all those things I'd hoped for back in '79, all the plans I had, all the stuff that didn't happen and wasn't going to happen.
A few days later, I was describing the whole thing to my therapist, and I told him, "You know, I didn't cry when my marriage broke up, but I cried over that damn car." And then I burst into tears again.
But it was just a car. I guess it's in a salvage yard somewhere. I saved the grill, and it's here in the house somewhere. I like to think the car's spirit and soul still reside in that grill, but that's just my frankly sad way of continuing to cling to the past.
I don't want to think about it anymore tonight.
But it's interesting how attached we get to our cars.
iTunes: Homage to Baba Alauddin, Ravi Shankar
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
Sometimes I wonder...
...if I've said anything worthwhile –– not just here, but anywhere in my whole life.
I've only recently been an adherent to the maxim, 'Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to open one's mouth and remove all doubt.' Unfortunately for me, I have forgotten that adage in recent times when it was crucial for me to remember it.
I can look back now on a whole lifetime of imparted 'wisdom' and realize that often, people, though saying nothing, were marvelling at what a fool I was.
Again I think of Han-Shan, alone in the hills, keeping his own counsel.
What can I say that is of any value? What can I say that is of any use to anyone?
If the old Zen master can tell his hopeful student, "I know nothing. I have nothing to tell you," how much easier should it be for me, who knows far less than the Zen master, to stay quiet and keep my supposed 'wisdom' to myself?
iTunes: Morning Moon, Kitu Mitsumishi & Toshiko Yonekawa
I've only recently been an adherent to the maxim, 'Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to open one's mouth and remove all doubt.' Unfortunately for me, I have forgotten that adage in recent times when it was crucial for me to remember it.
I can look back now on a whole lifetime of imparted 'wisdom' and realize that often, people, though saying nothing, were marvelling at what a fool I was.
Again I think of Han-Shan, alone in the hills, keeping his own counsel.
What can I say that is of any value? What can I say that is of any use to anyone?
If the old Zen master can tell his hopeful student, "I know nothing. I have nothing to tell you," how much easier should it be for me, who knows far less than the Zen master, to stay quiet and keep my supposed 'wisdom' to myself?
iTunes: Morning Moon, Kitu Mitsumishi & Toshiko Yonekawa
2:01 a.m.
Huh. I'm up early.
When you in a bag, you gotta bug out.
Help, Mr. Wizard! Get me outta here!
Okay, Prot. I'm going to count backwards from five. And when I reach one, you will awaken feeling relaxed and refreshed.
iTunes: Dastgah Segah, Faramarz Payvar & Ensemble
When you in a bag, you gotta bug out.
Help, Mr. Wizard! Get me outta here!
Okay, Prot. I'm going to count backwards from five. And when I reach one, you will awaken feeling relaxed and refreshed.
iTunes: Dastgah Segah, Faramarz Payvar & Ensemble
Monday, June 05, 2006
Dream
I dreamt I was looking at a painting. The painting was called "The Fisherman" and it looked something like this...
...except that the dark area had more detail and the fisherman himself, when you got close to the canvas, was a meticulously outlined silhouette.
I went back to sleep and dreamt small plant seedlings were growing out of the pores on the back of my right hand.
iTunes: Romanza, John Williams (the classical guitar John Williams)
...except that the dark area had more detail and the fisherman himself, when you got close to the canvas, was a meticulously outlined silhouette.
I went back to sleep and dreamt small plant seedlings were growing out of the pores on the back of my right hand.
iTunes: Romanza, John Williams (the classical guitar John Williams)
Sunday, June 04, 2006
Sunday afternoon
Tried to do some housecleaning today, and actually accomplished a little. Spent too much time again this morning at the home away from home, but at least everything was closed this evening so I was more or less forced to spend some quiet time alone.
My meditation practice has gone completely to hell, and I have been 'way seriously too caught up in affairs and issues about which I ought not to concern myself. Plus my social life continues to be too busy for a hermit/recluse/dull lump such as myself.
I have a brake light burnt out, which is not suprising since the minivan is at 57,000 miles.
on iTunes: Prabha, Debashish Bhattacharya
My meditation practice has gone completely to hell, and I have been 'way seriously too caught up in affairs and issues about which I ought not to concern myself. Plus my social life continues to be too busy for a hermit/recluse/dull lump such as myself.
I have a brake light burnt out, which is not suprising since the minivan is at 57,000 miles.
on iTunes: Prabha, Debashish Bhattacharya
Saturday, June 03, 2006
At last
After many false starts, oddities and anomalies I have finished my project of networking the Paseo Artists' Association. Not a huge deal, really... just a WRT54G and some cable... but it took a while to get working.
I am still on contact overload.
I have a CRT on my home computer that is dying by inches and must needs be replaced.
iTunes: Rain on Jogashima Island, Kitu Mitusmishi and Toshiko Yonekawa.
I am still on contact overload.
I have a CRT on my home computer that is dying by inches and must needs be replaced.
iTunes: Rain on Jogashima Island, Kitu Mitusmishi and Toshiko Yonekawa.
Friday, June 02, 2006
7 Habits of Highly Don't-Give-a-Shit People
1. Don't give a shit enough to come up with six more habits.
iTunes: Raga Jogeshwari, Ravi Shankar
iTunes: Raga Jogeshwari, Ravi Shankar
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Contact Overload
I spent a lot more time around other people this weekend than I usually do and I'm still feeling the effects. I should have paced myself more carefully. Now it's back to work, when what I really need is a day of seclusion.
I think I'll just be counting the minutes until I can come home. My sinuses are in terrible shape from being out in the dust and pollen all day yesterday. Tara protect me from crazy people, ambitious people and paranoid people until day's end.
I neglected to mention that I spent a short while meditating yesterday on the curb in front of the 7-Eleven at NW 36 & Penn. It was early in the day and quiet.
iTunes: Avaz-E Dashti, Yo-Yo Ma
I think I'll just be counting the minutes until I can come home. My sinuses are in terrible shape from being out in the dust and pollen all day yesterday. Tara protect me from crazy people, ambitious people and paranoid people until day's end.
I neglected to mention that I spent a short while meditating yesterday on the curb in front of the 7-Eleven at NW 36 & Penn. It was early in the day and quiet.
iTunes: Avaz-E Dashti, Yo-Yo Ma
Monday, May 29, 2006
Dream
Fell asleep and had some sort of weird dream where I guess I was a private detective.
I was investigating some sort of crime that maybe had happened decades before, and I was right on the verge of solving it. But I was being chased by a huge malevolent video game character. Not any character I'm actually aware of, just sort of a big black shape with a blue outline. I finally outwitted him by tricking him into crashing into another video game, where an NFL team tackled him and brought him down.
There was also something about running down a flight of stairs, and out onto a city street. Or maybe the street came first and then the stairs –– I don't know.
Then I woke up.
I'm going to be like Han-Shan, the Chinese poet who lived in a cave near a monastery and left his poetry written on rocks and carved in trees all over the valley. But first I have to learn how to write poetry.
I can't dance, either.
iTunes: Song of Realization, Choying Drolma and Steve Tibbets
I was investigating some sort of crime that maybe had happened decades before, and I was right on the verge of solving it. But I was being chased by a huge malevolent video game character. Not any character I'm actually aware of, just sort of a big black shape with a blue outline. I finally outwitted him by tricking him into crashing into another video game, where an NFL team tackled him and brought him down.
There was also something about running down a flight of stairs, and out onto a city street. Or maybe the street came first and then the stairs –– I don't know.
Then I woke up.
I'm going to be like Han-Shan, the Chinese poet who lived in a cave near a monastery and left his poetry written on rocks and carved in trees all over the valley. But first I have to learn how to write poetry.
I can't dance, either.
iTunes: Song of Realization, Choying Drolma and Steve Tibbets
Memorial Day 2006
Morning: I went to a certain outlet of a certain well-known chain of coffee shops – a certain outlet located on the edge of a certain affluent suburb. It's about three miles north of the limits of my usual social travels, but it is the fallback location for the usual suspects on holidays when our home coffee shop is not open.
So there I am at the certain outlet in the certain affluent neighborhood, 8:20 in the morning, and everyone there is genetically perfect. They're wearing genetically perfect clothes. They're driving genetically perfect automobiles of certain well-known luxury marques, unless they've ridden up on bicycles, in which case they're riding genetically perfect bicycles. They are perfect. Be ye perfect as they are perfect.
And I'm thinking to myself, "You so do not belong here. Run away, run away, run away, before they discover you." I felt like the Ethan Hawke character in Gattaca.
So I tried to get a grip on myself. "Calm down," I said. "Just drink your coffee and relax."
But I knew they knew. I knew that as soon as they saw me, they knew I was Not Like Them. I was a Morlock, a mutant, a sewer dweller, up from the damp depths of below-50th-street-but-not-historic-preservation neighborhoods.
"It's okay," I said to myself. "Just be patient. Friends are on the way. You are not alone."
And then the Kingpin emerged, lumbering down the sidewalk in a golf shirt and knee-length shorts that probably cost more than everything I'll wear this week, a banana-and-créme Frappucino® certain popular trademarked novelty beverage in his hand.
And I bolted. I bolted for my plain white minivan, parked at the end of the row of Lexuses and Infinitis, and took off. If you in a bag, you gotta bug out.
McGee drove up just as I was leaving. "You're on your own," I called as I headed for the minivan. "You're the Lone Ranger."
I drove around and gathered my wits, steeled my resolve, then returned to the certain coffee shop outlet in the certain affluent suburb. McGee was gone. I haven't heard from him since. Possibly someone collected a DNA sample from his coffee cup, discovered he was Not Like Them, and spirited him away. Perhaps he'll turn up later.
Later in the day, I did my volunteer stint at the Paseo Arts Festival, then hung around with executive director soartstar until the 6 pm closing. Bought 20 raffle tickets and won not a damn thing, while RJ who occasionally posts here won two pieces.
And that was my day.
So there I am at the certain outlet in the certain affluent neighborhood, 8:20 in the morning, and everyone there is genetically perfect. They're wearing genetically perfect clothes. They're driving genetically perfect automobiles of certain well-known luxury marques, unless they've ridden up on bicycles, in which case they're riding genetically perfect bicycles. They are perfect. Be ye perfect as they are perfect.
And I'm thinking to myself, "You so do not belong here. Run away, run away, run away, before they discover you." I felt like the Ethan Hawke character in Gattaca.
So I tried to get a grip on myself. "Calm down," I said. "Just drink your coffee and relax."
But I knew they knew. I knew that as soon as they saw me, they knew I was Not Like Them. I was a Morlock, a mutant, a sewer dweller, up from the damp depths of below-50th-street-but-not-historic-preservation neighborhoods.
"It's okay," I said to myself. "Just be patient. Friends are on the way. You are not alone."
And then the Kingpin emerged, lumbering down the sidewalk in a golf shirt and knee-length shorts that probably cost more than everything I'll wear this week, a banana-and-créme Frappucino® certain popular trademarked novelty beverage in his hand.
And I bolted. I bolted for my plain white minivan, parked at the end of the row of Lexuses and Infinitis, and took off. If you in a bag, you gotta bug out.
McGee drove up just as I was leaving. "You're on your own," I called as I headed for the minivan. "You're the Lone Ranger."
I drove around and gathered my wits, steeled my resolve, then returned to the certain coffee shop outlet in the certain affluent suburb. McGee was gone. I haven't heard from him since. Possibly someone collected a DNA sample from his coffee cup, discovered he was Not Like Them, and spirited him away. Perhaps he'll turn up later.
Later in the day, I did my volunteer stint at the Paseo Arts Festival, then hung around with executive director soartstar until the 6 pm closing. Bought 20 raffle tickets and won not a damn thing, while RJ who occasionally posts here won two pieces.
And that was my day.
Out late last night
Well, out late for me.
I'd planned to wander through the Paseo Arts Festival again Sunday evening. Got as far as Galileo, where the usual suspects were on the patio. Ate pizza, drank iced tea.
I joined the artists' association this year (even though the last hangable art I completed was in 1970-something) so I went to the little afterward party with soartstar, who reminded me of the crow's maxim to Fritz: 'If you in a bag, you gotta bug out.'
The last time I heard that expression was probably within a year or two of when I completed my last piece of hangable art.
I never saw the Ralph Bakshi movie. I only read the original R. Crumb comic. I don't remember how many Fritz stories he did before he killed the character off with an ice pick, but I remember that Fritz the Cat Bugs Out was by far the best. It probably owed a lot to 'On the Road,' which I had not yet read. 'Fritz Bugs Out' was a big deal for me at the time. I probably still have it somewhere, but I haven't seen it in decades.
Back in the present, soartstar and I wandered down to the other end of the Paseo in time to hear 'Whole Lotta Love' at the end of Pinkie and the Snakeshakers' show, then upstairs at the Blue Moon for the Fat Sow Trio. They did a cover of 'Go and Say Goodbye,' which is my favorite Buffalo Springfield song, and one which is rarely played even on album rock/oldies stations and which I have never heard covered by anyone, anywhere.
So I spent a lot of the evening in a kind of time warp. Now it's morning, I have the faintest touch of a hangover plus a little bit of contact overload. I should skip this morning's coffee shop session in favor of meditation, but I'm going to the coffee shop anyway. I'm working a trailer at the arts festival as a volunteer this afternoon (1 p.m.! It'll be like an oven!) so there's more contact overload ahead.
on iTunes: Wintry Wind, Riley Lee.
I'd planned to wander through the Paseo Arts Festival again Sunday evening. Got as far as Galileo, where the usual suspects were on the patio. Ate pizza, drank iced tea.
I joined the artists' association this year (even though the last hangable art I completed was in 1970-something) so I went to the little afterward party with soartstar, who reminded me of the crow's maxim to Fritz: 'If you in a bag, you gotta bug out.'
The last time I heard that expression was probably within a year or two of when I completed my last piece of hangable art.
I never saw the Ralph Bakshi movie. I only read the original R. Crumb comic. I don't remember how many Fritz stories he did before he killed the character off with an ice pick, but I remember that Fritz the Cat Bugs Out was by far the best. It probably owed a lot to 'On the Road,' which I had not yet read. 'Fritz Bugs Out' was a big deal for me at the time. I probably still have it somewhere, but I haven't seen it in decades.
Back in the present, soartstar and I wandered down to the other end of the Paseo in time to hear 'Whole Lotta Love' at the end of Pinkie and the Snakeshakers' show, then upstairs at the Blue Moon for the Fat Sow Trio. They did a cover of 'Go and Say Goodbye,' which is my favorite Buffalo Springfield song, and one which is rarely played even on album rock/oldies stations and which I have never heard covered by anyone, anywhere.
So I spent a lot of the evening in a kind of time warp. Now it's morning, I have the faintest touch of a hangover plus a little bit of contact overload. I should skip this morning's coffee shop session in favor of meditation, but I'm going to the coffee shop anyway. I'm working a trailer at the arts festival as a volunteer this afternoon (1 p.m.! It'll be like an oven!) so there's more contact overload ahead.
on iTunes: Wintry Wind, Riley Lee.
Sunday, May 28, 2006
Sunday PM
Morning at the Cup, a quick trip to the Arts Festival afterward.
Trying to stay cool and de-stressed.
iTunes: Maryaadakadaya, U Srinivas
Trying to stay cool and de-stressed.
iTunes: Maryaadakadaya, U Srinivas
Sunday AM
Most of the usual RC boomer group went instead last night to see Matt Walsh and the Mad Dogs, the great blues band (currently a quintet, up from a trio at last year's Claude Fest appearance) at the Paseo Arts Festival, I drank two beers, doubling my total year-to-date consumption. I don't especially like alcoholic stuff anymore, but sometimes it seems to hit the spot.
I've been a bit depressed lately. Some of it is just the normal cycle of depression I experience, and it will pass. Some it is related to my inability to deal with impermanence. I had settled into a certain comfort zone over the past few years which is about to be disrupted by events over which I have no control. I can't predict the outcome, but I can say it will affect a large part of my daily life and there is a strong possibility the changes, when they've been completed, will create an environment in which I will be less able or unable to function. Perhaps it will be enough of a change I will need to move to a more hospitable environment, although I can't imagine what or where that would be.
Time to reread Alan Watts' The Wisdom of Insecurity, the best book I have seen on the subject.
I have a friend who visited Crestone, CO last year and came back impressed. Maybe I could live there.
on iTunes: Nubchok Dechen, Choying Drolma and Steve Tibbets
I'm not normally a fan of Tibetan chant sound tracks, but the two Choying Drolma/Steve Tibbets collaborations, Cho and Selwa, are fantastic.
I've been a bit depressed lately. Some of it is just the normal cycle of depression I experience, and it will pass. Some it is related to my inability to deal with impermanence. I had settled into a certain comfort zone over the past few years which is about to be disrupted by events over which I have no control. I can't predict the outcome, but I can say it will affect a large part of my daily life and there is a strong possibility the changes, when they've been completed, will create an environment in which I will be less able or unable to function. Perhaps it will be enough of a change I will need to move to a more hospitable environment, although I can't imagine what or where that would be.
Time to reread Alan Watts' The Wisdom of Insecurity, the best book I have seen on the subject.
I have a friend who visited Crestone, CO last year and came back impressed. Maybe I could live there.
on iTunes: Nubchok Dechen, Choying Drolma and Steve Tibbets
I'm not normally a fan of Tibetan chant sound tracks, but the two Choying Drolma/Steve Tibbets collaborations, Cho and Selwa, are fantastic.
Saturday, May 27, 2006
3.27 a.m.
I could just give the house to my ex, which I will probably do at some point, anyway. The arrangement would be she could have the house if she would agree to take care of the cats -- Beasley and Smudge and the others. Room enough here for mine and hers, and a back yard for her dog.
I would take enough stuff to care for myself -- clothes and so on -- and hit the road. I don't know where yet. I'd have a destination in mind before I left, but I haven't decided on it yet.
I knew a guy years ago -- a TV executive -- who ended up a homeless person on the streets of a small town in Arkansas. Every time I think about that, I wonder why I didn't end up the same way and if I'm just delaying the inevitable by trying to hang on to my crap.
But if I'm going to be homeless, it's going to be someplace besides Arkansas.
on iTunes: Solitude, Richard Warner
I would take enough stuff to care for myself -- clothes and so on -- and hit the road. I don't know where yet. I'd have a destination in mind before I left, but I haven't decided on it yet.
I knew a guy years ago -- a TV executive -- who ended up a homeless person on the streets of a small town in Arkansas. Every time I think about that, I wonder why I didn't end up the same way and if I'm just delaying the inevitable by trying to hang on to my crap.
But if I'm going to be homeless, it's going to be someplace besides Arkansas.
on iTunes: Solitude, Richard Warner
3:01 a.m.
I'm ready for a retreat from the world for awhile. Like a year or so. I did this once before in 2000-2001, my "Walden" year. It would be great to do this every five years or so.
On iTunes: Red Sun, Anoushka Shankar
A bit much for three in the morning.
On iTunes: Red Sun, Anoushka Shankar
A bit much for three in the morning.
Friday, May 26, 2006
Back to the monastery...
I remembered reading something about "wise fools" or somesuch -- people who didn't live in the monastery, but lived near it and within its sphere of influence. Maybe a little too wack to be monks.
I think that's the ticket. Live down the road and see what wisdom you can pick up on the fly.
On Red Cup iTunes: In My Life, the Beatles.
I think that's the ticket. Live down the road and see what wisdom you can pick up on the fly.
On Red Cup iTunes: In My Life, the Beatles.
Not that smart
I have never been a Mensa-level intellect, but I've always been a smarter-than-average guy.
Being smart is what allowed me to stay in the game of life with people who were better-looking than me, from better families than me, had better personalities than me or had more money than me.
In the end, though, it was never enough.
Occasionally something comes along to remind me that although I'm smart, I'm not that smart. Lots of people are smarter than me... and I found who some of them are today.
I'm not smart enough to be a success, and not dumb enough to be oblivious to my failure.
Being smart is what allowed me to stay in the game of life with people who were better-looking than me, from better families than me, had better personalities than me or had more money than me.
In the end, though, it was never enough.
Occasionally something comes along to remind me that although I'm smart, I'm not that smart. Lots of people are smarter than me... and I found who some of them are today.
I'm not smart enough to be a success, and not dumb enough to be oblivious to my failure.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Dispassion and non-attachment
I think I mentioned the other day I've been reading this collection of the Buddha's discourses, taken from the Pali canon and rearranged by subject.
I read one last night or the night before in which Master Gotama (and his translator) describe 'dispassion' as a desirable trait. While I think I had seen the adjective 'dispassionate,' this was the first time I had encountered 'dispassion' as a noun. I Googled it to make sure there really was such a word, and there is.
I've been wondering if dispassion and apathy are the same thing, and I've decided they aren't.
Apathy is not caring –– dispassion is caring with boundaries. The mess in Washington, for example: I do care, but I have learned to not work myself into a rage about it. I've ended my habit of posting enraged, ranting comments on political web sites. So that's dispassion, not apathy.
State politics? Apathy. Truly. I should care, but I don't.
Years ago, I had a friend lecture me about how I didn't seem 'passionate' about anything. Actually, I had several friends lecture me about it, and I sort of bought into it. Looking back on it now, I see that what they called 'passion' was what I would now call 'manufactured drama.' Even though I was neither Buddhist nor Taoist nor much of anything back then, I was actually closer to the truth than they were.
Which gets me to non-attachment, which is not unlike detachment. Those of you who've done any therapy relating to codependence, or read Janet Woititz or Melody Beattie (did I spell that right?) are familiar with the concept of detachment. Similarly, the Buddha taught non-attachment. If you're attached and you want to be non-attached, you have to detach.
I went through my list of attachments. This is harder than it sounds, because the stuff you detach from most readily is the stuff to which you're not really attached at all. Babyshit-flavor ice cream, for example. Totally non-attached to that. FOX News... non-attached. 'American Idol'... non-attached. Dan Brown novels... non-attached.
So what's the problem? The stuff to which we are really attached. I mean, we're so attached we won't even admit to ourselves we're attached, so when we're pondering the stuff to which we're attached, this is under the blobs of white-out we've painted there so we won't see it.
I can tell you that meditatation really helps. Not intense, furrowed-brow concentration, but just quiet attention to the breath. Letting ideas enter your mind, then watching them float away.
Some ideas and notions and goals to which I was very attached floated away like that.
The way you know you've detached –– rather than just denied yourself –– is that you feel liberated and released, not resigned and deprived and defeated.
On iTunes: Tala Sawari, Ravi Shankar.
I read one last night or the night before in which Master Gotama (and his translator) describe 'dispassion' as a desirable trait. While I think I had seen the adjective 'dispassionate,' this was the first time I had encountered 'dispassion' as a noun. I Googled it to make sure there really was such a word, and there is.
I've been wondering if dispassion and apathy are the same thing, and I've decided they aren't.
Apathy is not caring –– dispassion is caring with boundaries. The mess in Washington, for example: I do care, but I have learned to not work myself into a rage about it. I've ended my habit of posting enraged, ranting comments on political web sites. So that's dispassion, not apathy.
State politics? Apathy. Truly. I should care, but I don't.
Years ago, I had a friend lecture me about how I didn't seem 'passionate' about anything. Actually, I had several friends lecture me about it, and I sort of bought into it. Looking back on it now, I see that what they called 'passion' was what I would now call 'manufactured drama.' Even though I was neither Buddhist nor Taoist nor much of anything back then, I was actually closer to the truth than they were.
Which gets me to non-attachment, which is not unlike detachment. Those of you who've done any therapy relating to codependence, or read Janet Woititz or Melody Beattie (did I spell that right?) are familiar with the concept of detachment. Similarly, the Buddha taught non-attachment. If you're attached and you want to be non-attached, you have to detach.
I went through my list of attachments. This is harder than it sounds, because the stuff you detach from most readily is the stuff to which you're not really attached at all. Babyshit-flavor ice cream, for example. Totally non-attached to that. FOX News... non-attached. 'American Idol'... non-attached. Dan Brown novels... non-attached.
So what's the problem? The stuff to which we are really attached. I mean, we're so attached we won't even admit to ourselves we're attached, so when we're pondering the stuff to which we're attached, this is under the blobs of white-out we've painted there so we won't see it.
I can tell you that meditatation really helps. Not intense, furrowed-brow concentration, but just quiet attention to the breath. Letting ideas enter your mind, then watching them float away.
Some ideas and notions and goals to which I was very attached floated away like that.
The way you know you've detached –– rather than just denied yourself –– is that you feel liberated and released, not resigned and deprived and defeated.
On iTunes: Tala Sawari, Ravi Shankar.
Monday, May 22, 2006
What is it?
Do you know?
Find something in your house. Pick it up and hold it in your hand.
What is it? Is it anything? Do you know?
Find something else. Pick it up. What is it? Do you know?
What the hell is it?
Go outside. Look up. What is it? Do you know?
What do you know? Do you know anything?
Really?
If you look at it, you'll see it.
If you look for it, you won't.
I don't know anything.
And it's okay to not know.
Because there isn't anything to know.
Remember the words of Zen master Madge:
Find something in your house. Pick it up and hold it in your hand.
What is it? Is it anything? Do you know?
Find something else. Pick it up. What is it? Do you know?
What the hell is it?
Go outside. Look up. What is it? Do you know?
What do you know? Do you know anything?
Really?
If you look at it, you'll see it.
If you look for it, you won't.
I don't know anything.
And it's okay to not know.
Because there isn't anything to know.
Remember the words of Zen master Madge:
"You're soaking in it."
Sunday, May 21, 2006
No Borders after all
Stayed home this evening. Ate Oscar Mayer 'Lunchables' from 7-Eleven for dinner, and had Tropicana lemonade to go with it. Man, them's good eatin's.
On iTunes: Nomads of the Tibetan High Plateaus by Nawang Kechog.
Updated my myspace profile. I rarely look at myspace. I literally can't stand the sight of it. It's hideous. You can get into it and clean it up a little, but it's like trying to duplicate Mies van der Rohe with a half a box of Legos and half a box of Tinkertoys. The thing is barely functioning as I write this.
On iTunes: Nomads of the Tibetan High Plateaus by Nawang Kechog.
Updated my myspace profile. I rarely look at myspace. I literally can't stand the sight of it. It's hideous. You can get into it and clean it up a little, but it's like trying to duplicate Mies van der Rohe with a half a box of Legos and half a box of Tinkertoys. The thing is barely functioning as I write this.
A few technical notes
I don't know when it changed, but iTunes (at least on the Mac) can now simulcast to multiple IP addresses. If you have more than one Airport Express node on your WiFi network, you can stream via AirTunes to one or all of them, and have music playing in your den, living room, and bedroom simultaneously. Even your bathroom, if you have enough electrical outlets.
I also found this nifty shareware doodad called Remote Remote which allows the user to control iTunes on another computer from whichever one he's at. Some of you know I run iTunes on a headless 733 Quicksilver G4 that doesn't do anything but play music. I can do simple commands from my 'main' Mac without having to open up Chicken of the VNC, which used to be my preferred method for managing iTunes.
It also displayes the name of the current iTunes track, so I can tell you that right now I'm listening to 'Moonlight on the Mountain' performed by Richard Warner on the 'Quiet Heart & Spirit Wind' CD.
I also found this nifty shareware doodad called Remote Remote which allows the user to control iTunes on another computer from whichever one he's at. Some of you know I run iTunes on a headless 733 Quicksilver G4 that doesn't do anything but play music. I can do simple commands from my 'main' Mac without having to open up Chicken of the VNC, which used to be my preferred method for managing iTunes.
It also displayes the name of the current iTunes track, so I can tell you that right now I'm listening to 'Moonlight on the Mountain' performed by Richard Warner on the 'Quiet Heart & Spirit Wind' CD.
Sunday pm
Today was a day for some needed solitude. No Red Cup, no Borders (but maybe Borders later), but just time around the house and yard.
About the monastery thing: I don't want to be a monk. But sometimes I think it would be nice to live like a monk for a year or two. There's just too much stuff going on. Too much material stuff going on. Too much emotional/psychological stuff going on. I want to light some incense, listen to some Japanese flute music or Indian ragas, and just zone out for several months.
Too much stuff goin' on.
About the monastery thing: I don't want to be a monk. But sometimes I think it would be nice to live like a monk for a year or two. There's just too much stuff going on. Too much material stuff going on. Too much emotional/psychological stuff going on. I want to light some incense, listen to some Japanese flute music or Indian ragas, and just zone out for several months.
Too much stuff goin' on.
Friday, May 19, 2006
It's Frrrrrrrrridaaaaaaaaay.
I've completed my first appearance before the grand jury. Questions were of a general nature. Thank god they didn't ask me about the grassy knoll.
Thursday, May 18, 2006
Uma, Oprah. Oprah, Uma.
I've told my friends at the Red Cup that if the Red Cup were an online community, it would be the Well.
And I've told some of my fellow Wellpern that if the Well were a coffee shop, it would be the Red Cup.
So there's something kind of special about reading my own posts and seeing comments from Wellpern and Cuppers alike. It's like both my families meeting for the first time.
So feel free to talk amongst yourselves.
And I've told some of my fellow Wellpern that if the Well were a coffee shop, it would be the Red Cup.
So there's something kind of special about reading my own posts and seeing comments from Wellpern and Cuppers alike. It's like both my families meeting for the first time.
So feel free to talk amongst yourselves.
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
3:40 a.m.
Woke up.
I think I'd like to live in a monastery fo awhile. Not forever. Maybe a year or two years.
There's too much goin' on. I want to get away from it for awhile.
I think I'd like to live in a monastery fo awhile. Not forever. Maybe a year or two years.
There's too much goin' on. I want to get away from it for awhile.
Sunday, May 14, 2006
The bubble
I live today less than a mile from the garage apartment where my folks lived when I was born. Although I have lived in Edmond and far north Oklahoma City, I find as I grow older that I want to stay closer and closer to the old neighborhood. I used to want to go no farther west than Meridian; now I'm down to May. I didn't like going any farther north than Quail Springs; now Penn Square seems uncomfortably distant. I start getting antsy when I can't see the OCU library.
I discovered when I started hanging out at the Red Cup that a lot of people feel the same way I do, and that their arbitrary 'comfort zones' are about the same as mine: May or Portland to the west, 50th to 63rd north, Santa Fe or Lincoln to the east and Reno to the south (although I can do SW 44 –– my grandmother had friends who lived in Capitol Hill when I was a kid, and I don't feel out of place there).
This area, which some folks call 'the bubble,' is also roughly the northwest corner of Oklahoma City during the forties and fifties, before annexation of hundreds of square miles of open farm land briefly made Oklahoma City the largest city in the world in area. It is an area where the houses are all old, the streets all laid out in grids and neighborhoods are filled with tall pecan and elm trees.
Actually, there are days when the borders of my bubble are the edges of my bed. But I have to get up anyway.
I discovered when I started hanging out at the Red Cup that a lot of people feel the same way I do, and that their arbitrary 'comfort zones' are about the same as mine: May or Portland to the west, 50th to 63rd north, Santa Fe or Lincoln to the east and Reno to the south (although I can do SW 44 –– my grandmother had friends who lived in Capitol Hill when I was a kid, and I don't feel out of place there).
This area, which some folks call 'the bubble,' is also roughly the northwest corner of Oklahoma City during the forties and fifties, before annexation of hundreds of square miles of open farm land briefly made Oklahoma City the largest city in the world in area. It is an area where the houses are all old, the streets all laid out in grids and neighborhoods are filled with tall pecan and elm trees.
Actually, there are days when the borders of my bubble are the edges of my bed. But I have to get up anyway.
My brain is turning into beets
Read the first sentence of the post about the Wi-Fi routers.
What kind of bonehead uses 'two' when he means 'too'?
This is something that began happening to me about 2000.
When I was in my twenties and thrities and working as a reporter, no one had to proofread my copy. It was always right. Now it's so full of typos, spelling errors and weird stuff like using 'two' for 'too' that I'm almost afraid to write anything.
I hope this is just me getting old and not some sort of disease.
Oh... I misspelled 'thirties', too. Great.
What kind of bonehead uses 'two' when he means 'too'?
This is something that began happening to me about 2000.
When I was in my twenties and thrities and working as a reporter, no one had to proofread my copy. It was always right. Now it's so full of typos, spelling errors and weird stuff like using 'two' for 'too' that I'm almost afraid to write anything.
I hope this is just me getting old and not some sort of disease.
Oh... I misspelled 'thirties', too. Great.
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