It's Salman Rushdie's
birthday
today.
And the U.S. Open
is on the
air.
Iran's lips are still
being zipped.
And there are
tent cities
in America.
And the weather
here,
here in Illinois,
is
hot and humid,
thick,
"sultry" as an
old friend would say.
I am tired,
I am tired,
and unwired,
racing with my pedal
to the
floor,
(to the floor)
and my
transmission
in neutral.
But I can't
help feeling
good that
I
mailed
the last
payment
for my
rabies shot
today.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Belly Rub
Cleaning dog poop
off the floor is a rarity these days.
She knows better,
an exercise in anxiety more
than a need,
but it was the thunder and the rain,
those mystery entities of dark
night sky that had her barking out the
window at 5 AM.
I knew
she was having a hard morning
by the way she was curled up on my slippers
this morning instead of on her fluffy blue bed,
like usual
and by the way she clung to me,
as I
made breakfast,
watching me with her big, sad eyes,
and that little bit of tremble around
her ears.
Finding her mess,
I lowered my voice,
deep,
she came to me,
and I asked her,
"Did you do this?"
and she slinked away
like a scolded child,
watched me working
with plastic bag and
spray cleaner.
Disposing of the mess,
I called her to me,
and we made friends
with a "gimme five" and a
"shake"
and a little bit of a
belly rub.
off the floor is a rarity these days.
She knows better,
an exercise in anxiety more
than a need,
but it was the thunder and the rain,
those mystery entities of dark
night sky that had her barking out the
window at 5 AM.
I knew
she was having a hard morning
by the way she was curled up on my slippers
this morning instead of on her fluffy blue bed,
like usual
and by the way she clung to me,
as I
made breakfast,
watching me with her big, sad eyes,
and that little bit of tremble around
her ears.
Finding her mess,
I lowered my voice,
deep,
she came to me,
and I asked her,
"Did you do this?"
and she slinked away
like a scolded child,
watched me working
with plastic bag and
spray cleaner.
Disposing of the mess,
I called her to me,
and we made friends
with a "gimme five" and a
"shake"
and a little bit of a
belly rub.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Lincoln Library
Working from home is great, but it's so nice to have a reason to get out one day a week and do something different. Today is a beautiful day, and I can't wait to get out and ride my bike to the library.
I have a standing appointment every Wednesday afternoon at Lincoln Library. I tutor after work on those days, and I find myself really looking forward to my time in the library. The guy I tutor is always a lot of fun to be around. He has a great, optimistic attitude, and he's curious about everything. One week we're reading about the solar system and the next week we're reading about the history of Afghanistan. He is really interested in everything, which makes my job easy. He picks something he wants to read, and we start working on it.
I love being in the library. Maybe it's because I grew up without a library, but I just love having all those rows and rows of books all around. I usually arrive a few minutes early so I can return books, browse the stacks, look at movies, or any of the other super-awesome things there are to do in the library. This week I'm returning Bukowski's Come on In, Gregory Corso's Mindfield, and a great book of historical poetry by George Keithley called Song in a Strange Land. I've really enjoyed all three, and I may renew the Keithley book. I loved his The Donner Party.
I have a standing appointment every Wednesday afternoon at Lincoln Library. I tutor after work on those days, and I find myself really looking forward to my time in the library. The guy I tutor is always a lot of fun to be around. He has a great, optimistic attitude, and he's curious about everything. One week we're reading about the solar system and the next week we're reading about the history of Afghanistan. He is really interested in everything, which makes my job easy. He picks something he wants to read, and we start working on it.
I love being in the library. Maybe it's because I grew up without a library, but I just love having all those rows and rows of books all around. I usually arrive a few minutes early so I can return books, browse the stacks, look at movies, or any of the other super-awesome things there are to do in the library. This week I'm returning Bukowski's Come on In, Gregory Corso's Mindfield, and a great book of historical poetry by George Keithley called Song in a Strange Land. I've really enjoyed all three, and I may renew the Keithley book. I loved his The Donner Party.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Exploring Cahokia Mounds
This past Saturday, Aubrey and I made the drive to Collinsville, Illinois to explore Cahokia Mounds. For those of you who don't know, Cahokia Mounds is the site of a once-thriving Native American city. From 650 to 1400 CE, Cahokia Mounds boasted a population at its peak of between 20,000 and 40,000 people. The city was massive and spread out over an area rivaling that of modern day metropolitan St. Louis. Not only that, but there is archaeological evidence that the Mississipians who populated the site used city planning techniques to lay out the city and to deal with "urban" problems like overcrowding, disease, and waste removal.
An artist's depiction of the Cahokia Mounds site circa 1000 CE
Additionally, the major metropolitan site located near modern day Collinsville, was a first-tier site. There were other second and third-tier sites associated to this city center, which equate to modern suburbs. These second and third-tier sites were important for trade, crop production, and communication. At one time the entire Mississipian culture spread from the Mississippi River east to the Atlantic Ocean and as far South as the Gulf of Mexico.
I remember going to Cahokia Mounds as a kid, but I really didn't appreciate it back then. I think my family squeezed a walk to the top of Monk's Mound in between breakfast at the Waffle House in Collinsville and an afternoon at the racetrack down the road. I remember walking to the top of the mound, and not really knowing what it was, just thinking it was a hill.
This time around, I went in with a deeper appreciation of the cultural and historical significance of the site. So often, we read or see television programs about the great cultures of the ancient world. We are hammered ad nauseum with shows and stories about Egyptians, Aztecs, Mayans, ancient Indians, and ancient Chinese, but rarely do we see any coverage of the mound-building people of what is today the United States.
Maybe the earthen structures at Cahokia Mounds are not as magnificent as the limestone blocks used to build the Great Pyramid of Khufu, or of the dry stone construction used at Macchu Picchu, but the Mississippians showed true problem-solving and ingenuity in their ability to utilize the resources of the Mississippi River valley to build epic structures. The Mississippians made due with what they had, which was a variety of soil types, including clay. They were craftspeople, who leveled the surfaces of their mounds with absolute precision. They even leveled acres and acres of flat land so they would have flat plazas upon which to trade, celebrate, worship, and play games.
The people of "Cahokia," also practiced astronomy, as evidenced by the ring of wooden posts, today called Woodhenge. Woodhenge was used to mark solstices, equinoxes, and to monitor other astronomical events.
view from the top of Monk's Mound, see St. Louis in the background
There is so much evidence in Cahokia Mounds of a civilized and flourishing community. In fact, the first urban center in "modern" North America to reach the population of Cahokia Mounds at its height was Philadelphia when Philadelphia crossed the 40,000 mark around 1800. Think about that for a minute.
The only problem we found in Cahokia Mounds is that it appears there's very little money going to the site, which is a problem I don't see being solved anytime soon. The "state of the art" interpretation center feels often outdated, and occasionally just old. Despite the fact that Cahokia Mounds is only one of 20 UNESCO World Heritage Sites in the United States, it doesn't seem to have much of a budget at all. Entry is a voluntary donation of $4 per person or $10 per family, which we gladly paid.
Essentially, the entire historical site is a do-it-yourself affair. This wasn't a big deal to us. We bought one of the $1 tour guide books and walked the trails by ourselves. It was a beautiful day, and Aubrey took a ton of pictures. In order to get from site to site, you are advised to get in your car and drive. This seemed silly to us. We enjoy walking, and it was a nice day. Walking from the interpretive center and the Twin Mounds self-guided tour to Monk's Mound wasn't a big deal. But walking a mile on the shoulder of the highway to reach Woodhenge was less than ideal. There were not many sidewalks or walking trails that were convenient to all locations. Additionally, there only seemed to be a small number of staff people at the interpretive center, and none on our around the rest of the site to answer questions or to give information. The site does offer twice-daily one-hour guided tours, but I think these tours are strictly around the twin mounds area and not the entire site.
I don't mean to complain. We did have a great day, and I think the folks working at the site are doing the best they possibly can with the resources available to them. I'd just love to see the situation improve for them and for the viewing public.
I'd highly recommend Cahokia Mounds for anyone looking for something to do in the St. Louis area. Have a picnic, walk around the site, learn some sweet ancient history.
I leave you with a short video I found at Veoh. It's a pretty cool overview of the area.
Watch Stonehenge - Southern Illinois style in News | View More Free Videos Online at Veoh.com
An artist's depiction of the Cahokia Mounds site circa 1000 CEAdditionally, the major metropolitan site located near modern day Collinsville, was a first-tier site. There were other second and third-tier sites associated to this city center, which equate to modern suburbs. These second and third-tier sites were important for trade, crop production, and communication. At one time the entire Mississipian culture spread from the Mississippi River east to the Atlantic Ocean and as far South as the Gulf of Mexico.
I remember going to Cahokia Mounds as a kid, but I really didn't appreciate it back then. I think my family squeezed a walk to the top of Monk's Mound in between breakfast at the Waffle House in Collinsville and an afternoon at the racetrack down the road. I remember walking to the top of the mound, and not really knowing what it was, just thinking it was a hill.
This time around, I went in with a deeper appreciation of the cultural and historical significance of the site. So often, we read or see television programs about the great cultures of the ancient world. We are hammered ad nauseum with shows and stories about Egyptians, Aztecs, Mayans, ancient Indians, and ancient Chinese, but rarely do we see any coverage of the mound-building people of what is today the United States.
Maybe the earthen structures at Cahokia Mounds are not as magnificent as the limestone blocks used to build the Great Pyramid of Khufu, or of the dry stone construction used at Macchu Picchu, but the Mississippians showed true problem-solving and ingenuity in their ability to utilize the resources of the Mississippi River valley to build epic structures. The Mississippians made due with what they had, which was a variety of soil types, including clay. They were craftspeople, who leveled the surfaces of their mounds with absolute precision. They even leveled acres and acres of flat land so they would have flat plazas upon which to trade, celebrate, worship, and play games.
The people of "Cahokia," also practiced astronomy, as evidenced by the ring of wooden posts, today called Woodhenge. Woodhenge was used to mark solstices, equinoxes, and to monitor other astronomical events.
view from the top of Monk's Mound, see St. Louis in the backgroundThere is so much evidence in Cahokia Mounds of a civilized and flourishing community. In fact, the first urban center in "modern" North America to reach the population of Cahokia Mounds at its height was Philadelphia when Philadelphia crossed the 40,000 mark around 1800. Think about that for a minute.
The only problem we found in Cahokia Mounds is that it appears there's very little money going to the site, which is a problem I don't see being solved anytime soon. The "state of the art" interpretation center feels often outdated, and occasionally just old. Despite the fact that Cahokia Mounds is only one of 20 UNESCO World Heritage Sites in the United States, it doesn't seem to have much of a budget at all. Entry is a voluntary donation of $4 per person or $10 per family, which we gladly paid.
Essentially, the entire historical site is a do-it-yourself affair. This wasn't a big deal to us. We bought one of the $1 tour guide books and walked the trails by ourselves. It was a beautiful day, and Aubrey took a ton of pictures. In order to get from site to site, you are advised to get in your car and drive. This seemed silly to us. We enjoy walking, and it was a nice day. Walking from the interpretive center and the Twin Mounds self-guided tour to Monk's Mound wasn't a big deal. But walking a mile on the shoulder of the highway to reach Woodhenge was less than ideal. There were not many sidewalks or walking trails that were convenient to all locations. Additionally, there only seemed to be a small number of staff people at the interpretive center, and none on our around the rest of the site to answer questions or to give information. The site does offer twice-daily one-hour guided tours, but I think these tours are strictly around the twin mounds area and not the entire site.
I don't mean to complain. We did have a great day, and I think the folks working at the site are doing the best they possibly can with the resources available to them. I'd just love to see the situation improve for them and for the viewing public.
I'd highly recommend Cahokia Mounds for anyone looking for something to do in the St. Louis area. Have a picnic, walk around the site, learn some sweet ancient history.
I leave you with a short video I found at Veoh. It's a pretty cool overview of the area.
Watch Stonehenge - Southern Illinois style in News | View More Free Videos Online at Veoh.com
Evaporation
In some ways,
in lots of ways,
we spend our whole lives
in airplanes
swirling over
our memories,
looking down,
puzzling over those myriad
experiences we
unrolled with careful precision
or
threw to the world willy-nilly,
wondering why or how,
now,
we were
ever able to pull ourselves through?
We fly alone,
frowning at
"Oh my, I can't believe I used to . . ."
or
"Did I really look like that?!"
or
crying
at the time she broke
your heart
and despite
all your inner strength
and all your intelligent
ramblings on pride
and the transmigration of
soul
all you could feel
was the sadness
that seemed to materialize
from every molecule of your being
and all you could do was
lay down
on the steps
like a big dead bear
and weep
real
wet
tears.
Or
laughing at the
time you,
trying to look so cool
for them,
tripped
sprawling out,
falling on the floor
as you walked into the
grocery store
bumping your chin
hard in front of all those people
who couldn't help laughing.
Or
embracing the time you
chased
fireflies
alone in
the yard,
while everyone
sat around the
picnic table,
smoking
and throwing scuttlebutt.
Or
trying to
forget
the quiet days
you sat alone,
in that little room,
feeling pressed
to do more
or at least something
else
but powerless
to do anything
at all.
Circling overhead
like a fragile
little bird,
you reflect,
puzzling over
this landscape
you've created and molded,
and transformed,
like a god,
absorbing it,
before its all
over.
As the plane,
circling and circling
ever
tighter,
descends,
prepares to
bounce softly
to a landing
or throw itself
sharply landward,
you reflect.
You reflect.
The flight will soon end,
the journey will soon cease,
and there will be no one left
to remember all
these beautiful memories;
these beautiful memories
will evaporate into exinction.
It's then you realize . . .
in lots of ways,
we spend our whole lives
in airplanes
swirling over
our memories,
looking down,
puzzling over those myriad
experiences we
unrolled with careful precision
or
threw to the world willy-nilly,
wondering why or how,
now,
we were
ever able to pull ourselves through?
We fly alone,
frowning at
"Oh my, I can't believe I used to . . ."
or
"Did I really look like that?!"
or
crying
at the time she broke
your heart
and despite
all your inner strength
and all your intelligent
ramblings on pride
and the transmigration of
soul
all you could feel
was the sadness
that seemed to materialize
from every molecule of your being
and all you could do was
lay down
on the steps
like a big dead bear
and weep
real
wet
tears.
Or
laughing at the
time you,
trying to look so cool
for them,
tripped
sprawling out,
falling on the floor
as you walked into the
grocery store
bumping your chin
hard in front of all those people
who couldn't help laughing.
Or
embracing the time you
chased
fireflies
alone in
the yard,
while everyone
sat around the
picnic table,
smoking
and throwing scuttlebutt.
Or
trying to
forget
the quiet days
you sat alone,
in that little room,
feeling pressed
to do more
or at least something
else
but powerless
to do anything
at all.
Circling overhead
like a fragile
little bird,
you reflect,
puzzling over
this landscape
you've created and molded,
and transformed,
like a god,
absorbing it,
before its all
over.
As the plane,
circling and circling
ever
tighter,
descends,
prepares to
bounce softly
to a landing
or throw itself
sharply landward,
you reflect.
You reflect.
The flight will soon end,
the journey will soon cease,
and there will be no one left
to remember all
these beautiful memories;
these beautiful memories
will evaporate into exinction.
It's then you realize . . .
Monday, June 15, 2009
A Silent Moment on a Monday Afternoon Stirs Thoughts of Childhood
Remember that old garage?
The one we had when we lived
in the blue trailer across from
the school
with its dirt floor and unfinished walls?
I remember spending long days
and even longer nights in there,
Dad,
with you and the guys,
swapping out transmissions,
or putting on your newly
chromed
headers,
or cherrypicking
whole motors,
the whole time BTO tapes
playing over and over again
or sometimes Lynyrd Skynyrd
or Tom Petty,
and learning things
that school and friends and
television
had not yet taught me.
I'd sit in the corner
flipping through your old
black and white Conan
comic books while you and
the guys sweated and tinkered
over the nuts and bolts
of a '67 'Cuda or a '65 GTO,
hoping to have them ready
for the next big cruise
or car show.
Remember the time that
stray dog,
a little brown, pesky
thing
came into the garage
while you
were on your back,
torso under the car,
tweaking the shifting
linkage
and
started humping your
leg,
and you did your best to
shake him off, but
he just kept coming back
for more,
and you finally yelled,
"Goddamn dog!"
and climbed out
from under the car,
to run him off,
and then we both started laughing?
Or what about the time you
got so mad that the Barracuda
wouldn't start
that you threw a ball-peen
hammer through the windshield
of that old dirty Aries
that you loved to drive around
so much,
that copper-colored
zombie of a car,
with the sagging
ceiling liner, and the ripped
seats with the foam squeezing through
and the rust holes along
the fenders;
that car that embarrassed the
hell out of me when I rode
to town with you and
felt like everyone was
staring at us?
The one we had when we lived
in the blue trailer across from
the school
with its dirt floor and unfinished walls?
I remember spending long days
and even longer nights in there,
Dad,
with you and the guys,
swapping out transmissions,
or putting on your newly
chromed
headers,
or cherrypicking
whole motors,
the whole time BTO tapes
playing over and over again
or sometimes Lynyrd Skynyrd
or Tom Petty,
and learning things
that school and friends and
television
had not yet taught me.
I'd sit in the corner
flipping through your old
black and white Conan
comic books while you and
the guys sweated and tinkered
over the nuts and bolts
of a '67 'Cuda or a '65 GTO,
hoping to have them ready
for the next big cruise
or car show.
Remember the time that
stray dog,
a little brown, pesky
thing
came into the garage
while you
were on your back,
torso under the car,
tweaking the shifting
linkage
and
started humping your
leg,
and you did your best to
shake him off, but
he just kept coming back
for more,
and you finally yelled,
"Goddamn dog!"
and climbed out
from under the car,
to run him off,
and then we both started laughing?
Or what about the time you
got so mad that the Barracuda
wouldn't start
that you threw a ball-peen
hammer through the windshield
of that old dirty Aries
that you loved to drive around
so much,
that copper-colored
zombie of a car,
with the sagging
ceiling liner, and the ripped
seats with the foam squeezing through
and the rust holes along
the fenders;
that car that embarrassed the
hell out of me when I rode
to town with you and
felt like everyone was
staring at us?
Friday, June 12, 2009
Living Exponentially
I was just reading about Terence McKenna's Time Wave Zero theory last week. While it's hard to explain (a good intro video is here), McKenna developed a mathematical formula that theoretically calculates the ebb and flow of "novelty" in the universe. Using the mysterious King Wen sequence of the ancient I Ching as a starting point, McKenna derived his mathematical formula around the concept that there is teleological (a purpose-driven) attractor at the end of time and that as time draws nearer and nearer to this end, the interconnectedness of places/beings/events become more and more interrelated.
McKenna himself states that the theory is so bizarre that it's difficult to believe. And it is bizarre. For one, it's hard to get your mind around novelty theory. The Time Wave Zero graph, as plotted by McKenna and his computer software designed specifically for computing TWZ, the graph is fractal in nature. Additionally, it grinds against so many of the modern theories of time and the physics of our universe. We've learned that time and the universe will continue expanding at least until some distant point in the future when it won't matter to us anyway.
I'm skeptical, mostly because the end of the time wave zero sequence coincides with the end of the Mayan calendar in 2012, the notorious "doomsday" date we've all heard so much about. This alone makes me skeptical. In some ways it's interesting, and I think McKenna argued that this was evidence that the ancient Mayans, the ancient Chinese, and all the other cultures that predicted a 2012 end of time had a knowledge of the universe that we currently lack. For me, it seems a bit "opportunistic" that the end of Time Wave Zero theory lands on 2012, with what appears to me a bit of tweaking by McKenna.
But . . . I'm intrigued. As an artifact of Time Wave Zero, it is proposed that there are historical resonances that are repeated as time spirals closer and tighter to the end. Imagine time as a spiral. Long ago, the spiral was big and loose. It took a long time to go around the circle once. So, one turn around the outside of the spiral takes X number of years. The next time around the spiral, the circle required to reach the beginning point is smaller, and the historical events coincide with events from the first time around, everything takes less time. It's more condensed. According to McKenna, 1942 kicked off a 67 year period in which the previous 4,000 years or so are being lived out in a very concentrated manner. And next we will embark on a time period up until 2012, that the whole spiral of history will be condensed again until at the end all novel events of all history will be played out simultaneously in absolute chaos. Which, according to theory, will occur on or around my birthday in 2012. (That's right, my birthday is December 21)
Huh? It's so hard to believe. Plus, McKenna's reputation is a little questionable. I like listening to the guy talk. He's obviously brilliant, and he strikes me as an excellent thinker. But, he was known to explore the mind-opening properties of hallucinogenics from around the world, especially South American herbal varieties. Much of his early thought on Time Wave Zero, came while under the influence of psychotropic drugs. For me, that makes his claims unreliable. But there's something about the frenetic forward movement of our global population that makes Time Wave zero ring true.
But it's still fascinating. I can't let it go.
I saw this video this morning on YouTube, discussing the "exponential times" in which we currently live. It seems that everything around us is advancing exponentially. Does this support McKenna's theory of Time Wave Zero? I don't know. The skeptic in me says, "No." I think we just live in extraordinary times. Times in which technology and information are being created and advanced at rates never seen before in human history.
These theories are a lot of fun to ponder, but I don't think we'll have any way to know until it's over. And then it won't matter. So enjoy today, I guess.
McKenna himself states that the theory is so bizarre that it's difficult to believe. And it is bizarre. For one, it's hard to get your mind around novelty theory. The Time Wave Zero graph, as plotted by McKenna and his computer software designed specifically for computing TWZ, the graph is fractal in nature. Additionally, it grinds against so many of the modern theories of time and the physics of our universe. We've learned that time and the universe will continue expanding at least until some distant point in the future when it won't matter to us anyway.
I'm skeptical, mostly because the end of the time wave zero sequence coincides with the end of the Mayan calendar in 2012, the notorious "doomsday" date we've all heard so much about. This alone makes me skeptical. In some ways it's interesting, and I think McKenna argued that this was evidence that the ancient Mayans, the ancient Chinese, and all the other cultures that predicted a 2012 end of time had a knowledge of the universe that we currently lack. For me, it seems a bit "opportunistic" that the end of Time Wave Zero theory lands on 2012, with what appears to me a bit of tweaking by McKenna.
But . . . I'm intrigued. As an artifact of Time Wave Zero, it is proposed that there are historical resonances that are repeated as time spirals closer and tighter to the end. Imagine time as a spiral. Long ago, the spiral was big and loose. It took a long time to go around the circle once. So, one turn around the outside of the spiral takes X number of years. The next time around the spiral, the circle required to reach the beginning point is smaller, and the historical events coincide with events from the first time around, everything takes less time. It's more condensed. According to McKenna, 1942 kicked off a 67 year period in which the previous 4,000 years or so are being lived out in a very concentrated manner. And next we will embark on a time period up until 2012, that the whole spiral of history will be condensed again until at the end all novel events of all history will be played out simultaneously in absolute chaos. Which, according to theory, will occur on or around my birthday in 2012. (That's right, my birthday is December 21)
Huh? It's so hard to believe. Plus, McKenna's reputation is a little questionable. I like listening to the guy talk. He's obviously brilliant, and he strikes me as an excellent thinker. But, he was known to explore the mind-opening properties of hallucinogenics from around the world, especially South American herbal varieties. Much of his early thought on Time Wave Zero, came while under the influence of psychotropic drugs. For me, that makes his claims unreliable. But there's something about the frenetic forward movement of our global population that makes Time Wave zero ring true.
But it's still fascinating. I can't let it go.
I saw this video this morning on YouTube, discussing the "exponential times" in which we currently live. It seems that everything around us is advancing exponentially. Does this support McKenna's theory of Time Wave Zero? I don't know. The skeptic in me says, "No." I think we just live in extraordinary times. Times in which technology and information are being created and advanced at rates never seen before in human history.
These theories are a lot of fun to ponder, but I don't think we'll have any way to know until it's over. And then it won't matter. So enjoy today, I guess.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Heads I Win, Tails You Ooze!
Hey Phil Spector, that Crypt Keeper look is so early 1990s, dude.
Seriously, until Phil Spector's mug shot hit the web today, I thought that horrible shag hair of his was real. The sad thing is, the wig is almost as bad in the opposite direction as his non-wig look. Jesus!
Compare these two, and tell me Phil Spector isn't stealing the Crypt Keeper's look.
Seriously, until Phil Spector's mug shot hit the web today, I thought that horrible shag hair of his was real. The sad thing is, the wig is almost as bad in the opposite direction as his non-wig look. Jesus!
Compare these two, and tell me Phil Spector isn't stealing the Crypt Keeper's look.
Gut Voice
I am an advocate of following your gut.
As I grow older I'm realizing that when I manage to silence the noise and static in my life and really listen to that voice deep inside my gut, that I make good choices. I make choices that I can live with. That allow me to flourish.
I'm not talking about a voice of reason in the head. That voice has often been wrong. It's something deeper, and I don't know how to describe it. It's almost like a voice that comes from not thinking. Of just knowing. Of just knowing what's right for me and for my happiness.
Rationalization and bringing evidence into the argument, or making the argument head-based, often only serves to muddy the waters. To shade my feelings one color or another. To tug me in one direction or another. It is when I can silence my mind that I find some of the best answers. Some of the most true answers.
As I grow older I'm realizing that when I manage to silence the noise and static in my life and really listen to that voice deep inside my gut, that I make good choices. I make choices that I can live with. That allow me to flourish.
I'm not talking about a voice of reason in the head. That voice has often been wrong. It's something deeper, and I don't know how to describe it. It's almost like a voice that comes from not thinking. Of just knowing. Of just knowing what's right for me and for my happiness.
Rationalization and bringing evidence into the argument, or making the argument head-based, often only serves to muddy the waters. To shade my feelings one color or another. To tug me in one direction or another. It is when I can silence my mind that I find some of the best answers. Some of the most true answers.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Date Night
Last night, Aubrey and I went on one of our weekly dates. We ate dinner at Ross Isaac. A simple, light dinner of sushi, beet salad, shrimp ceviche, and flash-fried calamari. I settled into our corner table with an old-fashioned, and we spent the evening laughing and talking, speculating on the mysteries of life. It was a great night for a date. The restaurant was not crowded. It was quiet, and it offered us a really nice time to sit together out of the house, to relax, and to talk. Great, great time, that left us both feeling connected and happy.
As we were leaving the restaurant, making our way through the parking lot, we crashed into each other for an impromptu (and exciting) kiss. While we were sharing our tender moment, a car sped past us on MacArthur, and a young man, hanging from the rear driver's side window shouted, "Get a room, you fuckheads!"
We both stepped back stunned and laughing at the whole situation. It was really the perfect way to end our wonderful dinner.
As we were leaving the restaurant, making our way through the parking lot, we crashed into each other for an impromptu (and exciting) kiss. While we were sharing our tender moment, a car sped past us on MacArthur, and a young man, hanging from the rear driver's side window shouted, "Get a room, you fuckheads!"
We both stepped back stunned and laughing at the whole situation. It was really the perfect way to end our wonderful dinner.
Friday, June 5, 2009
A Lazy Video Gamer with Big Baseball Dreams
Yesterday I needed a break from the labors of my day. I made my way downstairs and played a game of baseball from the Wii sports package. This game kind of sucks. I don't like they way hits are scored, and I don't like that I have to pitch. Actually, when it comes to Wii Sports, I prefer the training modes of home run derby or batting practice over the actual game.
So, being the baseball nerd that I am, I started thinking. What would be a really great baseball game for me? I've tried playing some of the other actual baseball games for the Wii, and in my opinion, they're just way too complicated. I'm in my thirties now, and I'd much rather sit down with a cold beer and watch Ryan Theriot get thrown out at second than to mash a bunch of buttons only to force him into the same situation in a video game.
I don't have time for complicated video games. I want ease and simplicity. I want to pick up my Wiimote and swing a bat. Which is why I enjoy the Home Run Derby feature of The Bigs. This feature is a blast, and when we've had that game in our possession, Aubrey and I both play it like crazy, knocking balls out of the yard at a furious pace. But in order to get the Home Run Derby part of the game, which is about $9.00 worth of game, you have to plunk down full sticker price for the whole game and its annoying soundtrack.
I loved the baseball games for Nintendo from back when I was a kid. RBI Baseball, Baseball Stars, Ken Griffey Jr. Presents Major League Baseball, or Baseball Simulator 1.000. Those games were simple, and they were FUN. Baseball games have gotten a lot less fun over the years. As graphics have improved and physics have become much more life-like, the gameplay has become overwrought with complexity. Going back as far as the N64, when I play a baseball game I quickly become frustrated with all of the complicated finger movements required to bat, pitch, run, or throw. Baseball is such a slow-paced and fun game to watch. Playing it should not be so frenzied.
Basically, all I want do at this point in my video game playing career is use the really cool Wiimote to swing for the fences. I don't want to pitch. I don't want to field. I don't want to desperately try to figure out how to run the bases. I just want to hit.
So, my noodle got going. I remembered how much I loved watching Home Run Derby, the old 1959 television show that featured the greatest hitters in baseball squaring off in home run hitting contests. ESPN started replaying the series in 1988, when I was just 11 years old, and I LOVED that show! I watched it every chance I got. It was like magic to me to get to see guys like Hank Aaron, Ernie Banks, Mickey Mantle, and Willie Mays not only hit home runs, but also talk about hitting home runs. It was amazing.
So, I started thinking. I'd love to see a great Home Run Derby video game modeled after that old television show. It could have two modes. It could have a classic mode, which would be played in black and white, and would feature the greatest home run hitters of yesterday. It could even feature cheesy play-by-play audio from the show's announcer, Mark Scott, and the players, lifted from the original series. It would be great if you had the option to choose from some of the great ballparks of the era, but I would settle for Los Angeles' Wrigley Field. Then, there could be a modern era mode, which would feature the great hitters of today. It would be in full color, and would feature play-by-play by a modern baseball announcer. As long as it didn't feature Joe Morgan or Jon Miller, I'd be pretty cool, I think. And you'd have options for your modern ballpark of choice.
So, being the baseball nerd that I am, I started thinking. What would be a really great baseball game for me? I've tried playing some of the other actual baseball games for the Wii, and in my opinion, they're just way too complicated. I'm in my thirties now, and I'd much rather sit down with a cold beer and watch Ryan Theriot get thrown out at second than to mash a bunch of buttons only to force him into the same situation in a video game.
I don't have time for complicated video games. I want ease and simplicity. I want to pick up my Wiimote and swing a bat. Which is why I enjoy the Home Run Derby feature of The Bigs. This feature is a blast, and when we've had that game in our possession, Aubrey and I both play it like crazy, knocking balls out of the yard at a furious pace. But in order to get the Home Run Derby part of the game, which is about $9.00 worth of game, you have to plunk down full sticker price for the whole game and its annoying soundtrack.
I loved the baseball games for Nintendo from back when I was a kid. RBI Baseball, Baseball Stars, Ken Griffey Jr. Presents Major League Baseball, or Baseball Simulator 1.000. Those games were simple, and they were FUN. Baseball games have gotten a lot less fun over the years. As graphics have improved and physics have become much more life-like, the gameplay has become overwrought with complexity. Going back as far as the N64, when I play a baseball game I quickly become frustrated with all of the complicated finger movements required to bat, pitch, run, or throw. Baseball is such a slow-paced and fun game to watch. Playing it should not be so frenzied.
Basically, all I want do at this point in my video game playing career is use the really cool Wiimote to swing for the fences. I don't want to pitch. I don't want to field. I don't want to desperately try to figure out how to run the bases. I just want to hit.
So, my noodle got going. I remembered how much I loved watching Home Run Derby, the old 1959 television show that featured the greatest hitters in baseball squaring off in home run hitting contests. ESPN started replaying the series in 1988, when I was just 11 years old, and I LOVED that show! I watched it every chance I got. It was like magic to me to get to see guys like Hank Aaron, Ernie Banks, Mickey Mantle, and Willie Mays not only hit home runs, but also talk about hitting home runs. It was amazing.
So, I started thinking. I'd love to see a great Home Run Derby video game modeled after that old television show. It could have two modes. It could have a classic mode, which would be played in black and white, and would feature the greatest home run hitters of yesterday. It could even feature cheesy play-by-play audio from the show's announcer, Mark Scott, and the players, lifted from the original series. It would be great if you had the option to choose from some of the great ballparks of the era, but I would settle for Los Angeles' Wrigley Field. Then, there could be a modern era mode, which would feature the great hitters of today. It would be in full color, and would feature play-by-play by a modern baseball announcer. As long as it didn't feature Joe Morgan or Jon Miller, I'd be pretty cool, I think. And you'd have options for your modern ballpark of choice.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
The Drunkard's Progress
Today while browsing our clipart vendor, I came across this Prohibition-era poster decrying the consumption of alcohol. This sort of thing always cracks me up. In the same way that Reefer Madness cracks me up. No one gets high on "grass" and acts like a lunatic as this film would have you believe. In reality, those kids would've sat around vegging on pre-war snack foods like pork rinds and soda pop, not cruising around town like speed freaks.
Or the "This is your brain on drugs" campaign of the 80s. I mean, I love fried eggs, and that commercial always made me want a fried egg. It didn't scare me away from drugs. It made me hungry. Even now, watching it on youtube, I'm feeling really tempted to go down and fire up the stove.
These sort of scare tactics rarely ever work in any meaningful way. Real life tends to be far more persuasive than the images that are pounded at us on television or billboards.
Notice the inclusion of a weeping wife and child for that "extra something." But I also notice something more: the smoking factory in the background. So, what are we to deduce? That this man chose the quick route by drinking, when he could have toiled away fruitlessly in an unsafe factory under horrible working conditions and long back-breaking hours? That doesn't seem better, honestly.
In case you can't read the notes, they are:
Step 1: A glass with a friend.
Step 2: A glass to keep the cold out.
Step 3: A glass too much.
Step 4: Drunk and riotous.
Step 5: The summit attained. Jolly companions. A confirmed drunkard.
Step 6: Poverty and disease.
Step 7: Forsaken by friends.
Step 8: Desperation and crime.
Step 9: Death by suicide.
That's right folks, take a drink and someday you'll shoot yourself in the head with a dueling pistol. What I find additionally interesting is that we all know that recovery takes 12 steps, but we find out here that the descent only takes 9. That doesn't seem quite fair.
Or the "This is your brain on drugs" campaign of the 80s. I mean, I love fried eggs, and that commercial always made me want a fried egg. It didn't scare me away from drugs. It made me hungry. Even now, watching it on youtube, I'm feeling really tempted to go down and fire up the stove.
These sort of scare tactics rarely ever work in any meaningful way. Real life tends to be far more persuasive than the images that are pounded at us on television or billboards.
Notice the inclusion of a weeping wife and child for that "extra something." But I also notice something more: the smoking factory in the background. So, what are we to deduce? That this man chose the quick route by drinking, when he could have toiled away fruitlessly in an unsafe factory under horrible working conditions and long back-breaking hours? That doesn't seem better, honestly. In case you can't read the notes, they are:
Step 1: A glass with a friend.
Step 2: A glass to keep the cold out.
Step 3: A glass too much.
Step 4: Drunk and riotous.
Step 5: The summit attained. Jolly companions. A confirmed drunkard.
Step 6: Poverty and disease.
Step 7: Forsaken by friends.
Step 8: Desperation and crime.
Step 9: Death by suicide.
That's right folks, take a drink and someday you'll shoot yourself in the head with a dueling pistol. What I find additionally interesting is that we all know that recovery takes 12 steps, but we find out here that the descent only takes 9. That doesn't seem quite fair.
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