Going for Gold

In a few hours the U.S. and Canada will square off for the Olympic hockey gold medal. Should be epic! This is the rare day that comes along under certain circumstances where being a nationalistic xenophobe is OK. USA! USA!

Should be epic.

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Dreamy

I fell asleep watching a program about dreams last night. Before I fell asleep I was pretty interested in some of the dream studies they were talking about. They've done studies that have shown that people who have more REM sleep can solve problems that require creative thinking easier than people who had little to no REM sleep. More REM sleep hence equals more creativity. Other dream studies have shown that the part of the brain that deals with negative emotions like anger and fear tend to be more active than other parts of the brain during REM sleep. Studies have also shown that people who suffer from depression slip into REM sleep right away when they go to sleep which means its possible that dreaming more exposes you to more negative stimulus than other people which in turn makes you depressed. Is this why the creative artist types seem to suffer from depression? More dreams means more creative aptitude but also could mean more depression. I'm no scientist so I don't know if I can make that leap based on the studies done but it seems to be a reasonable conclusion to me. Who knows? Maybe I dreamt the whole thing.
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Image taken from: http://bluenred.files.wordpress.com/2009/07/midnight_dreams1.jpg

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Silence

It's official. 80% of people think playing music on your page is fucking annoying. I hate to admit it because I played songs that made me happy and depressed all week. If Bob Dylan, The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, Bob Marley, B.B. King and Right Said Fred aren't enough to convince people that randomly started playlists are a value to mankind then anyone besides Mick Lennon, Jr. won't make a difference. Apparently, people play their own stolen music when they browse blogs, who knew? Don't be upset people, just relax. If we were meant to be disc jockeys we wouldn't be up at 3 AM blogging. I'll go back to pretending I grew up in a decent music decade but it really doesn't matter. The thrill is gone, it's gone away for good.

I leave you with one last annoying song. I have a hard time finding someone like Lupe Fiasco that is willing to broach difficult topics. I admire a man that is willing to use his vast writing talents to bring attention to terrifying social questions when he could make much more money talking about bitches and switches and hoes and clothes.

I killed another man today,
Shot him in his back as he ran away,
Then I blew up his hut with a hand grenade,
Cut his wife's throat as she put her hands to pray,
Just five more dogs then we can get a soccer ball,
That's what my commander say,
How Old?
Well I'm like ten, eleven, been fighting since I was like six or seven,
Now I don't know much about where I'm from but I know I strike fear everywhere I come,
Government want me dead so I wear my gun, I really want the rocket launcher but I'm still too young,
This candy give me courage not to fear no one,
To fear no pain, and hear no tongue,
So I hear no screams and I shed no tear,
If I'm in your dreams then your end is near.

Now here comes the march of the boy brigade
A macabre parade of the toys he made
And in shimmer shades who looks half his age
About half the size of the flags they waved
And camouflage suits made to fit youths
'cause the ones of the dead soldiers hang a little loose
With AK-47's that they shooting into heaven
Like they're trying to kill the Jetson's
They struggle little recruits
Cute, smileless, heartless, violent
Childhood destroyed, devoid of all childish ways,
Can't write their own names or read the words that's on they own graves
Think you gangster popped a few rounds?
These kids will step in and murder a whole town,
Then sit back and smoke and watch it burn down,
The grave gets deeper the further we go down

- Lupe Fiasco, Little Weapon

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In the Fish Bowl/Fluff Week

You know when you sprinkle food into a fishbowl and the little fishes scramble to the top and go crazy? I couldn't get that visual out of my head when they brought out the t-shirt slingshots at the Bulls game last night. It felt kind of demeaning. Maybe it's because I only had one beer but I felt like the flat-chested girl at Mardi Gras. Sit down buddy, you had a few too many nachos to wear an L without the X's anyway. I know I sound like Buzz Killington but I'm a huge sports fan so I scream my ass off for the team not the gimmicks. Just another example of our ADD culture. When will we learn that you won't find fame looking down the barrel of a t-shirt cannon?

P.S. I've decided it's fluff week around here. I haven't been able to get my mind to focus on anything of substance lately and it's almost Friday. I'll try to think harder next week.

Go Bulls!

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Body Language

Having finished Life of Pi (review coming soon) I decided it was time to make a trip to my favorite used bookstore. It's a  Catholic bookstore/second-hand shop filled with little old Catholic ladies that always crack me up. I have to say I made one hell of a haul today. I spent a whopping ten dollars! Seriously, there isn't a book in the place that costs more than a dollar. I raid the classics section regularly.

Today's Haul:

A beautiful old copy of Shakespeare's complete works.

Philosophy books from Bertrand Russell, Immanuel Kant, John Locke (no, not that guy from Lost), and Plato that I eventually plan to impress chics with.

King, Queen, Knave by Vladimir Nabokov.

A cool compilation of Turgenev's works printed in 1942.

Two Salinger books that aren't Catcher in the Rye (how timely).

And then this little gem:

Yes! A book of erotica by Anais Nin, for a dollar, at a little Catholic bookstore filled with little Catholic ladies. How awesome is that? I absolutely had to have this. The beauty of this find however presented a potentially awkward situation. I've been going here for a few years now. Delores is a delightful little woman who has a habit of reading out the title of every book I take to her. Offending sweet Delores sure as hell wasn't going to stop me so I shoved it into the middle of the pile hoping she wouldn't notice. I got to the table and she was reading off the titles as usual and adding up the cost when she saw Delta of Venus, Erotica by Anais Nin. She paused, looked up at my sheepish grin and winked.

I love you sweet (and possibly kinky) Delores!

Wonder if she still has one of those Catholic school girl outfits from her younger days lying around? Retro-kink is hot.

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Bring Me Your First-Born

No, that's not me.

Being the first-born child is similar to being a guinea pig. Your parents are still young and idealistic. They expect the sky to be the limit for their young child, my parents were no exception. Apparently in the early 80's something called the "Suzuki method" was all the rage and my parents, usually common sense people, fell prey to the trend. At the tender age of four it was decided that I would learn to play the violin and classes for two-hundred dollars a session were signed up for. So far, so good right?

Then I got my violin. My violin was a margarine box with a paint stirrer taped to it, seriously. For four months I had to practice on the damn thing every dingle day. It made no sound but I was supposed to say "strawberry cherry" over and over again so I could learn to keep time. We ended up moving and I never even got to play on a real violin! How can you learn an instrument without ever even touching it? What kind of crock is this? Or, were my parents just duped by a guy driving a Suzuki? There were a bunch of things like this I was forced to do at a young age. Some were OK, most I detested. I turned out alright so it's not all bad. To this day I have no musical talent whatsoever despite being forced into violin and later piano lessons. By the fourth child my parents had pretty much given up on all that yuppie shit, and you know what? After six months of lessons my littlest sister (whom wanted lessons) is rockin out on guitar already. Are kids just better at stuff when they aren't forced into it? Or, is it because she learned how to play on an actual guitar instead of one made out of a box of cheerios and a set of jumper cables?
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Image taken from: http://www.aecg.org/images/violin-kid.jpg

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I'm In Love

The very exclusive club of world leaders got much uglier when Ukrainian Prime Minister Yulia Tymoshenko withdrew her legal challenge of the election results citing corruption in the courts. An academic, economist a co-founder of the Orange Revolution in Ukraine which was a massive protest movement in 2004/2005 in response to the 2004 Ukrainian presidential election that was rife with corruption, fraud and intimidation. Protesters at some of the demonstrations (pictured below) reached a million people - in the winter. She's wearing a shirt with the word revolution printed down the arms.

I love you, Yulia.

Seriously, I'd drink her bathwater.

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Opposites Day

It's about time those smug, arrogant Canadians got what's coming to them. Since 1960 the imperial fascists to the north have beaten us every time in Olympic hockey. The USA has long been the underdog in North America and finally we get a chance to push back. In your face you ugly Canadian swine, maybe next time you want to bully us you'll think twice.

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How I Deal With Insomnia/My Sunday Schedule

I'm a part-time insomniac. Every couple months or so I go through a period where I don't get very much sleep. Usually these periods are triggered by stress, change, excitement or restlessness. It is logistically difficult to operate as a functioning member of society when you're tired all the time. Over the years I've found certain ways to fight back against my insomnia. I know how to beat it now. It doesn't always work but I at least learned to push back. The principle way I do this is by digging in and making a stand on Sunday.

How do I do this you ask? By forcing myself to fight sleep all day long. You must be thinking I'm insane. Fighting insomnia by making yourself stay awake? That doesn't make any logical sense. Remember when you were a kid? You would fight and fight to keep yourself from falling asleep and what happened? The harder you tried to stay awake the sooner you fell asleep. This is the crazy logic an insomniac will use after being awake for the nearly 24 hours that I have.

It is now nearly 8:00 AM and I need to find a way to stay up until at least 8:00 PM. If I fail I'll end up crashing probably around noon and then I'll wake up at 8 or 9 and I'll once again be up all night. Not so bad when it it's the weekend but extremely harmful when you need to be at work Monday morning. It's time to create a plan and figure out how to stay up another eight hours. This is my plan for the day.

8-9 AM: Continue laying in bed with the laptop and read a few blogs. I find the eerie glow of a computer is good at keeping you awake. Also, this allows my body to get a bit of rest without going to sleep.

9-10: I think I'll cook a nice big breakfast while listening to Meet the Press (Republicans always make me angry so I get worked up). I think I'll make an omelet, with a hot pepper or two. Spicy food gives a good kick.

10-11: Fresh off of my omelet kick I'll probably start reading for a bit. Warning! Reading is dangerous and only should be attempted by a savvy veteran. Make sure your book is interesting and if you start getting sleepy stand up and walk around or else you're done for.

11-1 PM: Watch the last two episodes of the second season of Dexter. I'm completely addicted to this show and can't wait to find out what happens before the season ends! I'll be too riveted by Michael C. Hall's sociopathic charms to fall asleep.

1-2: Mexican take-out, extra green sauce. The walk will wake you up a bit without draining you too much and heaping on the hot sauce will also help. Warning! Only do this if you have a Mexican restaurant in walking distance. You don't want to be driving at this point.

2-3:30:  Watch the second half of the Cavs/Magic game. I'm a huge sports fan so this is a no-brainer. Dwight Howard and LeBron James going at it? Doesn't get much more exciting than that.

3:30-7: At this point you're in serious need of help and can't do it all alone. Time to enlist friends. I'm going to try to get a couple buddies together to go watch the second game/olympics/whatever else gets turned on at the local pub. Social activity, loud noises and a bit of excitement make staying awake much easier. Plus, if you've got a bit of a buzz going it makes crash time that much easier when you finally make it there.

7-8: Stumble out of the bar and go grab some take-out to devour when you get home. Eat it in a celebratory, half-drunk manner because you have almost made it. Make sure everything is ready for work tomorrow and crash into your bed.

You made it, and with any luck you'll be able to fall into your normal sleeping pattern again until insomnia rears its ugly head once again.
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Image taken from: http://breakfastwithspanky.files.wordpress.com/2008/10/insomnia-eye1.jpg

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Redemption

People tell me I’m bad. Mostly, they tell me I’m good. How do you respond to comparisons with darkness? You don’t. I see the darkness, I don’t fight with it. Deep down I know my soul is pure. You can’t be good unless you think you’re good. You can be bad because of a rumor or two, it doesn’t take much. I battle with my convictions, I shouldn’t. I know what I am. I’m not 19 and confused anymore, I understand my essence. Why should anyone doubt themselves? Doubt isn’t rational. I know myself better than I’ll ever know another. I don’t need God to judge me, I hold the scales. I’ve done more good in my life than I could ever destroy. I only dwell on the negative because I’m a perfectionist. Ten toes, ten fingers. Count them. Does the evil outweigh the compassion? Does darkness travel faster than the speed of light? No. Why torture yourself? You don’t believe in karma yet you always talk about it. You’re batting over .500 at least. Doesn’t that mean you won’t be a cockroach in the next life? You don’t believe in reincarnation either. You only believe in things you don’t understand when you don’t understand the things you believe. I’m a good person. Ninety-nine percent of the people you know are good people. Only a third believe they are good. Why is pessimism so rampant? Hitler and Stalin were outliers. The vast majority of people you know or have heard about had good intentions. Clichés tell you about good intentions but, you don’t believe in hell either. We are here. We are all here. We are good. You hear that? We are good. Self-loathing and self-doubt won’t help us. The tragic sounds prettier, it isn’t. There is no reason to ever doubt yourself. What else is there to have faith in? Don’t dwell on the faults because they aren’t your fault. They were part of your path.
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Image taken from: http://www.celestial-art.net/wallpaper-digital-art-fractal-the-redemption.jpg

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Dumbest things I've ever done.

When I was little I got stung on the ass by a wasp, on the 4th of July, at the annual family BBQ. After I was done freaking out from the terror I realized Oscar Meyer wasn’t the only one that had his wiener out that day.

Asking my pre-school teacher if she was single.

Breaking up with ******.

Not breaking up with ******.

During my interview for the University of Chicago for their political science program I talked about how I’ve always been an avid reader of newspapers and followed current events very closely. She asked what I thought about what was going on in China right now and I froze and said I didn’t know. Thank God for state universities.

Having a rake fight.

Getting caught masturbating at the age of 12 by my grandpa while watching an episode of Murphy Brown.

Challenging my foe to a rematch because I lost the first rake fight. I looked like I’d been attacked by Wolverine for a week.

Listening to a voicemail at work whilst extremely hung-over and finding out that I not only had a new fiancé but somehow had acquired a number of investment condos. Oh, and that I couldn’t get it up the night before. Seriously, every time I go out I ask some girl to marry me.

Thinking about which places I’d loot first on December 31st, 1999.

Voting for Rod Blagojevich, twice.

Posting this blog.

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Redemption II

It's so much easier to see ourselves in black and white. Maybe I'm dull, but my favorite color is gray. We human beings see patterns in everything. It's the only way to convert an ever expanding universe into a digestible morsel. We build up these black and white worlds in our minds and apply them to everything we see and do. At times we overlay those distorted patterns over our own lives and conclude that we are bad rather than recognizing a number of poor decisions for what they are. If we aren't careful the mistakes we make in life will overwhelm us and we'll start to foolishly think that we are some kind of soulless monsters. We all have regrets. We've all done things we'd take back if we could. But, we can't think we're all rotten just because we've done some questionable things. If we really were bad we would be indifferent. Bad people don't feel guilt. Bad people don't feel remorse. Bad people don't seek redemption.

We do.
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Image taken from: http://www.blogto.com/artists/upload/2008/11/20081124-ForgiveYourself.jpg

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Untitled

WARNING: CONTAINS UGLY LANGUAGE.

"I don't care if it's been three years, you know what he did."

"You've gotta let it go at some point. You can't let what he did to you rule your life. We all know what he did was wrong. At least the real people do. You don't fuck your brothers wife and not suffer the consequences."

"You know what *****, it's not about him fucking my wife. Everyone always thinks that. I knew she was a venomous bitch. I knew it was over. That's not what I'm mad about. Everyone always says that's what it is but it's not. I could give a fuck about her. It's about what he did to me."
"You beat his ass once and you got a felony. What do you think is gonna happen if you go after him again? Do you really think a 2X4 and 10 seconds of vengeance is worth the rest of your life in jail? He ain't worth it, he ain't."

"I know he ain't. It ain't about that. I know I can't touch him. That's the worst part. I beat his ass once and look what happened? I almost lost my job, my kids, my family and everything else I care about. I see him again and the rage will take over. He'll make me a monster."

"It's not worth it man. If you were so hell bent on a lifestyle based on retaliation why the fuck did you leave 51st street? If you wanted to kill someone for revenge you could've stayed in that gang shit. You moved here because you didn't want to become that. You've got kids motherfucker. You always say you'll do anything for your kids, right? Why beat the shit out of this piece of shit just because he betrayed you? You know your kids mean more to you than that motherfucker."

"You know what? You're right. It ain't worth it. Just because I want to do it don't mean I'll do it. If it was just me I'd go off! I wouldn't give a fuck. I just want to grab him by the throat and when he's looking in my eyes with that last breath of life I'll let go. Just so he knows that just the way he took my life I could've took his. That way he'll know what I went through. I want him to feel the pain that he put me through. Fucking my wife. Living in my motherfucking house? Fuck that, homeboy. He was spoiled his whole life while I was out there paying the consequences. That motherfucker didn't have a job till he was twenty-three motherfuckin years old. I've been workin since I was a fucking kid. I never had no childhood. And what did my parents teach me? They taught me to be a man and be real with a motherfucker. And they took his side? That piece of shit? They were the ones that caught him with my wife. My fucking wife! Now I'm the bad guy. How can I not hold a grudge? Honestly man, how?"

"What he did was fucked up. You don't need to ever forgive him. You don't need to ever trust him again or let your kids around him. He has to live his whole life in shame. What kind of man can ever, ever, hold his head high after what he did? You think everyday he doesn't think of everything he did? That he doesn't think about how many friends he lost. How much trust he lost. How much respect he lost? Unless he's some kind of sociopath serial killer motherfucker he has to have some kind of emotions left, some kind of pride. That's a lonely road to walk. I couldn't live with myself, how do you think he can?"

"You know what he did? Honestly *****, you know what he did? He killed my brother. He killed my brother. The person I loved. The person I did everything for, he killed him. He killed my brother. That motherfucker walking around now isn't him. My brother is dead and he's the one that killed him. Now tell me, what would you do to the motherfucker that killed your brother? Answer that and you'll know my pain."
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Image taken from: http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/CainAndAbel

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Evolutionary Writing

The written word first emerged about 6,000 years ago. Considering that homo sapiens have been around for approximately 200,000 years we haven't really been at this writing thing too long. Mass literacy was nothing but a pipe dream until Gutenberg's printing press was invented less than 600 years ago. Only in the last 20 years has mass communication become a democratic reality. Now we have blogs, status updates, tweets and Kindles while newspapers and magazines lose circulation. I'm still trying to figure out whether this latest revolution in literature is a good or a bad thing. The romantic in me hates it. I love the feel of old books. I love the smell, the yellowing pages and the notes in the margins. I love the ink on my fingers after reading my morning paper.

Despite all the old school reading I do, I'm positive that I read more online in an average day than I do off. I love blogs and newsfeeds. I don't tweet at all and rarely use social networking sites, that part of my snobbishness has hung on. But, on the flip side, I get annoyed when people say blogging isn't writing. What the hell is it then? The world is going digital, there is no stopping it now. As much as I hate to consider "tweets" relevant literature they have impacted our society in ways we don't yet understand. For better or worse everyone with a cell phone (over five billion people) or an internet connection can become an author nowadays. I may resent it becuz it l00ks lk this but I'm sure people were resistant to not using scrolls anymore either. Will the democratization of literature ruin it? Or will the increased competition strengthen it? Kids are writing more now than they ever have, is that good or bad? It'll be another fifty years before we're able to get any kind of real understanding of the impact of the internet on literature but I am at least encouraged by all the awesome stuff I read on here regularly.
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Image taken from: http://www.t-shirthumor.com/Merchant2/graphics/fullsize/blog_lg2.gif

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Card Table Time Travel

I used to do this little card trick to fuck with stoners and philosophy majors. I would take a deck of cards and tell them I could prove that it's impossible to live in the present, that they'll always be living in the past. While shuffling the deck I would tell them that I'm going to show them a card and that as soon as they see the card to shout out what it was. I show them a card they yell "five of clubs" or "king of spades" in a hurry. They all look very smug and proud of themselves thinking they won or something (particularly the philosophy majors). I then asked them how long it took from when they saw the card to when they shouted out the answer. They'd say one second or so (five for the stoners). I'd ask if they could do it faster than that. If it was possible to instantaneously say the card they have at the time they see it. They usually concede that they can't (some of the stoners want to try again). I then go on to talk about how its impossible to truly live in the present if it takes your brain seconds to react to whatever is happening around you. Your consciousness will always have that delay. Your brain can only comprehend actions that have already taken place in the past (even if it is the very recent past).

The conversations they sparked entertained me, but deep down something seemed intuitively wrong with this little trick. It just didn't feel right. One day I realized that yes, it is impossible to live in the present if all you're doing is reacting. But, if you are the one acting and everyone is reacting to you then you're in the present while they're stuck in the past. They were reacting to my cards, my stimulus. For just a split second I was living in a different time than the people around me. It's no flux capacitor, but I'm sure there's a life lesson in there somewhere.
___
Image taken from: http://www.tomandhenry.co.uk/art%20work/pick%20a%20card.gif

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The 14th

Chocolate. Flowers. Cuddling. Vince Vaughn romantic comedy. Cunnilingus. Being a sweet and sensitive guy isn't so bad, once a year.
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Image taken from: http://rlv.zcache.com/sensitive_guy_shirt-p235968304986915329c2mc_400.jpg

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Old Habits

“Give me a cigarette, will ya?”
“Really? I thought you quit?”
“I did, this doesn’t count.”
“How do you figure?”
“Just give me a fucking smoke, I’m too stoned for this shit.”
“Come to think of it, didn’t you quit that too?”
“I did.”
“So what the fuck?”
“I’ve quit doing a lot of things in my life. It’s how I find balance. I only overindulge in a few things at a time, it’s called moderation you jackass.”
“You can’t use ‘moderation’ and ‘overindulge’ in the same sentence.”
“I just did.”
“Tobacco and marijuana all in the same day. That means you gotta give something up.”
“I'm gonna abstain from abstinence. You gonna give me a cig or not?”

Spark. Inhale.

“Ahhhh, thanks.”
“Sure thing Mr. Clean Cut.”
“Ha.”
“Seriously man, you've got a good job, don’t they drug test you and shit?”
“They did when they hired me. Since then we’ve had an agreement.”
“Agreement?”
“I don’t go to work fucked up and they let me keep my piss.”
“I don’t know, you just seem a little old to be getting stoned with me still.”
“You’re older than me!”
“Yea, but I’m a fuckup.”
“I don’t know. Sometimes you just feel like smoking a little pot. Doesn’t help that you’re watching The Wall.”
“Great now you’re gonna get fired and say it’s my fault. Don’t blame me, blame VH fucking 1.”

Conversation fades away.

Hey you, standing in the road
always doing what you're told,
Can you help me?
Hey you, out there beyond the wall,
Breaking bottles in the hall,
Can you help me?
Hey you, don't tell me there's no hope at all
Together we stand, divided we fall.

“That shit gets me every time.”
“Haha, me too.”
____
Image taken from: http://www.pollsb.com/polls/floyd

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Needed

The same problems have plagued me since I was a baby. I get backed into a corner, hoping someone will grab me. All I hear is maybes. Am I just crazy? Have my morals betrayed me? These things hurt me but I deny it. The people that gave me inspiration now destroy it. How can I ever become the man I should’ve when all I hear is could’ve. Could’ve done this, could’ve done that. Expectations are a bitch, even worse than payback. I try to be the bigger man but it never seems to be enough. I tell myself integrity betrayed me. Do I brush off my sleeve and say its not my fault? Where did the chip come from? I hate it. I should be great but lately I just feel late. Late to solve the problem, late to fix the drama. Why do I feel obliged to fix the life that surrounds me? Is it all a pipe dream? Am I just blowing off steam? I can’t tell what it means but it makes me so so mean. I let my rage out on this keyboard because I don’t want to go to jail. So many people walk around with hurt and hate yet, feel great. Why do I feel bad for being good? Why am I so good at being bad? I don’t care what people think but I prefer the middle road. Why make me an enemy when we could be compadres?

The whole fiasco hurts me soul. Do I care about all of you or do I care about losing control? It’s not my job to be in the middle. Their problems become mine and I go from being fine to hating each line - of bullshit - that you give me. You look up to me and I look down on you. I fill your trough with hope and you snort it up with dope. Where does drunk talk end and real advice begin? I’m not a healer I’m a stealer, a thief. I steal your problems and make them my own. Fuck! We’re already grown. I used to love you. You were my friend. Why did I put all that work in? My vanity is destroying my insanity. I feel great by feeling your hate. I’m your superior because I keep you in that hole. I made you inferior. It doesn’t matter if what I say is true. Between me and you we’re both stuck in the slop. Objectively, you’re the one down there. I try to lend a hand but your head remains in the sand. I’m a problem solver. That’s what I was put here for. You’re dependent on me. You’re incapable of fixing your position and I pretend to sit and listen. I spew good advice. I spew  bile. I want you to make it but you never will. I’m your crutch. You must know I don’t really give a fuck. I need you to remind me that my problems aren’t as bad as yours. But, I love you. Keep your head up. Make it. Prove my tirade faulty. Take that adversity and become strong. I see your potential but you don’t. I’ll keep reminding you that I’ll stand by you. Secretly, I’m standing  far behind you.
____
Image taken from: http://www.cretarolodesign.com/portfolio_cindy.php

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Emergency to Outpatient

It’s hard to lose someone. Paradoxically, it’s incredibly easy to lose someone. There are so many that have come and gone. Some seem like ghosts, some are. Some were my fault, some were acts of God. Loss can feel like being hit with a baseball bat. Crack! You drop to the pavement, it feels like you won’t make it. You black out. Every time you run your hand through your hair you feel the throbbing pain. It keeps you from doing anything. You don’t want to leave the house. You’re afraid of all the stares. Everyone can see that bald spot on your soul.

Eventually the wound starts to heal. The constant pain subsides. Hair grows back, but be careful when you touch that old wound. Every time your fingers grace that traumatized skin, you think of the pain, the loss. The physical damage heals, but the scars never completely fade away. Scars can be memories. Scars can be inside jokes that randomly abuse your consciousness. They can be a person, place or thing. You’ll never escape them. Embrace that tortured tissue. Feel how much tougher that part of you is. Remember your scars, love them. If you let the scars overcome you, you’re destined to become one.
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Image taken from: http://charactertherapist.blogspot.com/2009/10/treatment-tuesday-past-scars.html

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The Forgotten

The one that simply vanished. The one too pretty to approach. The overtures I missed and the advances I refused to make. The smirk from the corny line. The roll of the eyes from the passing hand it was silly to have grasped. The lipstick that smeared off my arm and the numbered paper that became a tip. The one that’s a drug induced haze of ass, tits and 80‘s night. How different could my life have looked? How many paths were missed? How many mistakes were mercifully escaped? While ducking and dodging love and heartbreak, I think of all the lost and forgotten and wonder if destiny can really be cast aside with such violent indifference. Beautiful moments were lost. Loves have been aborted. Some call it a pool but it’s more like a chalkboard. Names and numbers wiped clean forever.

This is all done for you, the one I’ve yet to meet.
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Image taken from: http://www2.wit.ie/users/art/HOWEVER_BLOW_THE_WINDS/JHUTCHINSON/WALK%20AWAY.jpg

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Whose Dumber?

I can't believe it but I think there may actually be a politician dumber than former President George W. Bush. Sarah Palin might be the stupidest person to ever have any sort of following. She didn't understand why North Korea and South Korea are separate countries. She joined an organization dedicated to Alaska's cessation from the United States. Then there is the whole notes written on the hand fiasco. Why does she need notes to remember things like "energy", "tax cuts, and lift "American spirits". She can't even remember broad concepts without cheating? As terrifying as it sounds I think there is now someone dumber than Bush. Despite his numerous gaffes and the way his bosses manipulated him I think he was at least smart enough to know he was just a tool. I'm not sure she does.

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Yet Again

I have become comfortably numb to the insanity of Illinois politics. Yesterday, the democratic candidate for Lieutenant Governor stepped down after information came out that he was living with a prostitute, held a knife to her throat while threatening to kill her, sexually assaulted his wife, and was a steroid user prone to violent mood swings. Is his backup plan to become a baseball player? Watching the local news is like watching a novela (spanish soap opera) minus the basketball sized breasts. We have one former governor sitting in jail. His successor Rod "I'm blacker than Obama" Blagojevich will be joining him in prison soon enough (but not before starring on celebrity apprentice where his and Trump's hair will battle to the death for the title of worst haircut ever). The guy who ran against Obama for the Senate back in 2004 had to drop out because allegations surfaced that he forced his wife, a former Star Trek actress, to join him at wild orgy parties in Paris. Seriously, what the fuck is going on here? You can't make this shit up, no one would believe it.

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Saturday Hangover

I have a ritual when I've drank too much the previous night. It takes a half hour walk in the awful sunlight but its usually worth it. Here are the steps:

1. Go to movie store and check out something that looks light and quirky.

2. Order torta, rice and beans from local Mexican restaurant.

3. Grab six-pack of corona, lime, and salt from corner grocery store.

4. Walk back up the street to pick up said torta, rice and beans.

5. Return home, close curtains, cut lime and put in movie.

6. Eat delicious food, drink two coronas (maybe 3), and watch movie.

After the movie you'll start feeling much better. So much better that you'll be able to blog about it. Today I watched Taking Woodstock which was a delightful little movie about the kid who put together Woodstock. Woodstock! It was an awesome story with great oddball characters. Definitely recommend checking it out.

The number of times alcohol pops up in my posts is disturbing me. Is it possible to have an intervention via the internet? My real life friends would bring alcohol to my intervention, it wouldn't work.
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Image taken from: http://dennismitchell.files.wordpress.com/2007/05/hungover.jpg

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Honestly

For the last month and a half that I've been here on blogger I've noticed the various blog awards. In a way I really don't like the idea. From the outside looking in it seemed to be just a bunch of random people patting other random people on the back. I'm all for positive reinforcement but it seemed to have a kindergarten sort of "you didn't wet your pants so you get a gold star" feel to it. In spite of my secret disdain for such awards I had a secret craving for said award. Then Eva gave me one. Eva! She's seriously the best blogger on here. Reading Eva's work is like being in every relationship I've ever had. I get twisted up, torn apart and always left wanting more. A gold star means more coming from someone whose talent you admire. That's when I started to get it a bit more. These gold stars don't have any intrinsic value. They have value because you receive them from your peers. Peers that have varying interests, motivations and methods but nonetheless share your commitment to writing something everyday. I appreciate that. Thank you Eva for giving me this award and thank everyone else for giving the time of day to come and check out my little corner of the internet.

As required I've written out ten things about myself:

1. I hate my blog name. I opened this blog in 2008 with the concept that every post would be a letter to someone. If you read my first few posts you’ll see that. I got the idea from Saul Bellow’s Herzog. It seemed clever at the time but I lost interest. Now I’m stuck with My Letters because I gave up on the theme and couldn’t come up with a new catchy title. Any suggestions?

2. If I ever get a dog I’ll name him Fyodor. No wife would ever let me name my son that. I thought I was deep until I read The Brothers Karamazov and my mind was blown. Russian literature fascinates me. I have this book on my nightstand titled A History of Russian Literature by D.S. Mirsky. I keep it there because I often can’t sleep at night. Turns out I find the damned book interesting. I’ll read fifty pages at a time some nights. Some help.

3. I’m a jerk. I once founded an organization called the International Asshole Association (IAA). Apparently my friends are assholes too. The ranks eventually grew to 8 members. Someone in the group crossed the line of acceptable assholeness so I disbanded the group. There is being an asshole and there is burning in hell. Hard line to walk.

4. I’ve never had an energy drink, aside from two Jagerbombs (that were bought for me). I’ve also never had a Krispy Kreme doughnut. My theory is that the secret ingredient for both is crack-cocaine. You know when you start a class and the get to know me part starts off? You say your name, what you’re studying and something no one knows about you. My first day of graduate school I gave that answer. I thought it was hilarious. Someone coughed. I realized that my sense of humor doesn’t translate well to every situation. I know it wasn’t that funny to begin with, but the looks were rough.

5. I find the strangest things adorable. One of my old girlfriends once told me that she shoplifted a pair of nipple clamps from an adult bookstore. I found it so endearing.

6. I’m intensely laid-back. The more exciting things around me get the more it looks like I have a muscle-relaxer addiction.

7. I’m an optimistic-pragmatist. I’m an atheist because I don’t need to believe in God, I believe in mankind. As bad as things look right now, they looked worse 50, 100, 1,000, 10,000 years ago. Voltaire might disagree but I’m a firm believer that we are all progressing. We are all becoming better, more educated people than our ancestors. Sure it looked bad when Bush was President and fighting with Saddam, bin Laden and the like but, just over half a century ago people like Hitler and Stalin were roaming the earth. Europe destroyed itself, Japan had radiation poisoning and 2-ply toilet paper hadn’t been invented yet. We have a tendency to romanticize the past and demonize the present, we can’t help it. The past seemed easier because we survived it already. The future is threatening because we question our potential. I firmly believe in our ability to overcome. I know times are tough right now. We will make it, all of us.

8. My favorite beers are: Hacker-Pschorr; St. Pauli’s Girl; and any beer you buy for me.

9. I’ve spent more time on this post than any other blog I’ve posted. I blame Eva completely.

10. "No comment" isn’t an answer for me. I can talk myself around questions but I can’t leave any question, no matter how difficult, unanswered. Use this information as you will.

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Mosquito Tears

I was reading Donut Girl's blog last night and it reminded me of a question I've pondered for some time. What does an avid PETA person do when a mosquito lands on their arm? Do they let it feed till its full? Is there a way to get a mosquito off of your arm without killing it? Can you imagine the will power it must take to look at a mosquito on your arm and not kill it? If you do kill it, would you feel guilty afterward?

I did some research on the subject via PETA's website but this is all I found:

Taking B-complex vitamins or eating brewer’s yeast daily (in tablets or powder) can keep you mosquito-bite free in the summer months. Oil of citronella and pennyroyal mint oil are both effective repellents when diluted with vodka or vegetable oil and dabbed onto the skin. Mosquitoes dislike fresh basil and pennyroyal so these can be usefully applied on porches and around the home.

While these are helpful tips they still don't answer my questions. Now that I have my very own public forum I thought I'd use it to try and get some answers. No applause, please. My intentions are noble for I seek truth, not glory. This is in no way meant to offend animal rights activists. While I disagree with PETA's tactics I respect those that would choose not to harm any animal. I could never take that path. I find animals too delicious. Nothing warms my heart like a screaming lobster.

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The Cage

I began reading Life of Pi by Yann Martel last night and there was a fascinating chapter about animals living in nature versus animals living in zoos. He talks about how animals living in zoos, if given the choice, won't escape. Is life worse for animals in zoos? They have medical care, a home, and never have to worry about food supply. A drought won't kill an elephant in a zoo. Ah, but the freedom. Freedom is worth the insecurities, right?

Why do humans, the animals most capable of adapting, tend to stay in the same places their whole lives? Hell, the reason for our evolution is figuring out how to give up nature. For every Jack Kerouac we romanticize there are a million that never stray too far from home. Do we really embrace freedom that much more than the chimp that closes it's own cage? Is a weekend in Wisconsin really stepping outside of my zoo? We have ties to people, places and things we love. I'm skeptical that the grass is greener, I kind of like mine. I wonder if it's any coincidence that iron bars are standard for Chicago residences?
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Image taken from: http://www.doglovergiftbaskets.com/files/1586691/uploaded/proselect%20empire%20cage%20open.JPG

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Green Problems

As an urban planner I've been following the green movement with interest and fascination for years. I think the goals of the green movement make sense for both the country and the world. What distresses me is that green is, for the most part, being marketed to yuppies. It makes perfect sense to market it to them. Yuppies have more disposable income and tend to be more liberal than the population at large. From a business standpoint they are the green movement. The problem is yuppies aren't trend setters.

Yuppie recruitment is taught in economic development courses as a preferred method of revitalizing a struggling urban neighborhood. How do you get yuppies to  move into a crappy neighborhood? One method is to bring in artists. Yuppies like being able to say they do interesting things. Living in a community with a robust art community is one such way. From an urban planner's standpoint one method of attracting yuppies to a place isn't to recruit the yuppies but to recruit artists. Find a non-profit and some funding to revitalize some derelict warehouse and turn it into artist studio/living space and you're on your way. What do artists like? Cheap rent. What do yuppies like? Artists. From the urban planner's standpoint it's a win-win. You attract much needed capital to the neighborhood and you can say you did it by supporting struggling artists. Then you can tell yuppie people (women) that you worked hard to redevelop an old warehouse because you believe in the power of art. Let's be honest, urban planners are generally yuppies too. It works well and its not hurting anyone. But it isn't helping everyone, either.

It isn't attracting new people to the city. It's attracting people that were already city-bound. How do you get the masses to move back to cities? How do you get the masses to "go green"? The answer is getting away from high social ideas and moving to more practical ones. I don't want to see another commercial that says my energy efficient window helps save the planet. I want to see commercials that say my dryer will save you an ass-load of money. That will speak to the American people far more than global warming ever will. The answer isn't all of us uniting around a campfire and vowing to become better citizens of the planet. The answer is in the economics. Green has to be re-branded and re-priced to become appealing to everyone or the difference it makes will be negligible. Well my social rant is over, time for a latte.
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Image taken from: http://farm1.static.flickr.com/56/115007676_98faff6509.jpg

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