Ignoble Experiment

All Come Home - music video

2011-11-11T13:59:00.001-08:00

Today is 11-11-11. As a Levin, I feel somewhat responsible for everybody having an okay time today. To that end, I offer you a tasty little bit of superpositivity in the form of a glowing audio-visual rectangle -- a music video for the song "All Come Home" by the electronic pop project Tiny Machines (Jon Margulies, April White and Lydia Ooghe)...

Enjoy!

What Should I Have Done?

2011-09-10T12:26:00.000-07:00

Years ago, back when I still sorta participated in human mating activities, I started seeing a lovely young woman I will call "Lenore." She was smart and cute and fun and stylish and quirky and creative and cool and I really enjoyed her company. But whenever we were together I felt a weird vague unease. At first, I couldn't put my finger on why, so I just ignored it. Denial makes all bad things go away!

But when I got together with her and the unease came back, I was so consumed trying to figure out what the weirdness was about that I couldn't just relax and enjoy Lenore's company. Then it hit me... from certain angles she kinda looked like my mom in her youth.

Oh.

Yeah. That's a problem. I mean, my mom is a very nice person and all, and was certainly attractive in her day, but you know... it's my mom. I believe the scientific response would be: Ew, gross.

Of course, it was only from certain angles. From other angles she looked nothing like my mom. And Lenore was really very attractive from all angles, regardless of who she resembled. I tried to ignore this too.

But no.

Because I was trying so hard to pretend there was no actual resemblance, or that it wasn't an issue, it took me a while to resign myself to the fact there was just no hope of any boners in her presence.

She soon noticed that despite how well we were getting along, nothing was really developing between us, and she wanted to know why I was holding back. She asked me if anything was bothering me.

I didn't want to hurt her feelings and I didn't want to lie. I rationalized that since the situation was nobody's fault, completely out of our control and just one of those unfortunate life things, the truth wouldn't offend her. So I told her, as gently as I could, that she kinda resembled my mom (a young and lovely version of course).

Though she did her best to remain composed, I'm pretty sure she was deeply offended and weirded out. And I never saw or heard from her again.

But what else could I have done? I mean, really?

Imagined Phone Call

2011-08-13T13:19:00.000-07:00

It is the late 60's/early 70's and LSD has swept the nation. The CEO of, say, Lockheed, or GE or some other giant military contractor, is talking on the phone to, say, some high-ranking military official. In the CEO's office, there's a giant TV nearby showing footage of dancing body-painted hippies at a huge war protest rally in a park...

CEO: Yeah, I'm watching it. ... Yes I agree, this is completely unacceptable! A bunch of drugged up shirtless queers who look like they never learned to bathe are actually undermining popular support for our WAR?! HOW the FUCK did this happen? ... Well what are we gonna do about it? Because I'll tell you something General, nothing like this is ever gonna happen again! I guarantee you that! ... Well sure, we all know we need greater control of the media. And we should have control over the government soon enough. ... Yeah, I think Reagan has worked perfectly in California and there's no reason why we can't try installing him in the White House eventually too. And if that works out, it'll prove the concept beyond all doubt and then the sky's the limit! We'll control the presidency forever and nobody will ever know.

[the footage on the TV shows a hippie who looks just like every popular depiction of Jesus ever, except with the words "Peace" and "Love" painted on his face]

CEO: Damn hippies! ... Yeah ... I hate the Christ-looking ones the most too. Jesus was supposed to be OUR thing! Christians aren't supposed to dance around naked protesting against war with fucking flowers in their beards! Christians are supposed to do what we tell 'em! They're not supposed to want to BE LIKE JESUS! They're supposed to subconsciously assume that if they behave like Jesus then we'll torture them to death! The Jesus-on-the-cross-warning worked so well for so long! How the hell did we let THAT get away from us!? ... Really? You think that in just one generation, LSD could override centuries of subconscious conditioning? ... Fuck! We are gonna need to update our goddamn playbook here!

some thoughts

2011-08-11T19:07:00.000-07:00

- If the right wing virtuosos of greed continue calling the shots for much longer, the other 99% of us will soon have only the following choices:

1. roll over and die
2. turn yourself into a raging selfish asshole in order to be accepted and able to survive
3. actively fight back and be labeled a terrorist, or discredited as insane (or both)

- I certainly don't want to be an apologist for the often-disappointing Obama administration, but we all knew that Dubya was leaving him with an impossibly huge mess to clean up, and that he'd be working in an environment of incredible hostility to his mere existence. There are right wing pundits and politicians (and those voters still fooled into drinking their kool-aid) who hate Obama and everything they think he represents so much, that they are willing -- and actively attempting! -- to burn the nation to the ground just to make sure Barack looks bad. OK sure, they're not literally setting buildings on fire (as far as I know). Their current weapons of domestic mass destruction are mostly economic, of course. President Eisenhower, a Republican and former General, warned us against allowing the military-industrial complex to get too powerful. Well, we obviously didn't listen to him and now the monster has become the military-industrial-media-financial-complex. As far as I'm concerned, the wall streeters who got rich by decimating the housing market are guilty of high treason and it's a little shocking that they haven't all been executed.

- Wait, why isn't Rupert Murdoch's head on a pike in the middle of town again?

- trying to imagine myself as a 12 year old in today's world. interesting kid. feel kinda bad for him though. his outlook is pretty bleak. or maybe he's happily making good creative use of shit like garageband on the iPad he bought with his paper-route money an' shit. Oh wait, nobody reads newspapers anymore. How do 12-year-olds make enough money to buy iPads these days? Selling meth I guess.

Bicycle Meditation Video

2011-05-25T15:15:00.001-07:00

Everyone in the US...

2010-12-20T03:44:00.000-08:00

This is Fun to Stare at

2010-12-13T23:10:00.000-08:00

2010-12-06T11:23:00.000-08:00

Unpacking and setting up some Magnetic Poetry™ yielded this:

Hip Surgery Scar

2010-11-10T09:09:00.000-08:00

Not for the squeamish...

That's most of it.

The full story of the accident is coming soon. Writing it up now.

Cheers!

Movie Review

2010-08-15T11:25:00.000-07:00

Just watched Michael Moore's "Capitalism: A Love Story."

Yep.

Thinking of moving to Denmark now.

clean energy

2010-06-26T16:32:00.000-07:00

Many Americans are depressed. Why would that be the case in such a wealthy and wonderful country? I imagine much of the time it's because people don't have meaningful work to do. They might be jobless, or might have jobs that ultimately do more harm to society than good. There are many such jobs in the mainstream these days. Maybe even most.

In our current "system," work that doesn't cause harm generally doesn't pay very well. That's not a system. That's a global pig-fuck.

But people tend to have families to feed. Or expensive habits. Or both. So people go along to get along and everything keeps sliding into the shitter, while the poor suffer and the wealthy try to distract themselves from the damage they do with ever greater parties and ever more obscene luxuries.

Even if people have enough genuinely joyful distractions to prevent them from focusing on this whole "sliding inexorably into the shitter" thing, many of them are vaguely aware of it, and it makes them vaguely uneasy. They don't quite know, or admit, why. But they just feel depressed. So we medicate them with Prozac and the like, to keep them in the game. Like shooting the QB's knee full of a local anesthetic, it enables continued service while increasing the damage to oneself, and perpetuates the game that causes the harm in the first place. From my own life, antidepressants once made it possible for me to keep getting up in the morning and driving myself in a shitbox car on a dreary highway to go to sit in a windowless mailroom performing an utterly mindless routine in service to a ridiculous and utterly wasteful industry, for such little pay that it only sustained me enough to keep me showing up for the godawful work. Woo hoo.

Instead of that, people with no jobs, or with shitty oppressive jobs, should have access to a system that makes it easy for them to transition into well-paying work helping to create the sustainable clean-energy future. Tax money should no longer go toward anything that kills or poisons anyone anywhere or damages wildlife and ecosystems. That, of course, will free up hundreds of billions of dollars to devote to creating, running and maintaining sustainable clean-energy systems free to all people everywhere.

From a Comment on Chelsy's Recent FB Status

2010-05-28T12:45:00.000-07:00

"1-800-Universe, how may I direct your call?"
"Uh, travel department please?"
"One moment."
[less than one moment later...]
"Travel, how may I help you?"
"Uh, traffic is way heavy right now, and um, I'm totally gonna miss my flight, ya know?"
"Ah... yep. I see it right here. Yeah, no way you're gonna make that flight with the traffic as it now stands. Literally, from the looks of it."
"Can you do anything?"
"We're the Universe. Of course we can do anything."
"Let me rephrase the question. How should we proceed?"
-----
"Well, that all depends. Which universe do you wanna move to?"
"What are my top, say, 3 options?"
"There's the universe where the dude who broke down on the highway in front of you, causing the traffic jam you're stuck in, decides to stay home and play video-games instead. You make it to your existing flight. There's one where traffic remains lousy, but a mechanic accidentally drops a wrench into a part of the plane your flight's on that should never have a wrench rattling around in it, and it takes long enough to remove it to delay the flight until you're safely on it. You make it to your destination just fine, only a couple hours late. Next we have a semi-wacky universe in which a hot-air balloon filled with rodeo clowns gets blown off course and makes an unexpected landing right next to your car so you jump out and impulsively ask if they'll give you a lift to the airport. They check the wind conditions and agree. Up you go, but it turns out they are dastardly rodeo clowns who intend to kidnap you and enslave you to the balloon-traveling rodeo show they're part of. Now, before I continue, if you pick this universe, there will be a question of whether you decide to join the rodeo clowns or actually get to your flight. And even if you do opt for the flight, there will still be a 40% chance or better that you will one day join the rodeo clowns, for they are highly persuasive rodeo clowns. Sorry, I just like saying 'rodeo clowns' for some reason."
"That's okay."
"Oh, and of course, you could always just opt to stay in this universe, miss your flight, spend an evening in the hotel airport, fly out the next morning and get to your destination a day late."
"What are the various ramifications I should consider for each choice?"
"Well, if you go with the video game guy staying home, nothing bad happens to you, nothing especially amazing either. The guy who stays home loses his job though. He's on his couch, smokes some pot, gets into 'Halo' or whatever, forgets to call in sick, and they just can him. Ah, but there's a slim chance this motivates the guy to get his shit together. Or possibly try to reform his band. Ooh. Not good. Um, also, several of the other people on the road make it to respective flights which they wouldn't otherwise, and one of those leads to a marriage proposal. Ah, but it gets shot down and the would-be suitor goes into a terrible depression for years. When he comes out of it, he has an idea for an invention that he thinks could make him rich (makes it possible to get toothpaste back into a tube... huh...) um, but if he pursues it he will lose his shirt because as it turns out, nobody gives a crap about getting toothpaste back into the tube. That, and the invention is the size of a small filing cabinet."
"So, wait... is that a good choice universe or not?"
"Hmm... really not sure. Let's see how it compares to the other choices."
"Good. Hit me."
"In the dropped-wrench universe, you make it to your destination a bit late, so you avoid traffic heading to where you're staying, which gets you there very quickly and in precise timing to catch a cat-burglar, making you a hero to the community. But your car takes a turn fast enough to startle a pedestrian into dropping his cel-phone leading to a chain of events too long to list but which ends with a very old man getting crushed by a falling refrigerator."
"What, out on the sidewalk?"
"In a stairwell. It's okay though, he lived a full life."
"Next?"
"Well, next is you join rodeo clowns who travel from show to show via hot-air balloon and often miss their targets leading them off on crazy adventures full of wacky hijinks. Also, the possibility exists that you visit NYC briefly in the middle there."
"What kind of wacky hijinks?"
"You mean, precisely? You want an itemized list? Well, many of them appear to be falling-out-of-balloon-and-landing-on-something-wacky-related. Can we maybe group those together and--"
"I think I get the idea. What's next?"
"You chillax at the airport hotel for an overnight. The room is adequate but you can't sleep, so you go to the lounge for a drink in the middle of the night and are mistaken for a spy. A waiter mysteriously slips you a check before you've even ordered. When you open the black leatherette check-folio thingy, the slip says 'Room 404, under the bed, 649' and there's a key to the room taped to it."
"Then what?"
"You go to the room, crawl under the bed and find a small box taped to the underside. You pull it free, and see it is combination-locked. You slide the numbers to read '649' and it opens. A voice instructs you to--
"Maybe just cut to the chase?"
"You survive your attackers, foil the evil plot of a genocidal madman, defuse a bomb with mere seconds left, and are then recruited by a super-elite secret strike force. But during a shootout with evil henchmen, one of your bullets ricochets off a fire-escape, through an opposite window and kills a young boy's pet lizard. He swears revenge and one day grows up to be your arch-nemesis, Doctor Iguana!"
"Oh, I am TOTALLY doing that one!"
"You sure you wouldn't rather do the wrench one, or the universe with the--"
"This is between me, and the lizard man."

Jon Margulies DJ's Hobotech at Coachella

2010-05-08T08:32:00.000-07:00

Introducing Maestro Mancoluto

2010-01-22T11:04:00.001-08:00

If Republicans Get to Run the World...

2009-12-18T21:47:00.000-08:00

...for an extended period of time, we may eventually see winters when homeless people freezing to death in the streets all over the country, are rounded up and marched/dumped into furnaces to heat the homes of the wealthy.

Balancing Act

2009-11-16T22:37:00.001-08:00

2009-10-22T17:10:00.001-07:00

Fortune Cookie

2009-07-27T18:23:00.000-07:00

I have a fortune cookie fortune tacked to my fridge.

It says: "Moderate your appetite so that with a little, you may be content."

Tacked to the fridge, it would seem like a good reminder for someone on a diet.

Or a budget.

Which is, like, nobody in America.

But probably should be 95% of the population.

Or more.

I kept it because I like applying it to other areas of life. Or trying anyway.

And, right... we should probably also apply the principle to society as a whole.

But of course, it has to start with individuals.

Enough individuals to reach a Gladwellian tipping point.

Feel free to use the term "Gladwellian" all you like (only for people familiar with the work of Malcolm Gladwell).

Once a tipping point of individuals with a new viewpoint is reached, society as a whole spasms forward. Then strides confidently. Then coasts for a bit.

In any case, I find that doing with less not only doesn't diminish my fun, it increases it. By maybe a lot!

Case in point: the immense blackout of summer '03. I ended up going to my roof where I met and hung out with some random neighbors from my building in dumbo. We'd all had the same idea: to watch the sun set behind a Manhattan skyline that wasn't going to light up. As if Christo, for the sake of Art, had covered all the windows of a normal Manhattan in heavy black construction paper. Just for one night. Just for the fuck of it. It was a pretty amazing sight.

In addition to their personalities, people brought things from their refrigerators/freezers to share. Spontaneously. And not just booze. Other stuff too.

Jeff contributed a hammock. I retrieved a lantern and an acoustic guitar. Various people brought varying ability to play guitar. There were cute girls.

It was the most fun I'd had in a while.

I'd like NYC to do that on purpose.

Every so often.

Regularly, even.

These 24-hour "electricity holidays" would of course be scheduled and announced well in advance, with plenty of reminders. Don't want people to have to climb up out of subway tunnels 'n' shit.

I could stand to do that once a month, possibly once a week. Would it kill us to go Amish one day out of seven? I think we might find we like it so much that some of us opt to get together for small-scale impromptu power-downs of our own. Though, it may be rough on gamers, geeks and internet-addicts (he typed into a blogger composition window).

It could become a tourist attraction too, but with no street lights, driving a car into/in town would have to be strictly forbidden. Well, maybe we would need minimal street lights, if for no reason other than to protect pedestrians from cyclists, who would most likely want to take full advantage of car-free roads throughout the entire city [viva la bicicleta!] Restaurants with gas stoves could still prepare candle-lit meals in candle-lit kitchens, and probably charge a healthy premium.

Street artists / performers covered in EL-wire and cool battery-powered blinky-tronic stuff would attract crowds, as would fire-spinners, drum-circles, little jazz combos, all over town.

Hospitals and all emergency response shit would of course still draw power as normal.

Dance club owners would be pissed.

So... clearly there are still a few minor kinks to work out.

I Love the Jungle

2009-05-20T18:27:00.000-07:00

Jungle vs. Jungle

2009-04-29T11:06:00.000-07:00

Here are some of my favorite differences between Peru's Amazon jungle and NYC's urban one...

PERU
Everybody I met seemed completely happy

NYC
Nobody I meet seems particularly happy at all

PERU
Nobody complains about anything, not even children

NYC
Everybody complains about everything

PERU
Most folks don't have a pot to piss in

NYC
Piss-pots abound (and come in many fancy styles and colors)

PERU
Sits on edge of largest expanse of wild nature on Earth

NYC
Has well-manicured, perfectly rectangular tree museum in the middle of it

PERU
Jungle rats are not only edible and delicious, but are even medicinal (cure bronchitis)

NYC
Rats must not be eaten under any circumstances, and their unstoppable army will one day rule the surface world

PERU
Totally worth learning Spanish for

NYC
Spanish can’t hurt you here either, actually

Thought of the Day

2009-04-10T08:42:00.000-07:00

Here's how it all boils down:

The more we merge with what we create (products, fashions, entertainment distractions, etc.) the more stressed out and sick we become, on the individual, societal and environmental levels. The more we merge with that which creates us (each other, nature, a higher power/spiritual realm) the happier and healthier we become, on the individual, societal and environmental levels.

Enjoy your day!

Ok, I Admit it...

2009-04-08T18:31:00.000-07:00

... there are some TV shows that I genuinely enjoy.

I know, I know. That makes me a lousy leftist. And a less interesting person. But at least I'm honest.

One of the shows I like is this new, slightly overweening drama "Kings." Big budget, good acting, interesting characters, insightful writing with keen social commentary, blah blah blah. It doesn't hurt that the lighting, cinematography, sets and locations are all gorgeous either, with many of the exteriors and even many interiors shot in NYC, to great effect. I recognized the auditorium of the New York Times HQ building in a recent episode. It looked better in the show than it did in person.

The most recent episode was kind of a metaphor for the Israeli/Palestinian conflict, centering on a land-for-peace deal, bitterly opposed by the people living in the area that would be given back to the enemy in exchange for an end to the violence. Except in this case, the land in question is, like, Seattle.

The other show I like is one that, by rights, I should loathe. Or at least seriously resent. It is a middle-brow work-place comedy, stupidly entitled "Better Off Ted." The first mildly irritating thing about the show is that its logo uses the exact same font as the TED conference organization, a truly important cultural force which no mere TV show would ever deserve to be associated with. But then, it's just a logo font and I should probably let it go.

The show is about a guy (obviously named 'Ted') who runs the research and development efforts of an amoral mega-corporation portrayed as something like GE and Monsanto combined. They make everything from light bulbs to genetically modified food crops to advanced weapons systems. Each episode begins with a promotional spot for this fictitious company complete with mellifluous female voice-over and slick production quality. The main character is a likable everyman, aware of the absurdities of his job while struggling to live up to the fairly basic moral code which he has instilled in his own 7-year-old (?) daughter. The other characters are all quirky and likable too and include an obligatory cute love-interest woman, two obligatory nerdy/zany lab-coated scientists who argue a lot despite being best friends, and then there's Ted's boss. She is the second thing about the show that mildly irritates me.

Ted's boss is basically (exactly!) a character I wrote as the boss of a giant cosmetics company in a zombie screenplay I've been working on (on and off) for, um, wow, a few years now, crap. Some of you might be familiar with it. Anyway, seeing what pretty well amounts to a character I created some years ago, fully realized in a mainstream network TV show today is... I gotta say... pretty fucking strange. I feel like I should be really pissed off, but Portia de Rossi does such a good job with the character (playing her as the single most comically icy and heartless person you've ever begrudgingly liked) that I can't really complain. If anything, it makes me want to submit scripts and force my way onto the show's writing staff.

The satire varies from pretty dead-on sharp, to not-edgy-or-scathing-enough, to satirizing something which is even more absurd/horrible in real life so you can't count it as satire. Obviously, I'd like to see the show take a meaner, darker approach, but even in its currently tame and whimsical state, I have to admit... it does kinda tickle me. Pretty consistently too. And yeah, if I wrote for it, it would be much harder to find sponsors and it would have to be on late at night (much less "family friendly") and would probably piss off a lot of decent salt-of-the-earth types. Oh well. I guess I'll have to be satisfied with it the way it is. For better or worse, it definitely reminds me of some of the actual jobs I've had over the years. Well right, I guess that would have to go in the "worse" column.

Of course, it is also possible that this piece of toothless fluff is completely lame, I'm losing my mind in my old age and am now way too easily amused. I really don't know.

Cheers!

PS: Sorry I've dropped off the face of the earth lately. I'll try to pay more attention to this here word thing again. I'm leaving for Peru on the 16th, staying in the jungle for a couple weeks, and may have some fun things to write about upon my return, so there's that.

The YouTube Mashup Bar Has Been Raised

2009-03-14T02:48:00.000-07:00

Let's Play The Feud...

2009-02-17T15:31:00.000-08:00

YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO USE MY ANSWERS! Copy this note and write a new note. Then erase my answers and fill in your answers. Tag your friends and don't forget to tag me too. Remember, you can't use the same answer as the person who sent it to you. If my answers are dumb, it's because the person before me had the good ones!

1. Name something you use in the shower: salad tongs

2. Name something a football player wears under his uniform: pantyhose

3. Name something people hate to find on their windshield: dead hooker

4. Name something a man might buy before a date: salad tongs

5. What is another word for blemish? Dubya

6. Something you cook in the microwave: chips ahoy cookies, seriously, 20 seconds, try it.

7. Name a piece of furniture people need help moving: man-sized safe

8. Name something a dog does that embarrasses its owner: puts the porn video they made on the internet

9. Name a kind of test you cannot study for: sobriety

10. Name something a boy scout gets a merit badge for: ratting out commies

11. Name a phrase with the word "home" in it: "play along with The Newlywed Game home version, only $19.95 available at Walgreens and wherever fine products are sold"

12. Name a sport where players lose teeth: The Sugar 5000

13. Name something a teacher can do to ruin a student's day: threaten to stop sleeping with him unless he murders her husband

14. What is a way you can tell someone has been crying? review the nanny-cam footage

15. Name something a person wears even if it has a hole in it: swiss cheese helmet

16. Name something that gets smaller the more you use it: global oil supply

25 fake things

2009-02-10T05:51:00.000-08:00

In case you're not on the facebook.

(I would kind of like to see us lose our fascination with pseudo-obligatory nuisance chains. I mean, I thought memes were only supposed to spread via some sort of merit and not a misplaced sense of obligation/peer pressure. Having said that, yeah... I totally caved.)

1. I am fluent in almost 2 languages: English and Idioglossia.

2. Shortly after I was born, my parents were bitten by a wolfman. Raised by werefolk.

3. My boyscout leader taught me the proper way to smoke crack.

4. My favorite food is toast.

5. When I was in the 7th grade, I killed several prostitutes in dark alleyways of London and totally got away with it!

6. I am equal parts lizard, goat, soy and Rasputin.

7. As a small child, when adults used to ask me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I always said the same thing... "The mayor of ho-town!"

8. Throughout the 70's, I commanded my own Army of God and led my men on a campaign of destruction the likes of which Ridgewood, NJ had never seen.

9. Sometimes, when I didn't know the correct answer in history class, I would save face by pretending to be my own twin brother.

10. I once invented a time machine and went back in time and stopped myself from being born, just to see what would happen, and I've been stuck in a paradox ever since. It kinda blows.

11. My first real job in NYC was for a large company owned by a 60-something British gentleman and avid mountaineer who had once summitted Everest. One time, while flirting with our receptionist, I jokingly said I suspected the owner was merely compensating for the fact that his parents named him "Leslie" and then I called the man a "pathetic little pansy" not realizing he was right behind me the whole time. He challenged me to a race up the entire staircase of the office building (32 flights) the following day at noon. At the starting gun, he elbowed me in the ribcage as hard as he could, knocking me off balance, then bolted, taking the stairs two at a time like they were nothing. As soon as I regained my footing, I followed, ignoring the pain shooting through my chest. He had a commanding lead, but I figured I'd make up some distance if I could keep a steady pace into the upper third. By around the 25th floor, I was right on his heels, though he was still taking the stairs two at a time. The blood was pounding in my ears, as was the sound of our breathing and our footsteps echoing down the fluorescent-lit gray and beige concrete stairwell. The pain in my side had increased considerably and was making it all the more difficult to breathe, all the more painful to use the banister to help hoist myself up. I couldn't believe a guy 40 years older than me was still ahead, seemingly fine. Two flights later he faltered a bit, tripping ever so slightly, but quickly righted himself and continued as before. But it meant he was getting tired. So I made my move. Leg muscles burning, I shoved past him on the outside as we were making a flight-turn. Between huffs and puffs I said "Take THAT old man!" (though it probably sounded more like "Tay... tha... oh... muh...!") and with renewed zeal I started taking the remaining stairs 3 at a time, opening up a decent lead. This proved unsustainable and on the last flight I tripped, badly. I was disoriented for just a moment, but it was long enough for the old man to catch up. He took the opportunity to stomp my left ankle which was draped from one step to the next. I felt, and we both heard, the bone crunch a little. The pain was excruciating. Still, I dragged myself the rest of the way onto the roof, emerging into the midday sunshine only two or three steps behind him. He turned, pointed at me and was about to tell me I was fired and what a loser I was when he suffered both a massive heart attack and stroke. He was dead almost instantly. Whew, dodged a bullet there!

12. I like beagles.

13. My favorite diseases are the ones with the least clinical names: scurvy, scrapey, pringles, shegetz, exploding buttock disease, etc.

14. My favorite Star Wars character is the second Jawa from the left. I don't know his name, so I just call him 'Biff.'

15. I woud like to bring back names that have gone out of style, and so plan to call my male children things like: Smedley, Ozymandias, Abner, Agamemnon, Ivanhoe, Caligula and Kevin. My female children will be named: Bertha, Hecate, Lucretia -- wait a minute... those are actually kinda cool. Hmm. Female names not mockable. Never mind.

16. I have had lots of odd jobs: paperboy, rockboy, scissorboy, waterboy, astroboy, pickleboy, doorman, floorman, corpsman, manwhore, manservant, manager, ump, wimp, tramp, scamp, vamp, party clown, rodeo clown, subway clown, elevator clown, laundromat clown, sidewalk clown, crosswalk clown, urinal clown, fast-food restaurant employee, bookkeeper, bookloser, bookstealer, bookbanner, bookbinder, minderbinder, masterminderbinder, elf (x-mas), elf (regular), elf (high-octane), meal-replacement bartender and stooge.

17. Speaking of... My favorite of the Three Stooges is Shemp: the unsung stooge.

18. I was once bitten by a radioactive tree-sloth, giving me sloth powers, so I designed a costume and became Slothman, but nobody knew the difference so now I just hang out.

19. In the future, I will be Andy Warhol for fifteen minutes.

20. I am trying to get into the habit of... an attractive nun I met the other day. [rimshot!]

21. When future archaeologists unearth the time capsule I buried, the contents will convince them that every single other person living in this era has also buried a time capsule somewhere. I love messin' with future archaeologists.

22. I know the difference between your, you're, yore and yawer.

23. I blindly accept all cookies.

24. In all honesty, I can't be trusted.

25. Murly bok zaklompt feffen arungulous, pafto sherzen bejerzen. Oytag tatz? Totz. Tonkle totz. (See #1.)

25 Actual Things

2009-01-30T13:36:00.000-08:00

Okay, here's the real list...

1. I was born 8 days early. This was the last time I was early for anything. Or on time even.

2. Around the age of 4, on a lovely suburban spring day, my mom told me to play outside (I think she just needed a little quiet time to herself). I refused. She shuffled me out the kitchen storm door. I opened it and came back in. She shuffled me out again and locked the storm door. I punched my fist through the window, cutting my soft little hand to ribbons. Blood and glass everywhere. What a stubborn little bastard.

3. My three most physically painful experiences so far: molar drilled with no novocaine, kidney stone, thumbnail ripped off. Of the three, I bet the one that made you wince was the thumbnail.

4. When I was a teenager, I never thought I'd live to see 30, partly because I expected Ronald Reagan, motivated solely by shits and giggles, to push The Button. But also because I assumed I'd do something really reckless at some point. These two things are of course related.

5. Even though I'm into health food and preserving nature all that good stuff, I have a secret perverse desire to create crassly commercial genetic abominations. E.g.: splice the gene that causes coffee beans to have caffeine in 'em, into cow DNA -- ladies and gentlemen, I give you... HyperBeef™!

6. Turning to sports... I peaked athletically at the age of 12. But back then (and I'm totally serious) I was pure poetry in motion. Okay, I'm still poetry in motion, only now the poet is Ogden Nash.

7. I am a perfectionist. I'm also a lazy slob. These sound completely incompatible, and they are. When I was young: torment. Now: meh.

8. In elementary school, my favorite subject was math. But in 7th grade, I decided words were more fun than numbers. Been paying the price ever since.

9. At 13, I was one of the first kids in my town to convince his parents to get a computer for the home. My dad, whose giant multinational pharmaceutical company had a Honeywell 6000 mainframe taking up half the corporate campus, wanted to know: why on god's green earth would we ever need a home computer? What the hell are you going to do with it?!? "I could do my school homework!" I said, by which I meant play games. The computer was an "Apple 2 plus" -- apple ][+ -- and it came with 48K RAM (expandable to 64K) at which my father was completely astonished. So much memory! How could you possibly ever NEED that much!? To put that in perspective, it might be enough memory to hold a second or two of an mp3.

10. I played the sousaphone in my high school marching band. Clearly, I thought I was this guy:

But everybody else probably thought I was this guy...

Really, I was probably closest to being this guy...

11. When I was at the height of my teen angst and confusion, I had a dream wherein all the mystical secrets of the Universe were revealed to me. I remember being so blissfully happy in the dream, to finally have the answers! It was all so simple. It made so much sense. I had understanding! It was genuinely wonderful. Then I woke up and was helpless to stop it from all slipping away, leaving me with an incredibly profound sense of loss. A cosmic tease of infinite bigness!

12. Whenever someone I grew up with finds me on the facebook and asks if I "remember when we did that thing by the place where we went that time? That was so much fun!/I was so mad at you!" I almost never know what they're talking about. So I ask, "Are you sure that was me?" and they're all like, "Totally sure! Don't you remember? That song by [80's pop group I swear I've never heard of] was playing on the radio and you said something funny about goats! Remember?" Um... I got nothing. This makes me feel slightly stupid. But in my defense, it was the 80's and I was in a state of fairly constant background-level existential itch, so for most of the time I just wasn't paying attention, even when it looked like I was. I usually joke that I've long since killed the brain cells that stored those memories. But I'm sure it's all in there somewhere.

13. Supposedly, my first word was "shit."

14. I never acquired ability to sight-read music because I memorized everything by ear long before figuring out what all the dots and squiggles were. Thus, I never became a musician. If I didn't believe in reincarnation, I'd probably regret this.

15. I occasionally talk to myself. For a while, this took the form of pretend conversations as a guest on Letterman. But not anymore. Now it's Jon Stewart. No offense Dave.
"None taken Jonnyboy. If you ever feel like paying us another visit, the door's always open."
"Thanks Dave, I'll try to pretend to make it back from time to time."

16. There are two babysitters from my childhood who stand out in my memory. One was Eddie, who could draw really cool-looking rocketships, and would let us build couch-cushion fortresses. The other was a girl whose name I've forgotten, but who we found incredibly entertaining because of this thing she could do with a ping-pong ball. (Haha, no. She could keep it bouncing on a paddle hundreds of times without missing. Impressive to a 6-year-old. Her record was over 700 hits I think. Come to think of it, that's impressive to me now! My brother and I were truly amazed but she must've been bored to tears. Yet, she indulged us, applying zen-like concentration to the super-repetitive, utterly pointless task.)

17. I was more of an adult 20 years ago than I am now.

18. I used to chop wood and carry water. Now, I chop wood and carry water. (In the future, I will use lasers!)

19. I can fall in love with a woman based solely on the sound of her voice/laugh. This has backfired on me.

20. Corollary to #19: If her voice doesn't do it for me, I could find a woman super-attractive in every other way and still not be able to -- ahem -- consummate. The attempt to ignore this has backfired on me.

21. When I was in the 5th grade, for Halloween, my elementary school had a "crazy hat contest." I figured all the other kids would come to school dressed as normal Halloween-ish things, with the addition of a hat with all sorts of wacky crap glued onto it. To counter this, and in an early manifestation of my love of efficiency, I decided to simply dress up as a hat for Halloween. I fashioned a crude giant wizard hat shape out of chicken-wire, and my mom helped me cover it in a dark fabric (all she had was purple) to which I hastily attached yellow stars and crescent moons an' shit. Even with the little eye holes we cut, it was difficult to see out of, and nearly impossible to climb stairs in. And even though it probably made me look more like a giant magical purple condom than anything else, I won the hat contest. (From this I concluded that 'concept' took precedence over 'execution', and that's why I've never achieved anything in life. Wah wah.)

22. I used to think that logic, reason and the scientific method would lead us to all knowable knowledge. I don't think that anymore.

23. As much as I consider myself a "word guy" linguistic precision doesn't really matter to me. And I'm not very good at scrabble™ -- I can't help wanting to make up my own words ('spaloney' should totally be a thing). I do take special notice whenever I, or someone else, utters a phrase or sentence which I can't imagine has ever been uttered before. One recent example: "Oh no, I spilled the oat-bran into the laundry basket full of garden hose."

24. Whenever I go for any length of time without a steady 9-to-5, I become completely nocturnal.

25. When I was 4 years old, I was in a pre-school class at our local synagogue. One day while the kids were all sitting on the floor listening to the teacher read us a story, a really tall girl named Sarah-Jane trapped me under her dress/skirt/thing. I struggled and crawled out only to have her trap me under it again. It was yellow, and allowed enough light in so I could see the floral pattern on her underwear. I remember being glad I didn't have flowers on my underwear. Anyway, as humiliated as I thought I should feel at being trapped by a girl, under her dress, I didn't want to do anything particularly drastic to change the situation. I didn't want to interrupt the teacher or the story-time, so I didn't yell. And I guess I figured it would be wrong to hit a girl, especially, you know, in the crotch. So, I just sat there, listening to the slightly muffled sound of Sarah-Jane trying to contain her giggles, and looking at her long, smooth legs. I sometimes wonder what happened to her. Probably a lawyer now.

Meme memed.

A New Era of Honesty and Transparency

2009-01-22T20:58:00.000-08:00

After I became an absurdly and unalterably happy guy about 12 years ago, I found myself bereft of the perverse joy of angry cynicism and mean-spirited dark humor that had nurtured me like a criminally insane mother's love for so many years. Despite the fact that this perverse pleasure was replaced by genuine joy, and thus has long been rendered utterly obsolete, I still crave it on occasion, and depending on how much caffeine I've ingested, am still capable of conjuring up some seriously cynical, though hopefully funny, shit.

And even though an honest man is finally -- finally -- sitting in the Oval Office; and even though that pilot did an amazing job landing that jet a few doors down from my apartment; and even though, thanks to the combination of corporate layoffs, a "warn notice" and a little thing called "severance" I get to be a man of relative leisure for a time; and even though the TED conference videos consistently reaffirm my faith in humanity... there are still at least a few things worth getting psychotically enraged over.

Like the fact that while I've been quietly expecting a major melt-down of the global economy for 14 years (ever since my first real corporate job inadvertently taught me that our entire economic "system" was built primarily on... absolutely fucking nothing) the "experts" were all caught with their pants down, shocked and awed. This is so infuriating it makes me feel like the Napoleon Dynamite guy at his most exasperated: "IDIOTS!" Why, only a few months before the market first crashed, I was telling a co-worker how I occasionally fantasized about one day owning an energy-independent off-grid home up in the woods somewhere, with a greenhouse to grow my own vegetables, allowing me to cut all conceivable ties to "the system." She asked why I would ever want to do something so extreme, and, among other things, I mentioned how it was so patently -- painfully -- obvious to me that our current practice of capitalism was inherently unsustainable and doomed to fail.

Ta da!

For my next trick, I'll guess the number of jelly beans in that giant jar: zero! (You can no longer afford jelly beans.)

During that conversation, my coworker didn't agree with me. She didn't see things the way I did. Nor did I expect her to. The patterns, the connections. But the fact that the professionals, the people who supposedly devoted their careers to studying every little detail of the corrupt, unregulated house of cards vapor and make-believe we call The Market, couldn't see what was so unavoidably clear to me, a nobody, was really rather frustrating. Or maybe they just refused to see/admit it. I mean, it does make a lot more sense that it would really be collective denial instead of collective idiocy.

But... it is now the dawn of a new era. The Obama era. The era of leaders who might actually do stuff that makes sense. The era of leaders who will base their decisions on "reality" and the good advice of people who know what the fuck they're talking about. The era of leaders who, when asked simple direct questions, will give simple honest answers. The era of leaders who might actually give a shit about the people who elected them. The era of leaders who can admit it when they make mistakes and accept responsibility for their actions/decisions like any normal adult. The era of leaders who don't have their heads up their asses. The era of leaders who aren't in it solely for the money (since there won't be any). The era of leaders we can actually respect.

Goodbye to the time of unbridled stupidity and greed! Hello to the time of unbridled... um... horniness!

Best of all, I've got my next project lined up, and I couldn't ask for a better one. It's in its embryonic stages right now, so I'm not going to say anything else about it. Just, you know, send me good productivity vibes. Yeah... just like that. Ooh... yeah, vibey.

Of course, there might someday come a time when I'll need to return to playing the role of drooling lackey to some corporate ogre, combing the help-wanted ads like everybody else. And I hope that if that day does come, this era of openness and honesty will be at its full flower. Imagine the types of job listings there could be...

DETAIL ORIENTED
Hyper-organized anal-retentive mouse-person with no life whatsoever wanted for extremely abusive department assistant position. Very long hours of high-stress low-paying drudgery peppered with occasional verbal/emotional torture. Those with friends, self-respect, need not apply.

SALES $
Relentless amoral asshole wanted to SELL SELL SELL! Do you have what it takes to convince poor people to spend what little money they have on nonsensical garbage nobody would ever need in a thousand years? Can you ignore the fact that rapacious consumerism will bury civilization under its own flatulent bulk until it chokes itself completely to death? Do you often feel like a hungry shark in a tank of bleeding pudgy children who never got past the doggie-paddle? Do you like feeling that way? (Do you love it?) If you answered yes to these questions, we want to hire you, you magnificent piece of shit!

EXECUTIVE ASSISTANT
Hot girl wanted for position as executive assistant to Senior VP of Marketing for a successful alcoholic beverage company. Must be exceedingly hot. Must have tastefully office-appropriate, yet totally hot wardrobe. Knowledge of and enthusiasm for alcoholic beverages a big plus. Good phone manner a plus. Anything less than top-tier hot need not apply.

HAZARD PAY
Extremely desperate individuals wanted for highly dangerous work with little chance of survival. On the job training. $1000 for every full week of service. Poor sense of smell a plus. Always plenty of positions to fill. Call any time and ask for Bob.

Stop Light Pollution...

2009-01-12T08:03:00.000-08:00

... or else images like this one will no longer be possible to capture (it's a 360 degree panorama flattened out into a rectangle, showing our galaxy in the night sky over Death Valley).

Something I'd Like to See

2009-01-06T12:38:00.000-08:00

I just came back from the dentist. Routine cleaning/check-up. Everything's fine in there.

My dentist happens to be a really hot woman (married, alas) and all her hygienists are also really hot. Walking in there reminds me of the purple-roofed ethical suicide parlor from the Kurt Vonnegut short story, "Welcome to the Monkey House" except instead of the hot women in their white clinical outfits putting you to death, they simply inflict pain and discomfort on your tender teeth and gums for a while after which you emerge with cleaner, smoother choppers. That metal claw? The suction tube? The rotary grit-scrubber? That ultrasonic torture needle? The stuff of nightmares! Except, wielded by a pretty girl, so how bad could it all be?

Personally, I think that instead of white lab coats it would be more appropriate if they were dressed in full-on dominatrix gear. More appropriate and hotter.

That's all.

Get Ready for More Bloggy Goodness

2008-12-23T09:14:00.000-08:00

Last Thursday, our overlords informed us that they are shutting our portion of the empire down and laying us all off -- over 200 people. Wheeeee.

Don't really have time to write at the moment, so perhaps more about that in a future post. You see, I have until end of day tomorrow to tie up all the loose ends, finalize everything, square everything away clear out my desk and turn in my magnetic ID card. I've got more work to do now than I've had in months.

But as of X-mas day, I will suddenly have nothing to do and nowhere to go, able to coast for at least a little while on a reasonably decent -- all things considered -- severance, and that means mucho blogging-o.

Not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

But for all my regular readers: my job loss is your bloggy gain! Or will be soon.

If you have any specific requests... things you'd like me to write about, issues or problems you'd like me to address... feel free to send 'em my way.

Happy happy!

Someone Made My Invention

2008-12-12T11:40:00.001-08:00

A long time ago, I had an idea to generate electricity by harnessing the kinetic energy of people moving through doors. I didn't patent it or nuthin' but I did eventually write about it in a blog-post here. And now, a little over a year later, the thing is for reals! Woo hoo! Of course, it took the Dutch to actually make the thing. We really need to take a page from their book. Several pages really. Maybe the whole book. I, personally, would like to see our 'New Amsterdam' adopt many more of the ways of original Amsterdam. It would be better for all concerned.

Anyway, seeing as how the nifty door thing has magically appeared in the real world (or, the Netherlands anyway) about a year after I wrote about it, here's another thing that really needs to exist, which I don't have the resources to make myself, but which the Dutch could certainly show us the way toward creating/using on a large scale (more of a technique than a "thing") and if they do it a year from now, well, better late than never...

This idea came to me on September 11th, 2001. As you may recall... there were these two really tall skyscrapers, with massive fires raging on upper floors. Firefighters who arrived on the scene went into the buildings from the ground, dragging their gear up the endless flights of stairs, climbing against the tide of people fleeing, which must have slowed everybody down in both directions. They helped many people escape the towers but continuing upward, and upward to put the fires out proved futile. The buildings collapsed. They all died -- over 300 of the bravest individuals our society is ever likely to produce, faced with an impossible task which became a suicide mission, all because of an inappropriate response to a specific problem. How do you put out a massive fire on an upper floor of a skyscraper, hundreds of feet in the air? Conventional firefighting techniques were never intended for such a thing. Men carrying hose from a ground-based pump, up 90 flights of stairs -- simply not right for the job. It's not a matter of good or bad. Only a matter of finding the tool or technique that best fits the situation. You don't use a claw hammer to remove a splinter from your finger and you don't use tweezers to pull a nail out of a board.

The right tool for this particular job would have been a small fleet of water-tank equipped helicopters.

Now, obviously, these already exist. Planes too. They are used primarily to help put out forest fires, wildfires in places with no fire hydrants, etc. They fill their tanks by scooping from lakes, rivers or the ocean, then fly over the fire and drop tons of water quickly. They can also drop other types of chemical fire-retardants which, as I understand it, would've been better than water for combatting the WTC fires, since they were caused by jet-fuel. Still, water would've been better than nothing, as it could have dissipated much of the heat which is assumed to have caused the failure of the steel support beams of the towers -- unless you believe, as some video evidence seems to suggest, that there were explosive charges already in place throughout the buildings.

Regardless. Why doesn't NYC have, say, ten of these firefighting aircraft? Five even. Last I checked, this town, with so many especially tall structures, is built on a bunch of little islands. Lots of water within easy reach of just about all the skyscrapers. It would be perfectly easy to deploy such helicopters to any part of town, at a moment's notice, all filled up and ready to go.

Perhaps even better than having them repeatedly scoop up water, fly to the scene and drop it, the helicopters could be equipped with extremely powerful on-board pumps and massively long hoses that could unspool and either attach to a hydrant, or simply dip an anchored end into the river. You suck water up continuously and spray it at the fire without ever having to stop to refill. If it's the dead of winter and the river is iced over, you build a heating element into the anchor end of the hose, melt your way through the ice to the water underneath, and pump away.

This is too obvious not to exist. It might be expensive to create, maintain and deploy. It would require teams of pilots and firefighters with highly specialized training, which, again, would be costly. But compared to the loss of life and property of a 9/11? A bargain at any price! Without it, the next massive fire that takes place on a high floor of a skyscraper will be just as impossible to counter as the WTC fire was, and more brave men and women will die needlessly. But with such an obvious system in place, they would at least have a fighting chance.

Look for a Dutch company to start up such a program in a year or two.

Instant Holiday Classic

2008-12-12T07:32:00.000-08:00

This double-plus-good video entitled "The Seven Levels of Christmas" was created by my friends Lem Huntington and Sean Kaplan, and is certain to worm its way into the creamy center of your mind where it will incubate, gestate, hatch, mature, and then, on the day of destiny it will leave the nest of your head to take its act on the road, whereupon you will know the bittersweet yin-yang fulfillment of parenthood at its most harrowing [cough] rewarding.

HOWEVER: I recommend you do not watch this video unless your cerebral cortex is properly coated in at least one (preferably more than one) fortifying scheduled substance. Should you watch it in your raw, unaltered state, you run the risk of being forever tormented by a recurring nightmare in which you are a space alien trapped inside Bill O'Reilly's reptillian sub-consciousness, struggling to make sense of his twisted mundanity on a level he himself is far too chickenshit to face.

Enjoy...

The View

2008-12-09T12:13:00.000-08:00

Recently, for my job, I've been researching various "green" technologies, learning about the cutting edge science and newest thinking on many fronts in the battle to create a sustainable way of life for modern humans.

I've also inevitably run across some naysayers, climate-change deniers, people who can't be bothered to go green or think it will be too difficult (especially now that the economy is in the toilet), or who simply don't want to change what they currently have/do, no matter what the consequences.

One example of this, which I find particularly frustrating, occurs around the question of whether or not, and where, to install large, utility-scale wind-turbine electric generators. Some of the places best-suited to this clean technology are at high unobstructed elevations, the tops of rolling hills and so forth, places which can be quite scenic. There are people who can't bear the thought of marring the view of such currently unspoiled natural places with obviously man-made distracting structures -- giant spinning propellers on sticks.

Now, my personal opinion is that these wind-turbines, spinning slowly in unison on a distant hill, mountain or plain, or just off the coast in the ocean, are actually quite aesthetically pleasing. But I'm also a big fan of unspoiled nature and can understand how people would prefer the view of the ocean or local mountain range sans turbines.

The problem is that these people aren't basing their aesthetic preference on enough reality.

Reality, as we humans typically experience it, consists of all this physical space around us. But it also has this other dimension, a "fourth" dimension if you will. Something called "time."

Time, for those of you unfamiliar with it, is that aspect of reality responsible for making us miss our flights. It is also the reason why the number of candles on your birthday cake keeps increasing. And as it turns out, it isn't separate from space. Space and time are actually one thing -- spacetime -- and this makes all sorts of nifty things possible, like...

- motion
- music
- stories
- growth
- evolution
- coincidences
- boredom
- getting the pizza for free

Of course, spacetime (and thus, time) is ultimately an illusion, but that's not relevant to this discussion.

What IS relevant to this discussion is that the folks who prefer the hilltop with no windmills, are only basing that preference upon a regard for space. They're completely ignoring time. As such, they think that the choice they have to make is: "should we go with the view of a lovely unspoiled mountain, or should we opt for the mountain with a bunch of annoying spinny things on it?"

But when you add time back into the equation, the real choice turns out to be between a view of a mountain with a bunch of spinny things on it, versus a view of a barren worldwide hellscape.

Now, just how MUCH time it takes to become the lifeless hellscape is impossible to determine, but if current trends persist, it could happen relatively soon. How relatively? Well... in terms of my relatives: my parents won't live to see it, but my niece and nephew absolutely will. Absolutely.

So, if you know and care about any humans whose next birthday cake will have fewer than, say, 25 candles on it, you owe it to them to take the long view of the scenic view.

flying

2008-12-08T16:34:00.000-08:00

This simple and surprisingly lyrical little video was brought to my attention by my friend Brian Pollack. Thanks Brian, and congrats on finishing J-school!

Enjoy...

Flying from Sam Fuller on Vimeo.

Happy Repeal Day

2008-12-05T15:14:00.000-08:00

Today is the 75th anniversary of the repeal of prohibition. In commemoration, read this.

Elite

2008-10-22T10:32:00.000-07:00

I would never call myself an "elitist" but part of being truly free and open-minded is accepting that sometimes, an approach you consider outmoded (or even objectionable) may still have application/merit and may indeed be the most effective way to deal with a given task or problem, etc.

I once knew someone whose class-rage was keen enough that she would dismiss out-of-hand any musical expression that smacked of actual training. If a kid's family could afford to give him music lessons, then anything he did in life was automatically crap. The only music worth listening to comes out of slums, ghettos and poor rural areas and is made by untrained individuals using whatever simple tools they can scrounge, giving voice to the concerns and experience of folks the establishment would like to pretend don't even exist.

I totally appreciate that. And I have obviously enjoyed the sheer genius of many many artists who emerge from such backgrounds. We all have. But I also enjoy it when large groups of virtuosic musicians perform blisteringly difficult showpieces that take enormous work and dedication to master. The sheer sound! (Of course, it is possible that some of those musicians could have come from poverty, but it's very difficult/rare to even discover that you have an aptitude for the cello if nobody in the entire county happens to have one.)

Also: If I found out that a loved one needed life-saving surgery, and (all else being equal) I had a choice between a mediocre surgeon who was a really nice person, or totally genius surgeon who was an arrogant sonofabitch prick, I would choose the arrogant genius any day of the week. I imagine that practically everybody else would do the same if Dad's life were at stake.

But somehow, when the life of an entire nation is on the line -- a nation facing huge numbers of widely varying, complex, difficult problems -- millions of people seem to think that being especially smart should disqualify you from being president of that nation. Instead, they prefer, say, a mediocre guy who'd make a good drinking buddy, or even a sorta trashy woman whose responses to the most important issues of the day consist of vaguely flirtatious winking.

Interestingly, in the case of a musician or a band etc., nobody would ever have a problem with talent or genius, but economic privilege (and a lack of street-cred) is seen as a liability. And in the case of the surgeon, coming from an impoverished background would mean such a person could only have succeeded through sheer ability, whereas a child of wealth might be able to fail over and over again without consequence before ever squeaking through med-school. But in the case of a politician, millions of people were willing to ignore absolutely obscene wealth as long as the guy spoke like the dude in the next trailer (you know, Randy, the guy who accidentally shot his refrigerator the other day).

How does that happen? Seriously, can anybody explain that to me?

Clearly, we need to start teaching Civics in school again.

This Speaks for Itself

2008-10-16T11:26:00.001-07:00

Once Again... Bike Thieves are the Lowest Form of Life

2008-10-15T09:06:00.000-07:00

Yep.

This past Monday morning, heading out of my building to come to work, I would normally have gotten onto my bike. But no... someone had stolen the rear wheel. For those who like to keep count, this is the second rear wheel I've lost to a thief.

The first time it was totally my fault. I hadn't locked the rear wheel which was a quick-release. This time, the rear wheel was NOT a quick release, which means someone with tools came along specifically looking to strip parts off of bikes. I now fantasize about catching such a person in the act and beating them silly. Of course, in the fantasy, I just happen to be holding a 2-foot pipe wrench at the time.

Now, given that I had timed my departure for work based on having a fully functional bike to ride, I was now going to be fairly late, suddenly having to walk like the rest of the chumps. So I didn't bother to take the time to move the half-a-bike to a safer place.

Safer place?

Yeah... there's a sort of "courtyard" behind my building, where the garbage and recycling cans are, and there's a corner where a couple people lock up bikes. You can only access this area if you have a key to the building. So... you're probably wondering why I would leave my bike on the street to be picked over by tool-wielding vultures when I have access to such a place. Because: in order to get a bike in and out of there, you have to hump the unwieldly motherfucker through a gate and 4 doorways. And while that's fine if you only ride occasionally, it is less than fine if you ride all the time. It is not at all fine if you want to quickly run out, hop on and take off. It may be safer (is obviously way way safer) but it turns using the bike from a casual, easy, joyous affair into a discouraging annoyance. I can't have that.

Still, even though I was now going to be late for work, I did seriously consider taking the time to carry the almost-bike through the gate and 4 doorways and lock it up in the courtyard because if people see an incomplete bike locked to a signpost, they tend to think of it as abandoned and therefore fair game. Or like, once the thievery ice is broken, it just becomes a feeding frenzy.

But no, I just left my almost-bike where it was and walked to work, stifling the urge to kill.

When I got home that evening, someone had removed my handlebars, including the brake levers, gear shift lever and all related cables. Probably the same douchebag who took the wheel.

Fortunately, he didn't remove my pedals. You see, the rest of the bike is (was) just cheapo stock components that came with it. But my pedals are special. Seriously. They have blinking LED's in them that are powered solely by the rotation of the spindle that connects the pedals to the crank arms as you ride. They are called "Pedalites" and they work brilliantly -- one of the only consumer products I've ever encountered that I would gladly shill for (I guess that's what I'm doing right now) because I can say without any reservation whatsoever: these things are designed perfectly.

Where most pedals are rotationally symmetrical (the same when you flip them 180 degrees), Pedalites have a specific top and bottom, front and back. This is because each pedal has a white led in front, a yellow one on the side and a red one in back. Just like the convention for all vehicles. They make you super visible at night from up to a mile away, which is both safer for you and more entertaining for those who see you. :) The led's will last 20 years, there are no batteries to change (or go dead on you while riding in the dark) and -- assuming no tool-wielding vultures remove them -- you just leave 'em attached to your bike at all times, so you don't have to remember to take them with you like other bike lights that snap on and off. You also don't have to remember to turn them on at night. They just always work when you're riding. After a few minutes of sustained pedaling, the Pedalites will have stored up enough charge to keep the led's blinking even if you stop pedaling for a while, like if you coast down a hill, or stop at an intersection. And once you get to your destination, they just stop blinking after a couple minutes. Perfect. Truly. Just the right tool for the job.

But when I bought them they weren't sold in America (of course). I had to special order them from the manufacturer in the UK. So getting ahold of 'em took a little while and wasn't cheap. Including shipping, I think the total came to about $70. Still, that's not so bad when you consider how fucking awesome they are. (And at this point I believe there are some US distributors.)

Anyway, you can understand why I was so relieved to see that the asshole had neglected to remove them. Or maybe he simply didn't have the relatively specialized wrench that you need.

So at this point, my almost-bike is locked up in the garbage court, safe and sound, and I'm trying to decide what to do for bike-osity next. Should I systematically replace all the stolen parts? Or should I just get another used craigslist bike and transfer the Pedalites onto it? Or should I actually bite the bullet and get myself a brand new really nice bike fitted to my specific anatomy and riding needs? Obviously, if I go for a new bike, I'm gonna have to just suck it up and deal with humping it through all the doorways to always always always leave it locked up in the garbage court. So maybe that's not the way to go. Systematically replacing the stolen bits will actually cost more (a lot more even) than I paid for the entire bike, and will certainly cost more than getting a whole 'nother used craigslist beater special. But it will provide me the excuse to learn a bit more repair and maintenance skills, as I'd essentially have to rebuild almost the entire bike at this point. And I'd have the option to use replacement parts of higher quality than what was stolen. Though that hardly seems worth the trouble since the frame is still the old crappy frame, etc. And if I use nice expensive parts, I imagine I'll feel compelled to drag the bike back into the garbage court every night and if I'm gonna put up with that it might as well be for the sake of a truly nice bike, which would only cost slightly more than the total of all the upgrades to the old crappy one (parts of which would still be fairly crappy).

Still, I like working with my hands, and I like the thought of being completely self-sufficient when it comes to all future bike maintenance as I have this dream of riding my bike across the entire continental US and back at some point relatively soon (before I die). Actually, the full dream is to ride from NYC down to Key West Florida, then across to San Diego, then up to Seattle, then back across to Maine, then back down to NYC. Four corners. One year. Ten thousand miles. Perhaps I'll spring for a really good bike in order to make that trip. And of course, I'll need to get a few more locks. And maybe a gun. But in the mean time it looks like I'm gonna rebuild the old bike with regular ol' cheapo parts and just keep locking it -- more thoroughly -- on the street.

Arm Injury Update

2008-10-15T09:02:00.001-07:00

Arm don't hurt no more.

Still a bit indented, but not as gnarly-looking as it was.

Should recover completely, though might just have to live with the slight indentation. Time will tell.

Still have some of the happy pills left though. Woo hoo!

Republicanism Explained II

2008-10-11T12:59:00.000-07:00

The frightened

Voting

For the frightening.

Republicanism Explained

2008-10-09T09:01:00.000-07:00

In psychology, the term projection refers to a defense mechanism whereby one assigns one’s own unacceptable thoughts, motivations, desires, or even behaviors, to others. Projection reduces feelings of guilt and anxiety by allowing the expression of the unacceptable subconscious impulses while shielding the ego from their existence, keeping them hidden from conscious awareness. Projection is related to and dependent upon denial, arguably the only defense mechanism more primitive than projection.

An extremely simplistic example: Two young children are playing in the house. While mom's back is turned, her younger child knocks a flowerpot onto the floor, making a mess. When mom turns around and sees it, the younger child points to the older child and says "He did it!" Denial, and projection.

An example that is almost as simple, but much more annoying and dangerous: A Republican presidential campaign runs TV ads containing shockingly tasteless, misleading distortions and outright lies about the Democratic opponent. They then accuse the Democrats of running the most shockingly tasteless and misleading campaign in history.

Of course, the Republicans do this every election, so there's a chance that they are, in fact, fully aware of what they're doing and so are purposefully shitty human beings.

But seeing as how they've taken almost all their plays from famously sinister historical precedents, I could see how they might need to employ any defense mechanism available, no matter how primitive, to squash a shitload of collective guilt, just so that they can face another day on this earth, or another long night of what should, by right, be a sleepless, demon-haunted torment.

Spread This Around

2008-10-02T08:45:00.000-07:00

Arm Injury Update

2008-09-30T12:57:00.000-07:00

Well, I managed to find an orthopedic surgeon to look at my arm last Friday. He said that yeah, I tore some of the muscle, but since much of it is still intact, it should heal. He told me to keep it iced and elevated and he gave me a prescription for a non-steroidal anti-inflammatory for some reason. Then he told me to come back in two weeks at which point if the arm didn't look at least somewhat better he'd start me on a course of physical therapy. So, that's something. And though it still looks a bit gnarly and indented, it doesn't really hurt anymore (unless I really poke at it or try to lift a car). I just picked up the prescription for the anti-inflammatory pills from the Duane Reade near work, popped one, and it's making me feel floaty and good. Unexpected bonus. But now a little googling has revealed that possible side effects include stomach bleeding. Woo hoo. Modern medicine is dumb.

In other news, I was feeling a bit bummed out about the whole arm-injury thing and just sort of blah about life in general so I decided on a spur-of-the-moment basis to join a small group of friends and go on an Ayahuasca journey upstate over the weekend.

For those who don't know, Ayahuasca is a traditional Amazonian shamanic plant-medicine used to heal illnesses physical, mental, emotional and spiritual, and its reputation as the strongest psychedelic/entheogen in the world is well deserved. The active compound it contains, Dimethyl Tryptamine (DMT), is actually produced in trace amounts in the human body by the pineal gland in the brain, and is supposedly released at certain key moments of your life: the point when your soul "enters" your body as a new human (which, by the way, does not occur at conception), during sex, whenever you get abducted by aliens, when you die, and the first time you eat a bacon cheeseburger.

By itself, DMT cannot be administered orally, as digestion breaks it down into much less interesting molecules. So the ayahuasca preparation also includes a plant that contains harmine/harmaline, a monoamine oxidase inhibitor (MAOI) which prevents the breakdown of the DMT which can then pass into your bloodstream intact. When modern scientific "experts" asked native Amazonians how they were able to determine which two specific plants, out of the tens of thousands in their local biota would combine to produce the remarkable end result, they apparently said something like: "the mushrooms told us."

Drinking ayahuasca is unpleasant for most people. But most people are wimps. I am not a wimp. I don't mind bitter sour horrible gook. Until I'm puking up buckets of it.

And that's one of the main things you have to know about ayahuasca: it is a strong purgative. It reaches into every fiber of your being, down to the level of your very soul, grabs onto the impurities and forces you to expel them through either the beginning of your digestive tract or the end of it. On top of that, it renders you shakey and dizzy and barely able to speak or stand, much less walk.

It is not a party drug.

All your senses are sharpened, but you spend most of the typically 6 to 8 hour trip just lying motionless until struggling to crawl a few feet in the grass to hurl. I gotta say, the ayahuasca may be nasty to drink, but it's even less pleasant coming back up violently while your sense of taste is elevated. As for the occasional need to shit, well... the closer the toilet the better. Some people even do these "rituals" wearing Depends undergarments.

Of course, most of the time you're lying motionless, you're having a pretty intense mental/spiritual experience, and supposedly, the more you let go and just let the brew clean you out, the more amazing the visionary experience can be, as the plant intelligence gets to work with you on higher and higher levels of being.

The whole thing seems pretty geared toward crushing your ego. It automatically reduces you to the level of a newborn baby, puking and pooping and unable (or barely able) to walk or talk, which is obviously humbling and comically frustrating for the typical thinking adult, but the rewards can be as intense as the ordeal is difficult. And I can say that this was completely true for me personally. Modern medicine: feel good now, feel crappy later. Shamanic medicine: feel crappy now, feel good later.

The most interesting part of my experience was the impression of being "scanned" -- having some kind of energetic intelligence systematically examine and evaluate every part of my personal, um, energy matrix. Maybe that's how it knew what I should puke up later. Hah.

I was also involved in a friendly dialogue which gave me little bits of advice here and there. Nothing too earth-shattering, but definitely helpful. I was hoping to really zone out at some point and go into a completely other dimension (a fairly common ayahuasca experience) maybe meet the bio-mechanical elves who would dance their little dance and then take me to meet the all-knowing Turnip King, but there were external factors that prevented this.

You see, given the fairly harsh nature of the experience, it is traditional to do it in a very controlled, very serene nurturing setting. You do it after nightfall, under the stars in the jungle surrounded by nature and warmth and quiet, with supportive expert guides to help you in a pinch.

We, however, went to... Camp D.

[Explanation of the Camp D. experience coming soon.]

I don't have time for this shit

2008-09-24T11:49:00.001-07:00

Greetings from the Mount Sinai Hospital emergency room. I'm just waiting for a doctor to come look at my arm. Last night, I was "doored" while riding my bicycle home from work. Coming up 10th avenue, I passed by a cab that was letting two passengers out. The door on the sidewalk side of the cab opened, so I figured, "Good... they're getting out on the safe side like they're supposed to and I'm clear to keep going." But just as I was about to pass, the door on the traffic side of the cab flew open with no time for me to react and I simply smashed into it.

The idiot got out and asked if I was okay. I was a bit dazed and infuriated and suddenly too hopped up on adrenaline to realize how much my right arm hurt and just said, "Yeah I'm fine" with an accompanying withering scowl. But my right bicep had borne most of the brunt of the impact, hitting the top edge of the open taxicab door, hard. Once I got home, I noticed that it hurt like a motherfucker, and that I couldn't move it much or use it to lift anything without severe pain. So I rolled up my sleeve to examine it and saw something I've never seen before, on my body or anyone else's... The skin wasn't broken, but there was this weird-looking indentation in my bicep at the point of impact. It looks and feels like I partially tore the muscle. Which could conceivably require surgery to correct.

And now, even though I have health benefits, I'm running headlong into medical system bureaucratic red-tape and runaround nonsense.

It's later. I'm home now.

The Hospital made me get some pointless x-rays. And they were all, "Well, the x-rays look fine" and I was like, "no shit assholes! I could've told you that they'd come out looking fine, because I can tell that there's nothing wrong with my arm bones. It's the MUSCLE that's fucked up, and everyone knows that soft tissue doesn't show up on bloody x-rays!" It was maddening. But, you know me... I don't like yelling at people who are at least attempting to help me, even if totally incompetently. They were just following SOP and even though I really needed to be looked at by an Orthopedic Surgeon, they couldn't even ask one to come down unless I had first gotten x-rayed. Which also has to do with properly milking my insurance plan. I'm surprised they didn't order an MRI, a CAT scan, a PET scan and a colonoscopy.

Actually, an MRI might've been slightly useful, as it does resolve soft tissue to a certain degree.

Anyway, even after getting the x-rays taken, they couldn't convince an orthopod to come down and look at me. But they did give me a Percoset (and a prescription for same) and the phone number of an orthopedic surgeon affiliated with Mount Sinai. By then it was too late to reach anyone in his office to make an appointment, and also by then, my coworkers (God bless 'em) had come up with a list of much better specialists to go see. So I'll call tomorrow and set up an appointment to get looked at for reals and hopefully this can happen sooner than later. A good specialist in high demand -- who knows how long it'll be before he can squeeze me in? I just hope I can book the appointment before my arm heals like this permanently, leaving me with diminished use of it (not to mention slightly deformed).

Though, even if that happens, I'm still gonna ride my bike everywhere.

Bikes rule!

I'm feelin' a little punchy today

2008-09-23T14:20:00.000-07:00

I'm sure turducken tastes good and all, especially deep-fried in a giant vat of bacon grease like they do it in the fat states, but I simply cannot abide a foodstuff with the word "turd" in its name.

Though, I must admit I do seem to have a morbid fascination with turduckens and spend a goodly amount of my day wondering about things like: If you successfully shove a turducken into another turducken, could you destroy the universe? Or just the red states? I guess we won't find out until next spring when the large hadron collider comes back on line.

Top 10 Points of Comparison

2008-09-23T09:56:00.000-07:00

Between the Republican Party and the Third Reich (just off the top of my head)...

1. Masters of the Big Lie

2. Scapegoating

3. Responsible for the deaths of large numbers of innocent people

4. Strong adherence to false beliefs

5. Willingness to blindly follow incompetent leadership

6. Causing economic ruin of their own nations

7. Leaving behind a massive rift in their own societies (Berlin Wall, red/blue divide)

8. Claiming to be on a mission to improve the world

9. Rigid control of media

10. Prescott Bush (Dubya's grandfather) (Okay, not really a point of comparison, but simply a direct link.)

11. Racism

12. Oops. I meant to stop at 10.

Bikram

2008-09-21T13:01:00.000-07:00

I've been meaning to start up a regular yoga practice of some kind for a while now. Like, 10 years. Yesterday, I finally took the plunge. Bikram. The hot yoga.

At first the heat felt kinda good. A somewhat humid 105 degrees. And the first few postures didn't seem too terribly strenuous. The guy teaching the class called out instructions peppered with a continual rapid-fire stream of little tips and motivations and information about the benefits of the postures, etc., and though this made him sound like some kind of crazed new-age county-fair auctioneer, it was actually pretty helpful and inspiring. I thought: "90 minutes of this? No problem."

After maybe an hour, I felt like I was being ass-raped by Satan.

I was pouring more sweat from every square inch of the surface of my body than I thought possible, and gradually I could feel the blood-vessels in my extremities constricting and my brain shutting down. Ah... severe dehydration. I had brought a decent-sized (or so I thought) container of water with me (they also sell large bottles of smart water), but I'd finished all of it and there was still plenty of class to go. And they don't let you leave the hot room under any but emergency situations. I wasn't sure if my situation qualified as an emergency, but that's probably only because my mind had ceased functioning. So I just sat down on my sweat-soaked towel. Then I curled up into fetal position on my side for a bit, trying to see if I could get some feeling back into my strangely tingling arms and legs. And face.

Lying down wasn't so unusual. Looking around, almost everybody in the class had to stop at one point or another. But they all still had water left to drink. So they weren't necessarily dealing with dehydration, but rather were just a bit overcome by the heat and the exertion. In my case, the heat and exertion weren't the problem. I had simply underestimated how much water I'd need to drink, didn't bring enough, and now I was dying. But the crazed auctioneer thought I was just slacking and so encouraged me to push myself. I did what I could, but it's not easy to do the postures on numb legs. But since my brain had gone numb too, I didn't really care.

After the class, I somehow managed to drag myself into the men's locker room. I went to the bathroom, and drank some tap water from the sink. It was just enough to return a tiny amount of limb and brain function, such that I could shower and put my street clothes back on. On my way out, I bought one of the smart waters and drank the entire liter down in one go. I immediately felt completely better. Suddenly I could think and walk and speak again like a normal human.

But I was a bit wobbly and cold on my bike ride home.

And today, I'm a bit achey, though not as bad as I feared I might be.

I'm not going to a class today. Still thirsty from yesterday's class. But I'll go tomorrow after work. And I'll buy two liters of smart water to bring into it with me. Maybe three.

Time for a Change

2008-09-17T22:23:00.001-07:00

Conservatives who run for office like to invoke moral heroes of the past, specifically the Founding Fathers of the United States, and, you know, Jesus. Somehow, they don't see any hypocrisy in the fact that these heroes were all flaming liberals of the very highest order. Revolutionaries in fact. Invoking them appeals to conservative voters' desire for comforting familiarity, (even as they miss the point of what they find comfortingly familiar).

Despite the shortcomings of Jonathan Haidt's lecture (and an article of his that my friend Chris recommended), it is largely thanks to them that I am reminded of the need to find common ground with people whose views I find difficult to accept, or even understand. Conservatives. People who strongly resist change (despite the fact that change is the only constant).

Haidt starts his lecture pointing out that "openness to new experience" is a psychological trait, and some people rate highly in it, and others less so. Those who rate highly tend to vote liberal, and those less so tend to vote conservative. So it's no wonder that the conservative Republican base got so excited by Sarah Palin. McCain is a slightly "new" experience for some of them, and Obama is obviously shockingly new for them, whereas Palin is almost exactly like a female version of who we already have in the White House. Ah... comforting. Familiar. And even though it doesn't take a genius to see that the Republican leadership is systematically destroying the country, conservatives fear change so much that they would have more of the same despite the fact that "staying the course," sets the stage for truly calamitous changes later: full-scale socio-ecomic upheaval, etc. Their inclination to self-delude in service to their comfort-zone is so strong that they've actually tried to convince themselves that the country is going down the tubes because of the liberals in Congress, who, after all, have had a slim majority for the last two years (as if the manifold horrors and lies and outrages of the last 8 years all occured in these last 2, and somehow originated in the Capitol Building instead of the White House).

Unfortunately, change really IS the only constant and denying or putting it off only causes it to be more painful when it finally does happen.. The skill is in knowing when to push for it, when to simply let it happen, and when to push back a little, perhaps to redirect it. Nothing you do can stop it though. Might as well try to prevent your children from growing up. Oh sure, you can keep insisting that there's a Santa Claus, well into their teens. Or you can try to shield them from ever learning about human sexuality or anything else that might lead to a loss of innocence. But one day, your daughter is gonna get her period. And little Billy, well, sure he might be a bit slow, but even he's gonna figure out that Santa was really Dad all along.

In our case, as Obama has stated repeatedly, we are desperate for change. Wholesale, comprehensive, cleansing, corrective change. The Karl Rove / Dick Cheney / Monkey Boy administration has been like an enormous brain tumor slowly killing the United States while inducing disturbing personality alterations and interfering with mental faculties and overall competence. The change we need is nothing less than life-saving brain-surgery for an entire country. But you know how it is... people are afraid of hospitals/doctors/surgery. And that's understandable. Surgery is a bit scary. So even though it makes no sense, there are people who would prefer to see how the brain-tumor "plays out," rather than risk cutting open our head and removing it. But if we leave it in place (and vote for more Republicans) it will definitely kill us. If we vote to remove the tumor, (enter Dr. Obama) we're not sure what the outcome of the surgery will be. Though he seems highly intelligent and highly skilled, we don't know this doctor so well. Unless you're very "zen," uncertainty isn't easy. No matter what happens with the surgery, we can assume that the recovery process won't be easy either. But at least we won't have a terminal fucking brain tumor anymore!

Ahem.

One last thing and then I'm going to sleep...

As difficult as it is for me to fathom how people can take their group cohesion and loyalty (positive traits) and blindly apply them to such obvious liars and thieves as Cheney/Bush, I have to say, the problem isn't the conservative voters. It's the liars and thieves. The Republican party. If the Republican leaders actually lived and governed according to the moral values they claim to hold dear (the values their supporters certainly DO hold dear) then we would not have been lied to about Iraq, because if you're loyal to your group, you don't lie to them. And we wouldn't be in the absolutely sickening financial disaster we're experiencing. Would actual fiscal conservatives ever have allowed conditions to persist that could lead to the unmitigated debacles in the home-loan industry, at AIG, Lehmann Bros., Merrill Lynch? I just found out that my bank might be up for sale (Washington Mutual). I'm sorry, but the people that conservatives vote for don't actually have conservative morals. For them to have conservative morals, they'd have to have morals.

Good night.

Jonathan Haidt TED Talk

2008-09-17T22:23:00.000-07:00

This video explains a lot. But it doesn't go far enough. Gravesian Spiral Dynamics theory is more comprehensive. Still, this is definitely worth watching, especially with the election coming up so soon...

If McCain Wins

2008-09-12T11:37:00.000-07:00

If John McCain becomes the next president of the United States, whether through voter fraud, rigged voting machines, cops barring black people from entering the polls, or whatever nefarious means, then here is my timeline of the future...

January 20, 2009 -- 12 noon: John McCain sworn in as the 44th President of the United States of America.

January 20, 2009 -- 12:01 PM: John McCain assassinated. Suspect is caught and declared to be an Islamic Fundamentalist, but is in actuality a Republican operative.

January 20, 2009 -- 12:03 PM: Sarah Palin sworn in as the 45th President of the United States of America.

Over the course of her first year in office, the US launches unprovoked military strikes on: Pakistan, Iran, North Korea, Venezuela, Syria, Cuba, France, the international space station, and the sun.

The ideological split of the populace of the United States increases sharply. Hostilities flare up. All our armed forces including the National Guard, all reserve units and all private mercenary forces are spread too thin around the world to intervene domestically and local police forces are overmatched. Seeking a better life for their children, people of differing views relocate in order to live with folks they find more agreeable, until North America effectively turns into this:

(remember that?)

2010: Sarah Palin agrees to let certain areas officially secede (the ones with all the gays, blacks, hebrews and what she calls "book-readin' types.") The economy of Canada skyrockets, based on the enormous infusion of intelligent, creative talent and innovative thinking that immediately takes place.

February 2011: The only thriving industries left in Jesusland are: weapons manufacture, factory-pig-farming, NASCAR, Fox-Propaganda, tobacco, beer and privatized prisons.

April 2011: Sarah Palin announces a plan to create a million new jobs constructing a 50-foot thick, 100-foot high, 6000-mile long concrete wall on the border between Jesusland and Canada. She will claim that this is a security measure to protect all the faithful citizens of Jesusland from the filthy heathen terrorists of Canada, and it will be overwhelmingly supported. In truth, it is to prevent Jesusland's slaves and women from escaping.

June 2011: NASCAR, factory farming, Fox and the prison-industrial complex partner to create "Deathrace" and "Soylent Green". Starving Jesuslanders are killed and secretly fed to other Jesuslanders in the most entertaining way available.

2012: Despite the forced teen-pregnancy policy, the population of Jesusland continues to dwindle. Nevertheless, its consumption of fossil fuels keeps increasing. Global climate change effects turn much of the heartland, what had previously been the breadbasket of the world, into lifeless dustbowl. Coastal cities drown. Wildfires scorch the southland. Mass starvation, riots, soylent green!

Meanwhile, to the north, on the Canadian side of the "Freedom Wall"...

Every citizen receives free comprehensive health care and free education up to any level one wishes to pursue. Marijuana is legalized, and becomes an enormous source of revenue for the federal government. Crime is virtually non-existent. Canada quickly achieves the highest standard of living in the world.

2010: Global climate change effects alter much of Canada's coastline, but turn vast areas of previously uninhabitable frozen wasteland into lush temperate zones. Canada begins constructing the world's first completely self-contained carbon-neutral domed city above the arctic circle. The Canadian solar and wind-power industries thrive. The Canadian electric car industry is second-to-none. Canada dominates pop-culture in music, film, TV, fashion, publishing, etc. etc.

2011: Using some of Canada's vast wealth, the entire Canadian side of the "Freedom Wall" is covered in a solar powered ultra-hi-resolution LED display. A trompe l'oeil image of an imense unspoiled wilderness is created to make it seem as if Jesusland doesn't even exist. A yearly design competition gives artists from around the world a chance to create something for the "world's biggest canvas" and the winning entry will run for a month before the usual landscape image returns.

2012: Canada is a shining beacon of hope and people flock there from every corner of the globe. Except of course, from Jesusland. The few who make the attempt to either climb over or tunnel under the wall, are killed immediately and all record of their existence is expunged by the Government of Jesusland. Fox never reports these incidents.

this is a test

2008-09-11T20:47:00.000-07:00

This is an attempt to write a fairly extensive blog entry from an iPod touch.

Keith Olbermann Special Comment

2008-09-11T12:49:00.000-07:00

A True Statesman

2008-09-10T14:38:00.001-07:00

New Camera

2008-09-06T09:45:00.000-07:00

Just got me a Sony DSC W-200. Consumer Reports liked it. I know they ain't exactly photography experts, but they ranked this particular camera way high, said it took nifty shots in low light (which is something I like to do) and I found a great deal on a used one (they don't make new ones of this model anymore).

It may be just a nuthin' little point-and-shoot, but here's what it did when I aimed it at the stuff I can see from my roof...

Origin of the Republican Playbook

2008-09-05T07:45:00.000-07:00

"Why of course the people don't want war. Why should some poor slob on a farm want to risk his life in a war when the best he can get out of it is to come back to his farm in one piece? Naturally the common people don't want war ... That is understood. But, after all, it is the leaders of the country who determine the policy and it is always a simple matter to drag the people along, whether it is a democracy, or a fascist dictatorship, or a parliament, or a communist dictatorship. Voice or no voice, the people can always be brought to the bidding of the leaders. That is easy. All you have to do is tell them they are being attacked, and denounce the peacemakers for lack of patriotism and exposing the country to danger. It works the same in any country."

--Hermann Goering (1893-1946) Commander-in-Chief of the Luftwaffe, President of the Reichstag, Prime Minister of Prussia and, as Hitler's designated successor, the number 2 man in the Third Reich. Quoted on April 18, 1946 at the Nuremberg Trials.

Sorry!!

2008-08-23T13:47:00.001-07:00

Okay okay... I know, I've been away for a long time. Well, to that I say: it's summer. And staying inside sitting on your ass writing blog posts during summertime is idiotic. Therefore, I'm on strike! Okay, just taking a break.

If you have abandonment issues, please rest assured that I will return to blogging full on... eventually. Someday.

In the meantime, I'm trying to channel what meager creative energies I can actually muster into the book I'm writing. Yes, that's right... a book. (It's an amazing technology. You can read it without using any electricity whatsoever!) Of course, just because I'm writing it doesn't mean anybody is necessarily publishing it. But if my legions of blog readers all band together and start a letter-writing campaign, I'm sure we can convince some publishing company hack to buy my nonsense and distribute it to the word-starved masses out there. It can't miss! It's gonna be on the NYT best-seller list so long it's gonna make the Harry Potter books look like they were written on gum wrappers (even the ones that weren't).

Now, I know what you're saying... you're saying, "Oh honey... the masses aren't starved for words. They're starved for candy and pizza." And then you add something about the fact that 3 blog readers don't equal "legions." Yeah yeah.

Well, never you mind what does or does not add up to a legion. Or who is or is not starving and for what. As a back-up plan to the whole book thing, I'm inventing candy pizza. Or pizza-candy. So one way or another, I'm gonna be on Easy Street soon.

I wonder who my neighbors will be down on Easy Street. Well, I guess it depends on whether I'm on East Easy or West Easy. (West. Definitely. Better restaurants. Much more fashionable douchebags. Etc.)

What is this "book" I speak of going to be "about" you ask? Simple: it's a guided tour of all the famous places in New York City where I've ever taken a dump. Genius, right? Don't steal it! Lousy book idea stealers!

Anyway, the book ain't gonna write itself, and there's only so much writing-energy in my body at any given moment, so the blogging will continue to be spotty-at-best for a while. I do apologize. If you don't want to have to keep checking all the time to see if I actually post something new, just do what the most tech-savvy of my legions of readers have done, which is subscribe to the RSS feed that all blogger.com or blogspot.com blogs automatically, um, have. My friends who do this assure me it is extremely simple. So simple that only a 6-year old can explain the process to you. If you need help, let me know and I'll put you in touch with my niece. She wants to be the little mermaid when she grows up.

A New Thing

2008-07-31T09:16:00.000-07:00

On my way to work this morning, I saw something I'd never seen before: a yuppie woman in an expensive-looking business suit riding a bad-ass motorcycle to work.

I wonder if that has anything to do with the still-relatively-newly-high price of gasoline.

I know most people who read this are fellow New Yorkers, who don't generally drive cars and are only affected by high petroleum prices when paying for certain well-traveled food items at the grocery store, or when booking a flight to the west coast or overseas. (I myself am allowing the high price of jet fuel to deter me from going to Burning Man this year. Not that I needed a strong external deterrent. I'm now leaning most heavily toward using my vacation days for some kind of relaxing writing retreat.) But I do have plenty of friends out there in the hinterlands who've got to drive a car pretty much every day.

And it's not like this whole oil thing is a temporary condition. Exxon just posted the largest quarterly earnings of any company in US history, and the amount of oil in earth's crust is still finite. Even if Obama wins, and even if we stop fighting wasteful wars, and even if we implement a strong energy policy, and start demanding justice and fairness from the oil-industry, the high cost of petroleum-based transportation is never going to improve significantly. It only stands to worsen, really.

Which is obviously a huge pain in the ass for all the folks out there who rely on gas-guzzlers to make a living (or to get pussy, etc.). Yet, it is ultimately a good thing, as it will discourage us from emitting carbon, and encourage us to find creative solutions to this whole 'a to b' problem.

I've got one of them creative-type solutions bouncing around in the back of me noggin' and I'd like to share it with all y'all (though if anybody gets rich off this idea, it should be me!)...

Electric cars!

Okay, I know plenty of purely-electric cars already exist. And people don't like 'em because...

1. it takes too long to recharge their batteries (using today's common technologies)
2. their range is too limited (using today's technologies)
3. golf-cart aesthetics

Well, first of all, for 90% of the driving that 90% of Americans do, the short range and low speed of even the cheapest all-electric cars would be perfectly fine. You'd use your car the way you currently use your cell phone. Wake up in the morning, unplug your car from the wall outlet (in your garage, say), drive to work. Work. Drive to the supermarket. Drive home. Plug your car in. Eat dinner, watch TV, go to sleep. Repeat ad infinitum.

Ah, but the reason why the market doesn't go for that, is because of the other 10% of the time, when it's the weekend, say, or other leisure time, and a longer trip up the California coast to Big Sur, say, is desired. From LA to Big Sur is about 300 miles. There ain't a single all-electric car ever made that could do that trip on a single charge. And look how great it is at Big Sur. Don't you just want to be there? There's really no way to get there except by car (unless you're an even more dedicated cyclist than I am, which most Americans definitely are not).

So, how can you get from LA to Big Sur in an all-electric vehicle, even a really good one like this?

Well, some companies suggest using a small internal combustion engine (ICE) to power an on-board generator, which will trickle-charge the car's batteries as you drive, thus extending the range by several hundred miles on not too much fuel. It's basically a form of hybrid, only a little different from the hybrid cars currently on the roads. But such range-extended electric vehicles (REEVs) still need fossil fuels and still emit carbon.

Some people suggest creating recharge stations all over the highways. Which is fine, except people still don't like the thought of having to stop for a long time to recharge before heading back out on the road.

SO, the Jon Levin solution is as follows: tow a flatbed trailer of solar panels with your electric car. A flexible power cable runs from the flatbed to the power-socket on the car. The flatbed would only add a small amount of weight and could be designed to induce as little aerodynamic drag as possible. It might have to be really long in order to have enough surface area for photo-voltaic panels sufficient to generate the electricity needed to continually trickle-charge the batteries in your electric car, but so what? Once you're out on the highway, who cares how long the thing you're towing is? Maybe once you get to your destination, the thing collapses, accordion-style, to take up less room. Or maybe it can be reconfigured to fold up over the car, while parked in the lot of the local Wal*Mart, say. Keeps your car shaded, keeps your batteries full, doesn't take up extra room in the parking lot, especially if the car you're starting with is a Smart Car.

But what if it rains?

Come on, don't be stupid -- who wants to drive up the California coast to Big Sur in the rain?

You heard it here first!

The Glory of Health Benefits

2008-07-29T08:17:00.000-07:00

Personally, I think it's wrong that in order to afford even minimal health care in this country, most of us have to play drooling lackey to the corporate ogre. More even than that, we have to be among the lucky lackeys -- on the ogre's good side, at least enough to be invited to join the ogre's health club. The health benefits club. Membership has its privileges.

Of course, the fact that I find our "system" a shameful and disheartening mess in no way stops me from finally going to see what that horrible pain in my neck has been about all these years, now that the ogre has embraced me to his sweaty bosom for a time.

So, with health club membership card in hand, I went on over to West Side Chiropractic on 43rd st. (right near my apartment) and the good doctor Mark checked me out, asked me a bunch of questions, etc. etc. Then he sent me across town to get a set of spinal X-rays.

X-rays kind of creep me out. Radiation in general. Ever since I saw that old (1957) B-movie, "The Incredible Shrinking Man" on TV when I was a kid. The guy gradually and embarrassingly shrinks down to the size of an insect, is attacked by a spider that's much bigger than him, and has to stab it in the thorax with a sewing needle. And then he just keeps right on shrinking! The movie ends with some vaguely overblown claptrap about him inhabiting the sub-atomic realm. (Thanks to Michaelson for rekindling my enjoyment of the word 'claptrap' by the way.)

But I got the X-rays taken, and brought the prints home with me. I don't feel any worse for wear, and am seriously looking forward to bringing the spinal snapshots to the Chiro-dude and having him snap and twist and crunch me back into proper alignment, which I probably haven't been in for over 10 years -- ever since I foolishly tried to do a headstand while riding the Cyclone. That first drop man...

I wonder what it'll be like, to wake up in the morning without pain... will I see rainbows and fairies and unicorns shooting out of that eye on top of the pyramid? I bet I will.

To look at me, you probably wouldn't know that I've been in more-or-less constant pain for years. I'm one of those guys who just sort of ignores pain. Until it kills me dead. Then I say, "Oh... should I maybe have DONE something about that horrible pain I was in all those years? Huh..."

I'm just so used to feeling a constant dull ache and sharp stabbing pains in my neck/shoulder/back area whenever I try to do anything crazy, like turn my head to either side, or look up, or, you know, down, etc., that I sort of just forgot that I wasn't supposed to be in pain. Apparently, normal people don't feel this way, and don't tolerate such a thing for years on end if they can help it. Of course, I was never on the Ogre's good side long enough to make it into the club before. So, there's that.

Supposedly, being out of alignment, with bits of your central nervous system all constricted, hampers all sorts of routine, um, stuff. I mean, for all I know, I'm supposed to be a dynamic motivated individual, instead of a lazy sack o' crap. Maybe, when the electrical impulses traveling along my spinal cord get going properly again, I'll be able to finally, finally, begin realizing my lifelong dream of becoming a fashionably tormented vigilante superhero, and really start kicking some ass! Or begin realizing my other lifelong dream of sitting around in no pain (ass kicking optional).

Whatever.

I'll let you know how it goes.

New York's Finest

2008-07-28T09:52:00.000-07:00

My co-worker, Tamara told me about this Youtube video that's also up on gothamist.com. You know... I want to be okay with cops. I've known a few personally, and they were perfectly decent human beings. They've clearly got a difficult job and I certainly wouldn't want to be in their shoes, so I try to cut them some slack, even when they over-react to trivial things.

But then you see something like this...

What the fuck? Am I missing something? On some level, I probably shouldn't be surprised by this, yet I am. And I find myself taking it personally.

I've never participated in a critical mass ride, but looks like I'm gonna have to start. Should probably get some body armor first though.

So Much More Existential... and Funnier!

2008-07-28T08:22:00.000-07:00

Nothing to report.

Go check out this extremely funny thing which my friend Mikael just hipped all his facebook friends to.

That is all.

The Power of Suggestion

2008-07-25T08:13:00.001-07:00

A friend of mine (and a very wise man) once said, "The power of suggestion is very fuckin' powerful!"

I get two "daily horoscope" emails sent to me every day, one western, one Chinese. Now, it's not like I'm Ronald Reagan, making all my decisions based on Astrology, but I do get a kick out of reading horoscopes and seeing if they happen to match up with my life, etc. And I happen to know some very intuitive (even psychic) astrologers who definitely have uncanny insights to share. But the daily email ones are purely for a fun little diversion. Of the two, the western one is usually fairly vague, as you might expect, while the Chinese one is usually very specific, and weirdly so, like telling me what color shirt to wear or whether or not I should seek financial advice from a professional. (I think the Chinese mystical realm assumes I've got some serious money to invest. Which, if I lived in China, perhaps I would.) For the most part, the two are always in reasonably close agreement about the general tone of the kind of day they predict I'm gonna have. But not today...

The first one to arrive in my inbox was the western one. It said:

You're in a very good place right now, emotionally speaking, and ought to be able to share your affection with those who are closest to you. It's a good time for intimacy and quiet fun.

I was like, "All right, I'm awesome!" and it immediately put me in a good mood to start off my lovely sunny Friday. A minute or two later, the Chinese one arrived. It said:

Today will be an unfavorable day for you. When faced with situations that require action, remain a spectator as much as possible. It's in your best interest to not get caught up in the action. Your lethargic and possibly depressed mental state may cause you to react inappropriately.

I was like, "Aw crap, I suck! This day is gonna blow chunks!"

Then I caught myself and was like, "Heeeeeyyyyy... a minute ago I was on top of the world. Granted, this was only due to a silly little gimmicky email thing, but now, due to an equally silly email thing, I feel lower than a wad of chewing gum stuck to the bottom of the shoe of a hobo whose shoes were stolen by another hobo (a clear violation of the hobo code) who upon noticing the gum, used a sharp stick to scrape it into a dumpster, whereupon it landed inside a container of spoiled cottage cheese.

So I said to myself, I said "AH!"

Because I had realized something.

I had realized that in my early morning checkin'-my-email-fog, I was still half asleep which is probably a highly suggestible state. So the suggestion-power of the little horoscope emails was magnified and clearly having too great an effect. Look at me! I'm king of the universe! No, I'm rancid shit in a dumpster!

I am neither. (And BOTH!) (No... I prefer neither.)

But seeing how correct my wise friend was when he pointed out how powerful the power of suggestion is, I now suggest making my own suggestions to myself to tap into their especially powerful power. New-agey people call these "daily affirmations" and I can't help but mock the crap out of them, even as I attempt to embrace them. This ain't gonna be easy. OH! And there I go, already undermining my ability to embrace them by suggesting that this ain't gonna be easy! Well, clearly, I'm right! I mean, look how bad I am at this whole affirmation thing! Aargh! There I go doing it again!

Okay, so clearly, the first affirmation for me needs to be: "I acknowledge the fact that affirmations aren't total bullshit, because the power of suggestion is very fuckin' powerful."

Second affirmation: "I'm fine, thanks."

My Speech to the Graduates

2008-07-23T09:32:00.000-07:00

In "Side Effects" one of his books of short funny pieces, Woody Allen wrote a short funny piece called, "My Speech to the Graduates." Not a speech he ever actually delivered (?!) but quite entertaining. Made me wonder what I'd say to a graduating class of high school or college kids should I ever be called upon to do so -- me, a guy who dropped out of every school he was ever enrolled in.

I'm tired today, and I don't have much to talk about, so I'm going to turn this space over to special guest blogger, Patton Oswalt, an extremely talented comedian, completely without his knowledge or permission. If you're not already a fan of his, I humbly submit that you damn well should be.

What follows, is the text of the actual speech (copied from his website) which he gave to the most recent crop of graduates of the northern Virginia high school from which he himself graduated back in '87 (making him only a year younger than me, which probably contributes to how strongly I relate to his take on things)...

First off, I want to thank the teachers and faculty of Broad Run High School for first considering and then inviting me to speak here. It was flattering, I am touched and humbled, and you have made a grave mistake.

I’m being paid for this, right? Oh, wait, there’s some advice, right off the bat – always get paid. If you make enough money in this world you can smoke pot all day and have people killed.

I’m sorry, that was irresponsible.

You shouldn’t have people killed.

Boom! Marijuana endorsement eleven seconds into my speech! Too late to cancel me now!

It’s dumb-ass remarks like that which kept me out of the National Honor Society and also made me insanely wealthy. If I move to Brazil.

I graduated from Broad Run High School 21 years ago. That means, theoretically, I could be – each and every one of you – your father. And I’m speaking especially to the black and Asian students.

So now I’m going to try to give all of you some advice as if I contained fatherly wisdom, which I do not. I contain mostly caffeine, Cheet-o dust, fear and scotch.

I know most of you worked very hard to get here today but guess what? The Universe sent you a pasty goblin to welcome you into the world. Were The Greaseman and Arch Campbell not available?

So, 1987. That’s when I got my diploma. But I want to tell you something that happened the week before I graduated. It was life-changing, it was profound, and it was deeper than I realized at the time.

The week before graduation I strangled a hobo. Oh wait, that’s a different story. That was college. I’m speaking at my college later this month. I’ve got both speeches here. Let me sum up the college speech – always have a gallon of bleach in your trunk.

High school. A week before I graduated high school I had dinner, in Leesburg, with a local banker who was giving me a partial scholarship. I still don’t understand why. Maybe he had me confused with another student, someone who hadn’t written his AP English paper on comparisons between Jay Gatsby and Spider-Man. But, I was getting away with it, and I love money and food, so double win.

And I remember, I’m sitting at this dinner, with a bunch of other kids from the other local high schools. And I’m trying my pathetic best to look cool and mysterious, because I was 17 and so into the myth of myself. Remember, this dinner and this scholarship was happening to me.

And I figured this banker guy was a nice guy but hey, I’m the special one at the table. I had a view of the world, where I was eternally Bill Murray in Stripes. I’d be the one with the quips and insights at this dinner. This old man in a suit doesn’t have anything to teach me beyond signing that check. I’ve got a cool mullet and a skinny leather tie from Chess King. And check out my crazy suspenders with the piano keys on them. Have you ever seen Blackadder? ‘Cuz I’ll recite it.

And then this banker – clean-shaven, grey suit and vest – you’d never look twice at him on the street – he told me about The Five Environments.

He leans forward, near the end of the dinner, and he says to me, “There are Five Environments you can live in on this planet. There’s The City. The Desert. The Mountains. The Plains. And The Beach.

You can live in combinations of them. Maybe a city in the desert, or in the mountains by the ocean. Or you could choose just one. Out in the plains somewhere, perhaps.

“But you need to get out there and travel, and figure out where you thrive.

“Some places you’ll go to and you’ll feel yourself wither. Your brain will fog up, your body won’t respond to your thoughts and desires, and you’ll feel sad and angry.

“You need to find out which of the Five Environments are yours. If you belong by the ocean, then the mountains will ruin you. If you’re suited for the blue solitude of the plains, then the city will be a tight, roaring prison cell that’ll eat you alive.

He was right. I’ve traveled and tested his theory and he was absolutely right. There are Five Environments. If you find the right combination, or the perfect singularity, your life will click…into…place. You will click into place.

And I remember, so clearly, driving home from that dinner, how lucky I felt to have met someone who affirmed what I was already planning to do after high school. I was going to roam and blitz and blaze my way all over the planet.

Anywhere but here. Anywhere but Northern Virginia. NoVa. You know what a “nova” is? It’s when a white dwarf star gobbles up so much hydrogen from a neighboring star it causes a cataclysmic nuclear explosion. A cosmic event.

Well, I was a white dwarf and I was definitely doing my share of gobbling up material. But I didn’t feel like any events in my life were cosmic. The “nova” I lived in was a rural coma sprinkled with chunks of strip mall numbness. I had two stable, loving parents, a sane and wise little brother and I was living in Sugarland Run, whose motto is, “Ooooh! A bee! Shut the door!”

I wanted to explode. I devoured books and movies and music and anything that would kick open windows to other worlds real or imagined. Sugarland Run, and Sterling and Ashburn and Northern Virginia were, for me, a sprawling batter’s box before real experience began.

And I followed that banker’s advice. I had to get college out of the way but once I got my paper I lit out hard.

Oh this world. Ladies and gentlemen, this world rocks and it never lets up.

I’ve seen endless daylight and darkness in Alaska. I’ve swum in volcanic craters in Hawaii and saw the mystical green flash when the sun sinks behind the Pacific. I got ripped on absinthe in Prague and watched the sun rise over the synagogue where the Golem is supposedly locked in the attic. I stood under the creepy shadow of Christchurch Spitafields, in London’s East End, and sank a pint next door at The Ten Bells, where two of Jack the Ripper’s victims were last seen drinking. I’ve fed gulls at the harbor in Galway, Ireland. I’ve done impromptu Bloomsday tours of Dublin.

I cried my eyes out on the third floor of the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam, all those paintings that Vincent and his circle gave to each other as gifts because they were all broke some cold Christmas long ago. I’ve eaten crocodile in the Laneways of Melbourne Australia and ortolans on the Left Bank of Paris, France.

I’ve been to Canada.

I’ve been to every state in this country. I’ve been to hidden, subterranean restaurants in New York with the guys from Anthrax and eaten at L.A. taquieras with “Weird” Al Yankovic. I held the guitar that Hendrix torched at Monterey Pop and watched Woodstock ’99 burn to the ground. I’ve lingered at the corner of Bush and Stockton in San Francisco where Miles Archer took a bullet in The Maltese Falcon, and brooded over the grave of H.P. Lovecraft in Providence, R.I. I’ve hung out with Donny Osmond and Jim Goad, Suge Knight and Aimee Mann, Bill Hicks and Don Rickles.

I’ve done stand-up comedy in laundromats, soup kitchens and frat houses, and onstage at Lollapalooza and Coachella. I’ve toured with bands, been to the Oscars and the Superbowl, and been killed in movies by vampires, forest fires and air-to-air missiles.

And I missed the banker’s lesson. 100%, I completely missed it.

In my defense, he didn’t even know he was teaching it.

Telling me about the 5 Environments and urging me to travel? That was advice. It wasn’t a lesson. Advice is everywhere in this world. Your friends, family, teachers and strangers are all happy to give it.

A lesson is yours and yours alone. Some of them take years to recognize and utilize.

My lesson was this – experience, and reward and glory are meaningless unless you’re open and present with the people you share them with in the moment.

Let me go back to that dinner, 21 years ago. There I was, shut off from this wise, amazing old man. Then he zaps me with one of the top 5 pieces of information I’ve ever received in this life, and all I was thankful for was how it benefited me.

I completely ignored the deeper lesson which is do not judge, and get outside yourself, and realize that everyone and everything has its own story, and something to teach you, and that they’re also trying – consciously or unconsciously – to learn and grow from you and everything else around them. And they’re trying with the same passion and hunger and confusion that I was feeling – no matter where they were in their lives, no matter how old or how young.

I’m not saying that you guys shouldn’t go out there and see and do everything there is to see and do. Go. As fast as you can. I don’t know how much longer this world has got, to be honest.

All of you have been given a harsh gift. It’s the same gift the graduating class of 1917, and 1938, and 1968 and now you guys got – the chance to enter adulthood when the world teeters on the rim of the sphincter of oblivion. You’re jumping into the deep end. You have no choice but to be exceptional.

But please don’t mistake miles traveled, and money earned, and fame accumulated for who you are.

Because now I understand how the miraculous, horrifying and memorable lurk everywhere. But they’re hidden to the kind of person I was when I graduated high school. And now – and it’s because of my traveling and living and some pretty profound mistakes along the way – they’re all laid open to me. They’re mine for the feasting. In the Sistine Chapel and in a Taco Bell. In Bach’s Goldberg Variations and in the half-heard brain dead chatter of a woman on her cell phone behind me on an airplane. In Baghdad, Berlin and Sterling, Virginia.

I think now about the amazing thunderstorms in the summer evenings. And how – late at night, during a blizzard, you can stand outside and hear the collective, thumping murmur of a million snowflakes hitting the earth, like you’re inside a sleeping god’s thoughts.

I think of the zombie movies I shot back in the gnarled, grey woods and the sad, suburban punks I waited on at Waxie Maxie’s. I think of the disastrous redneck weddings I deejay’d for when I was working for Sounds Unlimited and the Lego spaceships my friends and I would build after seeing Star Wars.

I think about my dad, and how he consoled me when I’d first moved to L.A. and called him, saying I was going into therapy for depression, and how ashamed I was. And he laughed and said, “What the hell’s to be ashamed of?” And I said, “Man, you got your leg machine-gunned in Vietnam. You never went to therapy. Humphrey Bogart never went to therapy.” And my dad said, “Yeah, but Bogie smoked three cartons of cigarettes a day.” And how my mom came down to the kitchen when I was studying for my trig final, at 2 o’clock in the morning, and said, “Haven’t you already been accepted to college?” And I said, “Yeah, but this test is really going to be hard.” And she asked, “What’s the test for again?” And I said, “Calculus” and she closed my notebook and said, “You’ll never use this. Ever. Go to bed or watch a movie.” And how when I got my first ever acting gig, on Seinfeld, my brother sent me a postcard of Minnie Pearl, and he wrote on it, “Never forget, you and her are in the same profession.”

I didn’t realize how all of these places and people and events were just as crucial in shaping me as anything I roamed to the corners of the Earth to see. And they’ve shaped you, and will shape you, whether you realize it now or later. All of you are richer and wiser than you know.

So I will leave you with some final advice. You’ll decide later if this was a lesson. And if you realize there was no lesson in any of this, then that was a lesson.

But I’d like all of you to enter this world, and your exploration of the Five Environments, better armed then I was. And without a mullet. Which I see you’re all way ahead of me on.

First off: Reputation, Posterity and Cool are traps. They’ll drain the life from your life. Reputation, Posterity and Cool = Fear.

Let me put that another way. Bob Hope once said, “When I was twenty, I worried what everyone thought of me. When I turned forty, I didn’t care what anyone thought of me. And then I made it to sixty, and I realized no one was ever thinking of me.” And then he pooed his pants, but that didn’t make what he said any less profound.

Secondly: The path is made by walking. And when you’re walking that path, you choose how things affect you. You always have that freedom, no matter how much your liberty is curtailed. You…get to choose…how things affect you.

And lastly, and I guarantee this. It’s the one thing I know ‘cause I’ve experienced it:

There Is No Them.

I’m going to get out of your way now. Get out there. Let’s see which one of you is up here in twenty years. If you’re lacking confidence, remember – I wouldn’t have picked me.

Don't Be Scared

2008-07-22T09:09:00.001-07:00

This past Saturday night, while semi-drunkenly riding our bikes back into Manhattan from Williamsburg, I semi-jokingly asked my buddy Nat if he wanted to join the "team" I'm assembling to ride out the apocalypse. After all, a man of his talents (just got his PhD in ethnobotany / can identify edible, poisonous and psychoactive plants in the wild / makes his own chocolate bars) would be highly useful to have around should shit strike fan.

He seemed a bit freaked out by my asking him, even if only in jest, because apparently several other unconnected people had also just recently asked him the same thing. Pretty creepy. Except for the fact that I am Mr. Zeitgeist, so it's okay.

Then I wrote up my previous blog post, about Burners surviving the end of the world as we know it, due largely to Black Rock City's remoteness, the timing of the annual pilgrimage and the unique resourcefulness of that particular community.

And here's my horoscope for today (honest to God): "You're focused on the future right now and ought to be able to plan things out much farther ahead than usual. It's a good time for you to recruit assistance that will come in handy later on."

Is it just me, or does that sound an awful lot like me putting together my team to ride out the apocalypse?

Now, I don't mean to alarm anyone. After all, the word "apocalypse" simply means "revelation." Of course, I understand that lots of people associate the word "revelation" with the Book of Revelations, famously known as the scariest shit in the Bible, but actual revelation of the truth is a good thing. A healthy thing. Depending on what truth is being revealed, it might be psychologically painful at first, but ultimately good for us. Better to know than not know, right? Obviously, the sort of revelation germane to this discussion is that of the true spiritual nature of things. Kind of like when Neo sees the artificiality of the Matrix at the end of the first movie and so realizes he can do whatever the fuck he wants within it. He, as an individual, comes to that knowledge only after suffering through some harrowing crap. And I think a common assumption is that for all of humanity to arrive at a similarly liberating enlightenment in this real world of our actual shared experience, we'd all first have to go through some pretty crazy fire-in-the-sky shit too.

But that need not be the case at all. Maybe it'll be as simple as the revelation -- on a mass scale -- of the truth behind what the greedy political elite have been doing all these years, which finally motivates the common people to put aside their superficial differences and come together in peaceful unity (instead of continuing to allow the greed-elite to convince us to keep killing each other). That would touch off a huge shift in consciousness. The heads (and talking-heads) of Fox News Channel might lose their lives, but their sacrifice would serve the greater good. A gigantic, paralyzing illusion would be dissolved and a new social harmony could be reached. Not that I advocate killing (ahem) Rupert Murdoch and Bill O'Reilly. And Sean Hannity. And Ann Coulter.

Of course, it is easy to imagine that if certain wings of the greed-elite maintain any sort of hold on popular opinion, we could end up with world-wide Biblical craziness. Fortunately, 80% of Americans already think we're going in the wrong direction. Which is only fitting after the last 8 years. Though, that last 20% does represent tens of millions of individuals who somehow still think things are on track. That's a lot of sick sick people who desperately need help (a small percentage may be beyond help). Not sure what will have to happen to reach them. Can you imagine what it's like inside their heads?! Good God!

Personally, on some level, I've been contemplating the end of the world since I was a small child. I don't think I was particularly morbid or anything, but I did used to have dreams about the end of civilization. Note I didn't say 'nightmares' -- except I do remember a particularly vivid and exciting one wherein I was being chased by mutants for much of it (apparently, they blamed me for the world-wide collapse -- and they were pissed). I woke up out of breath with my heart racing. Was probably 10 or 11 years old at the time.

I had other dreams about surviving alone in the woods or on a desert island, etc. And then I started enjoying many similar idle daydreams. At the time, I figured it was just my way of escaping the soul-alienating boredom of, say, junior high.

And I've always been especially drawn to / fascinated by people who strive to live as self-sufficiently as possible. My Side of the Mountain. Into the Wild. Etc. Any off-grid types. There was an old PBS documentary showing a lone guy building an entire house in the wilderness with nothing but simple hand tools and materials culled from the immediate landscape. And it wasn't some tiny run-down shack. It was a large comfortable house with a stone hearth/chimney. Serious shit.

And then there's my own uncle. During the 70's, he escaped from NYC's rat race and now lives in a super-insulated house he built himself up in the Catskills, growing all his own produce in two giant vegetable gardens. The land he lives on was purchased by his parents, my maternal grandparents, during the days of the "Borscht Belt" culture. They originally built summer-only cottages for Lower East Side tenement-dwellers who wanted to beat the city heat for a few weeks at a time. When gambling was outlawed up there and air-conditioners became more common and that culture died out, the entire resort-based economy of the region dried up. A great many bungalow colonies and almost all the large hotels were abandoned. Driving up with my folks to visit my uncle when I was a kid, we'd pass plenty of buildings that had quite literally collapsed due to sheer neglect. It wasn't unusual at all to see structures being sucked back into the earth by gravity, growing over with weeds -- former hotels, now compost heaps. Nature. I loved it.

My uncle spent years fixing up the abandoned bungalows on his family's property, making them suitable for year-round occupancy ("winterizing" them) which wasn't easy since the area experiences pretty harsh winters (though, as Nat jokingly pointed out, if climate trends persist, it'll all be balmy ocean-front property someday). Eventually, my uncle even managed to find a few tenants, as a huge yoga/meditation ashram opened up 5-minutes down the road, and some of the devotees wanted more affordable places to live. So, he's been able to really make a go of it.

When my grandparents passed away, the entire property (only a small portion of which was ever built on) passed down to their children -- my uncle, my aunt and my mother. My mother's portion consists of a few acres of nothing but trees right now. Barring the unforeseen, those woods will pass down to my brother and me. I don't think my brother gives a crap (he'd be psyched if gambling were re-legalized and the large casino-hotels all came back, possibly to have property near them, but possibly just because it could conceivably increase the value of our undeveloped land, which he might simply want to sell under such circumstances). I, on the other hand, consider the land the basis of my apocalypse contingency plan.

The Plan:

1. Make a ton of money somehow.
2. Spend some of the money on several modest pre-fab off-grid homes perhaps like these, and stick 'em in the forest upstate.
3. Install some wind turbines to generate additional electricity for things like: all-electric car, all-electric tractor, you-get-the-idea.
4. Build a greenhouse to grow vegetables year-round.
5. Invite people with right attitude and valuable post-apocalypse skills to come up and enjoy surviving in relative ease and comfort. Short list would clearly have to include folks like...

gardener/horticulturalist
multi-talented fix-it people/mechanics
engineer types
chef
brewmaster/distiller
musicians / DJ's
yoga instructor
healers of various modalities
surgeon
dentist
psycho-pharmaceutical chemist
writer/historian/archivist
artists of all kinds
dancers

and obviously

healthy women of child-bearing ability
zombie-fighters

But mostly, we're gonna need people who can simply live in the now and not be crushingly attached to all that will obviously be lost. (Materialists, shop-a-holics, etc. need not apply.)

Now, don't get me wrong... I'm no prophet of doom. If society keeps chugging along, perhaps making small incremental strides towards peace, nobody would be happier than me, after all, I'm Mr. Happy Fun Guy now. Of course, should my contingency plan be required, I am planning for my post-apocalyptic utopia to be an extremely fucking fun place. After all, we probably won't have any assholes breathing down our necks, and there's something undeniably sexy about surviving the end of the world.

So... who wants in?

Burning Fiction

2008-07-20T16:04:00.000-07:00

"Paradigm Shift"

An elderly man and a 6-year-old boy walk side by side. They are dressed in matching garb: lightweight breathable silver jumpsuits and silver goggles. The old man's outfit also has a cape. This makes the pair look like an intergenerational (intergalactic!) superhero duo. They both have long-ish hair, the real color of which is hard to determine due to the fine dust that coats it. As they walk, the boy looks up at the man and says: "Grampa? Would you tell me about when you were a kid, back when they used to burn the man?"

"Well... okay," Grampa clears his throat, "When I was a young man, Black Rock City was only here for one week out of the year."

"That's all?" asks the boy.

"Yep. It was a very special week, full of celebration and meditation, art and humor and all kinds of fun. The climax of the week came on the second to last night, when the giant man would be burned down, and we'd all dance in the light of the fire. A day or two later, we'd pack up all our stuff and split, taking care to leave no trace that we'd ever even been here."

"Where did everybody go?"

"Well, back then there were lots of other places where we all lived. We had a much larger society, which we called 'Default World' and we Burners came from our various homes in all different corners of Default World to be here. But that larger society had many problems. Many problems which we don't have now."

"What kinds of problems?"

"Oh... all kinds. People didn't know how to share--"

"WHAT?! But HOW--"

"I know, I know it sounds crazy. And in many ways it was. Default World was marked by insanity in almost every aspect of daily life. Since people didn't know how to share, there was great competition for resources, everything from food and shelter to land and energy."

"Energy? But that's the easiest thing in the world for everyone to get! Why would anyone compete for something that's free and unlimited?"

"That's a little complicated, but back then, most people didn't bother to harness the wind and the sun the way we do now. We can generate much more electricity than we'll ever need just from those two sources, but we happen to be living in a very sunny, very windy place!"

"That's for sure!" says the boy.

"Without generating energy from the wind and the sun, most people got their energy from what we called 'fossil fuels.' There used to be this black oil that came out of the ground which could be burned to generate heat, electricity and to make fuel for all sorts of vehicles. It was also used to make plastic."

"Hahah... nobody MAKES plastic! We just harvest and recycle it!"

"Yes, but where do you think it all came from originally? Someone had to make it."

"Ohhh..."

"So with oil from the ground being used for so many things that people depended on so much, it became the most valued resource in the world. But it wasn't like the sun and the wind. It wasn't unlimited. And by the time I was your age, we were already running out of it."

"What happened?"

"As supplies got smaller and smaller, and demand for oil got bigger and bigger, people started fighting over what was still left in the ground. Actual wars were fought over it!"

"What are... worz?"

"Oh, right... you wouldn't know about them, would you. Well, a war was a terrible thing in which large numbers of people would try to kill large numbers of other people."

"People tried to kill each other?!"

"Sad but true. It was not a very good time for humanity."

"I'll say!"

"The oil war era was a painful and difficult time for many, but we Burners kept right on doing our thing, coming out here to the desert to celebrate and remind ourselves that nothing lasts forever. I think our attitude and yearly pilgrimages helped prepare us for the big changes that were to come."

"What sorts of changes grampa?"

"Well, things went roughly like this... after 8 years of the worst leadership the modern default world had ever known, the people elected a new leader, a very nice man who was very smart and who promised positive change. And things did start to change for the better, surprisingly quickly. It was remarkable to see the entire mindset of the United States of America shift."

"United States of America?"

"That was the name of the country that used to span the continent we're standing on."

"The WHOLE CONTINENT!?"

"The whole thing."

"Wow!"

"Yeah, it was pretty impressive for a while there. And even though the new leadership accomplished a great deal during its first four-year term in office, and even though the overwhelming majority of people around the entire planet were happy with the changes that were taking place, there still were a few people who wanted things to continue the way they had been going under the bad leadership."

"Really? Why?!"

"Because they were bad, greedy people. We used to call them 'motherfuckers' or 'assholes.'"

"Haha! Assholes! That's funny. I have an asshole."

"Yes you do. And what comes out of it every day?"

"Poop!"

"And what is poop like?"

"It smells BAD!"

"Which is exactly like everything that came out of the people we used to call assholes."

"Haha! Yucky."

"You said it. Well, when the next election rolled around, the bad people decided to try a very mean thing to gain support for the leader they wanted to install in power."

"What did they do?!"

"Well, they wanted to make it seem like the other leader, the nice smart one, wasn't any good at protecting the country from enemies, so they waited until his political party was having a big convention, and they unleashed a terrorist attack on the city that was hosting the convention."

"What's a terrorist attack?"

"Well, it was a kind of fighting that was meant to scare people, so that you could get them to do what you wanted. Most people thought terrorists were a real threat who came from far away places, but it turns out the worst terrorists were just sneaky bad people in our own country who only made it SEEM like their attacks were done by the far away people. Then after the attacks, they said 'You see! We told you there were still great dangers! You need to put OUR guy in power or else there will surely be more terrorist attacks!'"

"But THEY were the ones doing the attacks!"

"Of course. But not that many people could tell. Most people thought it was the far away people doing them. Unfortunately, the bad people chose a form of attack that hadn't been tried before, because they figured it would be extra scary, and things kinda got out of hand."

"What did they do?!"

"They released a highly contagious disease into a city. This was where the good man's convention was taking place, remember?"

"I remember."

"A few people in that city died right away. It was terrible."

"Whoa. Were people scared?"

"Yes. Very. The disease was supposed to kill people very quickly, and run its course. But the bad men who created it made some mistakes, and most people carried the disease for a couple days without knowing they had it before dying of it themselves. Since people had come from all over the country for the good man's convention, when the convention was over, they brought it back with them to every part of this land. People started dying everywhere. It was so terrible that eventually, one of the bad men responsible for the original plan revealed the truth about what was going on, in the hopes that it might make it possible for people to figure out how to stop the disease. But by then it was too late. Many people had already carried the disease to other countries. It spread quickly all over default world. Whole populations were wiped out as the disease quickly ran through its life-cycle."

"How did we survive?"

"It all came down to good timing, really."

"What do you mean?"

"The Democratic National Convention of 2012, took place at the same time as the first few days of the Burning Man festival that year. When the news broke that people were dying in every single state of what had been the United States of America, it was Saturday morning. That night, when everybody gathered at the giant man, which was the only time when everyone at the festival would all be in one place, instead of burning the man down, an announcement was made. The news about the disease affecting the rest of the country was revealed. The organizers of the festival then suggested that people stay in the desert for a few more days, to wait and see what would happen. We never did burn the man that year, or any time after that, to this day."

"Did people stay here?"

"Most of us did. A few felt they had to go, to return to loved ones, or try to help out at hospitals. But a strong feeling passed through the entire community that we were supposed to stay right here and wait. It was very difficult at first."

"Because you were scared?"

"Well, yes. Nobody knew if the disease would be able to reach us out here. But also difficult because in those days, Black Rock City was only meant to be temporary. Fortunately, by then, we had developed some centralized solar and wind power for the city, and many Burners either hooked into it or had their own solar and wind generators. Biodiesel was also big at the time. Water was scarce, of course, but a miraculous thing happened."

"What?"

"It rained."

"And you collected the rainwater?"

"Smart boy. We sure did. We collected it in every kind of container you can imagine. The rainwater kept us going long enough to get word from the outside world that the disease had run its course. There were small pockets of survivors, mostly in remote places. All major cities had been decimated, and most suburban areas too. The plague had spread like wildfire, but once it ran out of fuel, or victims, or hosts, it just sort of burned itself out. That was the first major change."

"There were more changes?"

"Well sure. With so many people killed off so quickly, those of us who survived couldn't go back to the lives we were used to. There was no economy, there was no industry. Even though it soon became safe to go back to the cities and towns of default world from a disease standpoint, in many many places the survivors of the plague turned to violence, and lots more deaths occurred. So we stayed put out here in the desert for a little longer, monitoring the situation via radio and internet. Eventually those sources of information fell silent. Gradually, we sent expeditions out into the surrounding areas to find out what was left of the world we had once known and hopefully bring back news and supplies. When they returned, they came back with food, water, some medical supplies, some good drugs and even some composting toilets."

"Like the ones we use today?"

"Almost the same! Whenever there was news of interest to every Burner, we'd all gather around the man, to hear the announcements--"

"That's what we do!"

"That was when the tradition started. So we gathered to hear what the expeditions that returned had to tell us, and we learned all about the devastation of default world. But they also said it was relatively safe to move freely about, as long as we had vehicles that could run off of either electricity, or vegetable oil. For most of us, this meant our range of travel was fairly limited, so we knew it would be difficult to return to where we'd come from even if we had wanted to, even if there had been anyone left in those places. So we organized many supply runs, and prioritized the things we knew we'd need most. After food and water, more composting toilets was first on the list! Then came the materials we needed to start building the greenhouses. It was the beginning of our long-term settlement here and the whole society you know. Some people did decide to try their luck back out in default world. We never heard from any of them again. Interestingly, the theme of that year's Burning Man festival was 'Paradigm Shift.'"

"What does that mean?"

"A big change in the way things are."

"Oh."

[to be continued]

Rhyme Beyond Reason

2008-07-17T16:53:00.000-07:00

Mark Twain once said, "History doesn't repeat itself... it rhymes."

That dude was so fucking cool.

Thought for the day. Enjoy.

Oh, okay, I'll riff a bit on the topic...

In my own life, I've noticed certain rhymes. I'll have an experience, and then shortly afterward I'll have an extremely similar, but much higher-stakes version of the experience. This type of thing was happening over and over again, in all sorts of striking and obvious ways, and I came to call the phenomenon the "rehearsal - performance effect." For example...

One time, shortly after I moved into the city, I signed up to take bass-guitar lessons from the Sam Ash music school. You signed up and paid for a block of four lessons at a time which were $35 each, so I had to shell out a total of $140. A little sad to say, but that was actually a heckuva lot of money to me at the time. So after the first lesson, when I realized that I probably wasn't going to get much out of the lessons because the bass teacher kinda just wanted to hang out and be my pal, I figured I'd better cut my losses, cancel the rest of the lessons and get my money back for the unused remainder. I'd still be out the $35, but at least I'd recover $105.

That Saturday, I went on over to Sam Ash to the office where I paid for the lessons originally, but they were only open for a few hours during the afternoon. I was there about 45 minutes too early. To kill the time, I walked a couple blocks over to Burger Heaven and sat down at the counter for lunch. I figured, I was about to get $105 dollars back, so I could splurge on a very delicious burger and especially good fries. (Oh such good fries -- lord how I miss french fries.)

I ate my food, looked at the time, and sure enough, I'd killed the requisite amount. I left a tip on the counter, grabbed the check and went to the register by the door to pay. When the lovely young woman behind the cash register gave me my change, she accidentally gave me an extra 75 cents. For a tiny fraction of a second, I considered just pocketing it, because I could always use extra money even if only 75 cents, some more quarters for the laundromat were always convenient to have on hand, and who would notice? But I decided to do the right thing, saying, "Um, you gave me too much change. Here--" as I handed her back the three quarters.

At first she was a little stunned, and then she was so incredibly grateful that you'd have thought I'd just saved her child from a burning building. I thought she was going to hug me. I walked out of there 75 cents "poorer," but feeling like a million bucks. Off I went to the Sam and the Ash.

A few minutes later, I got to their office and it was open. I went in, explained my situation and the lovely young woman behind the desk figured out what to do. I guess they didn't get many requests for money back on the lessons, or canceling the lessons, or probably even taking lessons in the first place. It all seemed a bit makeshift up in there. Still, after a few moments, she handed me a check for the full amount. For the full $140. I was only supposed to get $105 back.

An extra 75 cents was easy to return (and I'd even contemplated keeping that), but I really really could've used an extra 35 bucks! It was like the universe was watching me... I mean, I really felt as if I was in the presence of some kind of guiding intelligence. It was saying: Okay man... you did well on the little pop-quiz, but now let's see how you do on an exam when it really counts.

I looked down at the check in my hands, and just smiled. I knew I was going to give her the money back, and I knew she'd be shocked by my doing so. It was already starting to feel good, so I took my time and savored the moment. And when I handed the check back to her, explaining that she'd over-paid me by $35, the look of astonishment on her face was worth so much more than the money. She tore up that check, wrote me a new one for the proper, lesser amount, and as she handed that one to me I thought she was going to not only hug but kiss me as well -- which would've been totally great as I remember her being a super-cute redhead (I kinda have a thing for redheads). I probably should've asked her out right then, and if I'd only had a little extra cash, say $35 bucks for a few beers, I totally would've. Just kidding. I didn't really think to ask her out until I was half-way home because I was too busy being all awed by the universe and pleased with myself for having actually done something right.

Here's another, much much weirder example of an experience rhyme (a morally neutral one this time)...

A few years ago, a friend of mine named Mike was in possession of an old, beat up 1973 Dodge Dart "Swinger" which was a sporty muscle car of the era, prized for its legendarily indestructible "slant-6" engine. And yes, the engine of this car was still in great working condition, even though the rest of the car was rusting through and beat half-way to hell. The few times I ever took it out, the thing was actually really fun to drive, especially around town, and I must say... I looked (and felt) great in it. And despite how beat up it was (or maybe because of how beat up it was) I got great approving looks from girls as I drove past.

Mike got a job out in LA, and left the car in my charge. As cool as it was, I almost never even touched it, much less actually used it. Once in an extremely rare while I'd drive it a short distance. Whatever.

At some point, another friend, Daniel, was shooting an indie-film and needed a beat up antique car. He asked if he could borrow the Dart for a day. I said yes.

He and his crew came and got the keys, took the car, did their thing, returned it, everything was fine.

Two days later, I find myself heading upstate with Jay and Robert to do acid (my first acid trip, actually). Jay was driving us in his car, and he knew a lovely little spot out in the middle of the woods by a completely remote secluded pond. A perfect setting on a perfect day for a very pleasant psychedelic experience.

To get to the actual spot, we pull off the highway, onto a local road for a bit. Pull off the local road onto a smaller country road. Pull off that onto a dirt road, and eventually park in a clearing. Then we walk a fair distance on a little dirt footpath down to this pond. We're really in the middle of nowhere. No other people for miles around.

The acid trip is going great, but eventually we get thirsty and realize we left the bottles of water back in the trunk of the car. I volunteer to go get them.

I walk back up the dirt path, and as I get closer to the clearing where Jay's car is, I see other people, doing some sort of something in an organized-looking manner. I don't pay much attention to them, since I'm thirsty and I'm on mission of grave importance (what with my cohorts relying on me for a basic survival need) and since I'm tripping my face off and all. I just keep walking and soon enough, I get to the car, get the water, drink some and start back down the path to the pond.

As I pass back by the group of people, I can see that it's a film shoot or a photo shoot or something. There are a couple guys with camera gear, some assistant-looking types holding things, and in the center of the activity is a gorgeous willowy blond model wearing a wispy floral-ish dress, draping herself on the hood of an incredible mint-condition classic ice-blue convertible from the late 50's early 60's from the looks/styling of it. I wish I knew exactly what the car was, because it may have been more beautiful than the girl. It was really just fucking perfect.

Why these people had come up to the middle of these particular woods to get this shot I couldn't say.

Off to the other side of the dirt path from where the work was happening, were the crew's support vehicles: a Jeep Cherokee and Lexus SUV. There was a young woman sitting in the passenger seat of the Lexus, reading a book or a magazine, with the windows rolled down. Since she clearly wasn't busy, I asked her what was going on. She said this was a fashion shoot, that they'd driven up from Manhattan. I asked her what her part was in the proceedings and she said that she was the one who had supplied the antique car.

I said,"Oh, nice car. Well, take care." If I hadn't been tripping, I might've lingered and asked a few more questions. But instead, I just continued down the path, back to my friends, Gunga Din bearing water. Then it hit me...

Two days earlier, I'd supplied an antique car to a film shoot. Now, here, in this extremely remote and unlikely place, I encounter a bunch of people and the only one I talk to is the one who supplied an antique car to a photo shoot. And just like other rhyming experiences, the second one was taking place on a much "higher level" than the first one. Nothing against Daniel or the indie film he made, and nothing against the old Dodge Dart, but every aspect of this professional fashion thing was obviously on a whole 'nother plane.

So, that was weird.

The rehearsal/performance rhyming experiences with a moral component are kind of easy to see meaning in. But that antique car coincidence was just fucking freaky. Of all the places they could've gone, to find a bunch of trees to shoot in, they chose this particular crazy out-of-the-way place, where we just happened to be tripping balls, and of the three of us, I was the one who went for the water and thus was the only one who encountered them, and of all their people, the only one I interacted with was the rhyme.

How does that happen? Why does that happen? What does it mean?

Maybe it's just the Universe's way of reminding us to be impressed.

Wanted

2008-07-16T08:49:00.000-07:00

Saw a movie last night which I wasn't actually interested in seeing at all, and it turned out to be surprisingly good. I kinda want to go right back and see it again.

Like Zombie Strippers, the movie Wanted is a shining example of what may be my favorite type of movie these days: smart, masquerading as stoopid. Movies in this category are better than plain stoopid movies that are popular because they are truly just stoopid and have almost nothing worthwhile to say but do have lots of Lowest Common Denominator appeal. They are also better than those smart movies which might say a great deal, but will only ever reach a small audience of people who already understand and agree with what is being said--preaching to the choir doesn't help any of us. (Not that those are the only other film options, of course.)

I will say, it is unfortunate that in order to accomplish this, Wanted does have to resort to glorifying (even beautifying) hyper-violent gun-play, which, in my opinion, is the last thing the American mass-mind needs more of these days. But it pushes it so far into the realm of impossibility that it's hard to imagine anyone taking it seriously, and the pure spectacle is just fucking fun to watch. And once you get past that, the movie is genuinely inspired. It also makes no bones about the fact that it is trying to inspire, speaking directly to those of us who find ourselves working in, say, boring cubicle jobs, while secretly (or openly) feeling like we're meant for something greater and perhaps more beneficial, both to ourselves and to society. (Or at least, something more interesting.)

Okay, I admit it. It speaks to me. Maybe there are other people who it speaks to, I don't know, but there are a few little moments during the film that made me feel like a child being lectured by a stern but well-meaning parent. And not in a subtle way either. Utterly, intentionally, obvious. It made me feel kinda paranoid (totally paranoid), like, "Do the film-makers know me?! Have they been spying on me? Damn! I'm kinda creeped out right now, though maybe I should be grateful for all the effort they made on my behalf, I mean, a feature length action movie is a serious undertaking just to try to motivate me or get a few positive messages into my thick skull. Think of the man-hours!"

And I wasn't even stoned when I saw it!

If I had been stoned, I might still be too creeped out to write this.

But for those of you who do get stoned, and do work in a boring cubicle job and do feel like you're meant for something bigger and better, I whole-heartedly recommend smoking a big fat bowl, and seeing this movie on a big fat screen. But don't see it at the Loews on 34th st., because the sound kept going in and out which was really annoying and a couple of ladies in the row ahead of me kept talking back to the screen, especially when they were surprised by the things that weren't surprising, like: "Oh my god! He killed him!"

(Yeah. He's gonna kill lots of people. It's that kind of movie. Oh... maybe -- I'm sorry -- have you not... um... is this your first movie? Ah. That explains it. Yes, in American movies, people kill lots of other people. Lots and lots of them. Lots of killing. Oh, and the people running around on the big rectangle can't actually hear anything you tell them about what to look out for, or who might have a knife, because, you see... they aren't really there.)

Now, I know intellectually that there are plenty of other, well, guys mostly, who probably need an entertaining ass-kicking even more than I do. But that doesn't make it feel like this movie was any less specifically aimed at me. Personally.

Back when I still smoked pot, I had that feeling, much more strongly, about many things. Several tracks off a Bjork record. Almost all of OK Computer by Radiohead. The South Park movie. Hate comics. Hey Jude. The lyrics to just about every song in the entire set of a friend's brother's band performing at sidewalk cafe back in '97. The graffiti on the wall of the men's room at the Lakeside Lounge. The conversations of total strangers passing me on the street/in the park/anywhere. WBAI. Newspaper headlines.

Holy ill-communication Batman!

Though, I gotta say, the messages from all these sources weren't negative or menacing or hurtful in any way. In fact, most of them were either trying to help or just playfully mock me. I really shouldn't complain. I just didn't like the fact that I was receiving "messages" at all. Leave me alone! I just wanna get high! I don't want to be part of some creepy borg/hive mind, even if it does want to help me! It's amazing I kept smoking pot as long as I did. (I attribute that to the memory-erasing aspect of heavy pot-use. I kept forgetting that pot would make me feel like everything around me was communicating with me in metaphorical double-speak underneath the obvious surface meanings, and only I would even notice the deeper-level communiques because they only applied to me.)

Interestingly, most of said communiques seemed to be telling me I needed to do more fucking.

Some said I needed to express my creativity more.

Some of them were pleading with me to slow-down my pot smoking. And when I ignored those particular warnings, they gradually became sterner and more blunt, instead demanding that I stop or else suffer severe loss of various faculties, mental, physical and spiritual, which I both needed and enjoyed.

Hahah!

(I'm not even kidding.)

Of course, those messages are all things that my own subconscious would want me to become consciously aware of (and to heed). But on the deepest level, the subconscious mind of the individual is a part of/one with the collective consciousness of everyone/everything. And pot is a mind-expanding drug. A mild psychedelic. The word "psychedelic" literally means "mind-manifesting" as in: it can help you witness the contents of your own mind. The higher the dose, the deeper into "mind" it reaches, until it hits the place where your mind and the mind of, you know, the cosmos or some shit, are one and the same. In order to provide a nifty external sensory showcase of your own mind to symbolically or poetically or literally reflect it back to you, the Universal Mind could certainly employ the aid of something like the dinner conversation of the party at the next table, or a radio show, or Radiohead. You think there's anything beyond the reach of The Universe?

But I had trouble taking advice from, like, my own mom. And, lo! I found myself attempting to ignore, or even rebel against, The Universe!

This, of course, makes me a colossal idiot.

It also makes me just like countless other humans. Wheeee!

Whoa. I wasn't expecting to go off on that tangent when I sat down to write this.

In conclusion, Wanted is a fun movie, especially if you like looking at Angelina Jolie's perfect face. The end.

The Cover

2008-07-16T07:22:00.000-07:00

Am I the only one who thinks Michelle Obama looks totally hot as depicted on the controversial cover of the New Yorker magazine?

Know Your Enemy

2008-07-15T08:47:00.000-07:00

As a New York City bicycle-rider, I find I have a few natural enemies. Many bike riders feel that taxicabs are their most dangerous adversaries. In my area (Times Sq.) I find that slow-moving hordes of over-stuffed mid-western tourists are far more annoying, if not actually more dangerous. I've tried to develop an understanding with the cabs. Though, occasionally I do see one execute a maneuver so recklessly insane I find myself goggle-eyed cartoon double-taking at it. Like... wait--was that REAL? Did that guy really just thread the needle between those two baby-carriage pushing pregnant women at 50 mph?!? Holy shit! (I mean, it's okay for me to do that, but I'm only going 20 mph, am much narrower and I don't weigh two tons.)

I know it probably gets tiresome reading the posts wherein I relentlessly advocate for bike-riding. As my man Jon in Dallas pointed out, I'm lucky, living in NYC, because I CAN get from place to place on a bike. Almost any other city, that just ain't possible. He also mentioned that most other places, a guy simply can't get laid unless he can pick the girl up for their date in a car with at least one passenger seat. Right. He concluded artfully, saying that if it were a choice between driving and getting a hummer, or having neither...

So, right... I should probably cut our less-fortunate neighbors a little slack. But this is clearly a case where a trait that favors individual reproductive success, kills off the species as a whole. Like the northern big-horned elk...

Apparently, there was this particular species of elk, northern elk, that grew great racks of antlers, and the males who enjoyed the greatest reproductive attentions of the females were the ones who grew the BIGGEST antlers. So every generation, the offspring were likely to grow ever larger racks of antlers, until eventually, the antlers were so big that the elk couldn't lift their heads. Within a little more than one generation, they were gone. Completely extinct.

Our SUV's are the antlers of our demise.

Still, I'm a realist. I know that even here in Manhattan, where it is more than possible to get everywhere I ever need to go on a bicycle, it is still occasionally preferable to do the unspeakable... to bow to the enemy and {gasp} take a cab. You're going out for a night on the town, perhaps a certain amount of swank will be involved, you have to dress well, she especially, and hers is an expensive killer outfit, and maybe it's hot and humid out, or maybe it starts to rain. You ain't riding a bike under those circumstances. No way, no how.

But thanks to a surprisingly simple idea, it is now possible to significantly reduce the badness of taking a cab! You just have to plan ahead a little bit.

Oh.

Plan ahead?

Well... that opts me out.

Thank goodness I don't ever do anything swanky (and that I've attached fenders to my bike to keep the rain-puddles from making a silly-looking line of grimy wetness up my back).

Silence!!

2008-07-14T12:34:00.000-07:00

Okay... now there's a new vacation possibility front-runner. A 10-day silent meditation retreat. Not exactly the best place to get laid, but I think it'll do me a world of good. Maybe two worlds.

I'm just gonna go up to a lovely idyllic setting, and stop thinking about anything for 10 whole days. I feel more relaxed already just imagining it.

all things in moderation

2008-07-13T10:06:00.000-07:00

Partied all night last night.

Body not super thrilled about it today. Gonna be a short post.

Tried to go out NOT drinking. Only had club soda at Margulies' place. Only had club soda at the bar. Only had a half a cup of coffee at the first loft. Found second loft overrun with very gorgeous women from all over the world. Started immediately drinking gin. But no cups or glasses so I ended up drinking out of the glass cover of a light-fixture. Yeah... I'm really good at the whole "not drinking" thing.

Only slept about two hours.

I know I neglected this blog yesterday, and to my legions of loyal fans out there I apologize with every grandiose fiber of my being, but I'm in no position to really make it up to you today either, what with my brain not all um... working good. Um... yeah. Not brain's fault.

I think my fridge doesn't keep things cold enough. What are the odds that my landlord will replace/fix it?

um...

Brain hurting. I'm going to forage for food now.

Sorry for the lameness.

hope you had fun this weekend too.

bye for now

Gonna Be Harder Than I Thought

2008-07-11T13:16:00.001-07:00

Remember how I said I wanted to give up the alcohol completely?

Well thanks to those lousy stinking Puritans who infected this continent with their idiotically lame morals, it is just stupidly difficult to get laid without one or more of the relevant parties being drunk. I knew there was a reason to loathe those accursed Puritans.

I've never traveled much. I've never been outside of NAFTA's jurisdiction. Never really had the urge. But now I'm seriously curious about what it would be like to try getting laid in a country that wasn't founded by completely uptight assholes. And with the vacation time I've accrued...

So, of the foreign places I'd like to go get laid in, several come immediately to mind... India, Israel, France, Black Rock City, Holland, Denmark, Romania and maybe Australia.

Partly due to this really wacky article, and partly due to the fact that all my friends who have been there wax poetic about the hotness of Israeli girls, I'm actually leaning toward Israel. I can hardly believe it myself.

But thanks to assholes again, the price of oil is so high that a flight to Israel costs more than the gross national product of Israel.

Is there a way I could ride my bike to Israel?

Respect

2008-07-10T09:07:00.000-07:00

A little while ago, I wrote about seeing Bill Clinton speak at Radio City.

About a week prior to that, there was a Moth Slam with the theme "Respect" which inspired a story that I would've told a very short version of had my name been picked...

Little kids are generally pretty open and trusting. I was especially so. I always just assumed the best of people. I mean, the adults in my life were always loving, caring, good and true, protectors, providers and educators. I never encountered physical violence. My needs were always met. I had it pretty darn good, so I just took it for granted that people were honest and nice and the world was "the right way." Obviously, that innocence couldn't last forever, and I think I actually recall the exact moment when it suffered its first blow. It was a minor one in the grand scheme of things, but it was the seed...

My third grade teacher was a kindly woman about 60 years old, who had a reputation among the school kids for being "the best teacher in the school!" This had little to do with her ability to teach math and more to do with the sorts of things that mattered to 8-year-olds: she was fun. She turned almost all her lessons into games, or art-projects, or just wacky special "activities." She really was creative and she clearly loved us. And you couldn't help but love her back. After all, being in her class was like constant play-time! When the weather was nice, we'd go outside and she'd teach us these crazy games she'd invented, most of which made use of that school-yard staple big red rubber ball. The only one I remember was "Kickball-basketball" which actually was a bizarre mash-up of the two normally separate games. And somehow, in the midst of all the goofiness, I'm sure she did manage to expose us to the required 3rd-grade curriculum, as boring as that must've been for her.

One day, a few months into the school year, she was writing something on the chalkboard, and I thought I noticed a misspelled word. The word "challenge." Now, given the fact that she was the teacher and teachers know how to spell words, plus the fact that she was always turning everything into little games, I figured her misspelling of the word 'challenge' was intentional and must have been a challenge to see if we would notice. So I raised my hand and pointed it out.

She played along, pretending not to know what I was talking about. "Oh really? A word is spelled wrong you say? Which one?" She was obviously setting me up for the win, and I was actually kind of excited as I told her which word it was, pleased and proud that I was the one who figured out this latest little puzzle of hers. I expected her to respond with something like "Very good! You figured it out!" But instead, she said that no, the word was correct, and that I was making a mistake.

Uh?

I really thought I was right and I persisted, but she still said I was wrong. Baffling! It seemed a teacher was intentionally trying to convince us of something incorrect. How can that be? Doesn't that go against the laws of physics or something? Maybe I was wrong after all. But I really could've sworn... Still, she was the teacher, and I was just a little kid. What did I know?

I knew how to spell the freakin' word "challenge" is what I knew, so I started reaching for my dictionary, just to make sure. Seeing this, she said "Yes, everybody, why don't we take this opportunity to look it up in our dictionaries..."

And when everyone's dictionary ended up siding with me on the matter, she reached for the eraser, and fixed the word on the blackboard. And then never called on or spoke to me again for the rest of the school year.

She only gave me the cold shoulder, the occasional frown and some active hostility a few times (after which she always made a point of being extra sickly sweet to the very next student she had to interact with). I guess spending her entire adult life with 3rd-graders, she'd never felt the need to be subtle. She'd obviously been embarrassed by what had happened, but it's not like I'd set out to embarrass her intentionally. I mean, come on... really? An experienced professional school teacher is gonna hold a grudge against a freakin' 8-year-old? For a whole school-year? For not even doing anything! For being a good proofreader! What? The? Fuck?

I gotta say, it did become a pretty miserable year for me, having to sit in that formerly fun classroom, now unable to interact with my teacher in any remotely normal way.

(Pick the one best answer...)

What was 8-year-old Jon supposed to learn from the experience described above?
A) To respect one's elders
B) Not to correct the mistakes of an elder
C) Despite being in positions of authority, adults are only human, have feelings and sometimes make mistakes. Don't take it personally if they disappoint you.
D) Adults cannot be trusted and might not deserve respect.
E) Kill, kill, kill!

Now, it's not like slogging through that year just flipped a switch inside my brain and I instantly lost all respect for authority. But it subconsciously got the ball rolling.

After that, I started noticing more ways in which I felt I couldn't trust "the man." The ball kept picking up steam. I remember consciously deciding that the institution of public school itself was completely suspect -- not really geared toward enriching the lives of students, but merely conditioning them to become docile consumer-worker-drones later in life. I was maybe 12 years old by then.

Puberty hit and I found I could believe less and less of what the adults around me were saying. My disrespect snowballed. I also couldn't believe Americans were stupid enough to vote for the skin-puppet Ronald Reagan. I couldn't believe the shit I was being taught in the religious education (Hebrew School) classes I was forced to take, leading up to my Bar Mitzvah. I lost respect for my country and my family and my religion and whatever else you got.

My personal avalanche continued to slide. I was a stubborn unreachable kid. I couldn't take anybody's word for anything and thus had to learn everything for myself... always the hard way. The conclusions I came to were usually pretty hasty (surly arrogant teenagers aren't exactly known for their foresight and I had less than most). Case in point: I decided dropping out of High School was the way to go. (Though, I'd probably do that again, actually.)

As I grew angrier and more disaffected, I took ever greater pleasure in openly mocking and defying all authority figures whenever the opportunity arose, arrogantly wearing my disrespect like a badge of honor. I never took a steaming dump on the hood of a cop-car, or punched a cop in the face or took a steaming dump on a cop's face or anything, but I certainly wasn't acting with any regard for my long-term future. One might say there was an element of self-sabotage to my behavior in general. In fact, many people did say that. Repeatedly. Of course, I didn't trust anyone but myself because everybody else was so stoopid. I'd like to say that this self-sabotage reached maximum when I dropped out of school (the first time), but that was nowhere near the level of the things that were to come. Regardless, at any given moment, I had nothing but scorn and derision for everyone from my own parents, on up to the leading politicians of the day and every authority figure in between.

So imagine my surprise when many years later I found myself covering politics for an extremely prominent TV channel's online division, being flown out to Los Angeles for the year 2000 Democratic National Convention. Just fuckin' crazy.

The second to last night of the convention, President Clinton was delivering the keynote speech, and afterward there was going to be a huge lavish party thrown in his honor -- a fund-raiser for the Democrats hosted jointly by Daimler-Chrysler Corporation and the UAW. My supervisor at work (a great guy named Ethan) had friends in Clinton's White House, and he scored us access to the event.

Now, I knew I'd probably "stick out" a bit at an event like that. I mean, I look like... well... me. Goateee, neck tattoo, t-shirt 'n' jeans, sneakers. I think I looked even more severe that night wearing all black, and extra scruffy. But I pride myself on being able to get along with absolutely anybody, from Kings and Queens to the scum of the earth (to quote an old SNL sketch). Though, given the choice, I might prefer hangin' with the scum than with the Royalty. (Ahh, same thing.) Anyway, upon entering the venue, I turned to Ethan and joked, "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm the only High School dropout here, aren't I." He said, "Haha... yep, probably."

So we mingled, and ate the little crab-puffs, and after a while Ethan found me again in the crowd. Ethan was a bit of a photographer. He'd gotten his camera out and explained that the president was about to arrive. When that happened, a receiving line would spontaneously form by the door, made up of people who all wanted to shake his hand and say hello, just so that they could say they shook the president's hand.

ME: Really? Seems pretty silly. (then under my breath) Ego bullshit.
ETHAN: It is. Do me a favor and get on the line too.
ME: I thought you agreed it was silly.
ETHAN: I did. But I wanna get a picture of you shaking his hand. It'll make a great [and by that I'm sure he meant "hilarious"] snapshot.
ME: Ah! I can get with that. Okay then, here I go!

So I joined the line, already pretty long.

Well, soon enough, in walked the President of the United States. He was just coming off his speech, which I'd watched of course, and was looking pretty haggard, sorta deer-in-the-headlights staring, a bit shell-shocked. I'm sure he'd been working and partying his ass off all week long. Still more to go. And the eager throng of sycophants, you know, thronged at him. Everybody was all: "Mr. President! Mr. President! So nice to see you Mr. President! I don't know if you remember me, Mr. President, I'm sure you don't remember me, of course--"

BILL: No, no... you look kinda familiar--
THRONG: Well, it was a few months ago in Michigan and we talked briefly about blah blah blah!
BILL: Oh, uh huh. Great.
THRONG: Mr. President! Mr. President!
BILL: That's my name, don't wear it out.
THRONG: It's such a pleasure to meet you Mr. President!
BILL: Well, it's a pleasure to meet you too.
THRONG: Mr. President... Just reminding you that I need to tell you about that thing...
BILL: What thing?
THRONG: You know... that thing you wanted me to get from--
BILL: Oh right... the thing. Yes... I'll find you later.
THRONG: Very good Mr. President.
Etc. etc.

So Bill just keeps shell-shocking his way slowly down the line, clasping hands with everyone, sometimes two people at a time, making eye contact, not making eye contact, too many people, can't pay attention to all of them equally, some are louder and more insistent than others, but he's trying to be there for everybody, and he's slowly approaching my position in line. It occurs to me that I'm probably gonna have to speak to him as I shake his hand, the hand of the President of the United States of bloody America, the ultimate authority figure.

Ooohhhh... oooohhhhh... I could feel the urge to do something totally inappropriate, or at least to speak truth to power, welling up inside me. Oh my god... what was I going to do? In the past, I sometimes had no idea what I was gonna do until I felt myself jump onto the conveyor belt and ride it through the baggage claim area of Logan Airport (yes, I actually did that, including where it went into the wall). So now, faced with such a gigantic opportunity to both make an anti-establishment statement and simultaneously destroy my life, how could I possibly resist!?! It was gonna take all the strength I could muster just to remain even remotely... you know... normal! But normal in this case means addressing him using the proper protocol: "Mr. President." I could keep myself from making a scene, but I didn't think I could bring myself to show him the full and proper respect due his position. I mean, I was fine with Bill Clinton the person, but I didn't particularly respect the office of President (which I imagine was the inverse of the feelings of many people in the country post-Lewinsky).

I decided to be as nice as I could. I had seen his keynote speech. I had liked it. I could compliment him on that and be done with this ridiculous situation that was suddenly stressing me out so much over simply having to behave... properly... erk! Must... not... try... anything... stupid! Secret... service... agents... will... shoot me! Here... comes... Bill...

As he shuffled past me, his hand sort of automatically reached out and shook mine. He didn't even get a chance to look at me. I only said two words: "Nice speech." But I was being sincere. I accompanied the two words with that little tight-lipped almost-smile and slight head nod that generally indicate in the least sentimental fashion possible: "I acknowledge your existence in this moment of our mutual spacetime proximity." It wasn't a fawningly "appropriate" and "respectful" greeting for the President of the United States. Instead, it was exactly the level of genuine respect for our shared humanity that I would show a brother on the street.

Bill didn't respond. I couldn't be sure he'd even heard me, what with so many other people clamoring for a moment of his attention. He continued down the line. But then, several handshakes later, he paused, and to my utter surprise he turned back, looked me right in the eye and answered my two words with two of his own. He said, "Thanks man," (the casual vernacular I prefer) completely sincerely. He accompanied those two words with the same little tight-lipped almost-smile and slight head nod.

Then he turned back forward and continued the greeting and the shuffling and the shaking and the shmoozing.

I couldn't bring myself to address him on his level. But he was perfectly willing to address me on mine. He even went a little out of his way to do so. I was impressed. It was humbling. Much respect.

Much respect, y'all.

Changes

2008-07-09T09:01:00.000-07:00

These days, I find myself attempting a general transition from the fun but unhealthy behaviors of my foolish youth, toward whatever healthy behaviors will enable me to keep feeling like a foolish youth. I've given up the drugs. I ride the bicycle. I'm going to start doing the Bikram Yoga (the one in the heated room). And now I'm seriously contemplating giving up all alcoholic beverages (if anybody knows a way to accomplish this without severely cutting into my drunkenness, please let me know).

In addition to the changes I'm making to my personal health, I'm trying to make changes that minimize the destruction I do to the environment. I'm one of those guys who's willing to pay a tiny bit extra each month to have the electricity in his apartment come solely from wind power. Oh sure... right now, some might call me a "hippie" or a fringe sort of "eco-fanatic," but someday people like me will simply be called "people" or possibly "the ones who survived." Seriously though, I swear to [popular deity], making the wind-power switch (super easy to do) was the best thing I've done in years. It's like the weight of the world has been lifted off my shoulders. As a result, I'm standing up straighter (another healthy and long-overdue change and I'm not even kidding).

(Really, who knew I was supposed to be this tall? The world just looks and feels... wrong... from up here. I've had to lower my office chair so that my eyes will be at the height of my computer monitors. And walking down the street is so awkward now. Eh, I'll get used to it eventually.)

I'm also spilling my guts into this internet word-bucket every day, and all the ranting and the raving turns out to be nicely cathartic! My own much quieter version of primal scream therapy. Instead of all these words bunching up in my brain, keeping me awake at night, I let 'em loose onto the information superhighway and they make their way onto your computer screen where they can do no harm. I'm sleeping much better, and hopefully you're no worse for wear. If you are worse for wear, I hear the internets have lots of other things you can "click" [?] onto, and then different stuff shows up on your screen. Al Gore: awesome!

Another healthy change I plan to make: more plants. I'm gonna turn both my apartment and my office cubicle into miniature jungles. Only without the giant spiders and poisonous apes. Or is it giant apes and poisonous spiders? Eh, either way. Actually, I wouldn't mind if there were giant apes in my office cubicle. I think it would make for some witty conversation with my co-workers...

LAUREN: Nice giant ape, Jon. Sheesh.
ME: Thanks!
LAUREN: I was being sarcastic.

Then the giant ape, feeling insulted, reaches over the cubicle wall and knocks over Lauren's pen-holder. Pens scatter. Some even fall on the floor.

LAUREN: Dammit Jon! Can you please keep your giant ape on your side of the cubicle wall!? God!
ME: Sorry.

Okay, so maybe I'm better off not having a giant ape at the office.

Oh, hey... has anybody seen the Hunter S. Thompson documentary, "Gonzo"? If so, how was it? If not, wanna go? (Yet another healthy change I'd like to make: I wanna go from not having seen "Gonzo" to having seen it.)

All right.

Enuffa my yakkin'.

Let's boogie.

Desire

2008-07-08T08:24:00.000-07:00

The theme of the most recent Moth Slam was "desire." I considered entering my name to tell a story, but ended up not doing so, because the only story I could think of on the subject was inappropriately philosophical. Not that you can't be philosophical at a Moth Slam, but more that just like everyone else (with the one exception of Elna Baker) I'd rather tell a story that stands a chance of getting me laid. Ah... desire.

The Buddha said that desire causes suffering. Buddhists sometimes expand upon that simple statement, saying that suffering is caused by the desire for external things which are always fleeting and, in fact, illusory, so even after possibly attaining such things, in the long run they cannot help but fail to truly satisfy, which inevitably leads to more desire... and more suffering.

But desire is the motive force of all human activity! So like, everything we do ultimately causes us to suffer?!

Of course! Haha! Just look at us!

I mean, I am living in what is probably the single most non-Buddhist place in the world. New York City is constantly inflaming every kind of lust imaginable, in everybody here. Sexual lust, consumer-product lust, food cravings, ego-boost-bullshit, competitive victory lust, you name it. A gigantic swirling vortex of arousal and desire, never ever truly satisfied, because it is, by its nature, unsatisfiable.

And look at New Yorkers. So many of us are so neurotic and anxious and depressed and stressed out and so we drink and drink and do this drug and that drug and fuck this one and fuck that one and just fuck whoever comes along, and the healthy ones among us are all in this kind of therapy, or that kind of therapy or some new kind of therapy, or maybe we just go shopping, because it feels so good to throw our money away on really awesome crap we don't need, until after we get home and have to find a place to put the crap in our already over-filled closets (we call them "apartments") and we notice all the unused crap we bought the last time we felt this empty, and then we really feel like shit because we totally coulda used that money...

(Even as I write this, I'm trying to remember when the new iPhones come out. It's soon, right?)

Yep. Pretty non-Buddhist.

I never thought of myself as all that caught up in the consumer culture, I mean, I like my Chuck Taylor sneakers just fine, but I wear them until they completely disintegrate. Like, down to individual sneaker atoms (Sneakronium). I was, however, most definitely a prisoner of lust when I first moved into town. But then that head-explosion thing (I've mentioned) happened to me, and that changed everything. Too complex an experience to describe in any great detail right now (and it kinda defies description anyway) so let me just say that in the wake of having been to "the other side" and back, I was left with absolutely no desire for any transitory product of spacetime.

All the things that I used to strive for, all the things that everybody else strives for, suddenly struck me as utterly worthless -- ludicrous to even bother paying attention to them, much less to want them, much less to actually make an effort to obtain them. I mean, I still needed to pay rent, and eat the occasional meal and all, but as long as I had the bare minimum to survive, I didn't give a crap about anything else.

I didn't even care about sex anymore. Like, not at all. Oh, I could still appreciate the hotness of a hottie when she'd strut past, but then I'd just laugh my ass off... "Oh my god... I used to be such a slave to pussy! Hahah!" And it's not like I stopped having or enjoying sex, but it became completely unnecessary. Even after having great sex with an amazing girl, if she wanted to do it again sometime, I could totally take it or leave it. No cravings whatsoever. Like, think of a really delicious food, but one which you just don't happen to feel like eating at the moment. You could eat it, but you could also pass. It was just like that. In my case, I don't have much of a sweet tooth, so a good comparison would be to, say, an extra-large double fudge chocolate brownie sundae. Nobody NEEDS an extra-large double fudge chocolate brownie sundae. It will never be necessary to eat one. I will never particularly crave one. But if somebody offered me a spoonful, I'd probably take it and enjoy it just fine. (Though not these days because I can't have any of the ingredients.)

Another food analogy: let's say, you like McDonald's hamburgers. You think they are just sooo delicious. You try to eat them whenever possible. Then, one day, someone feeds you the finest filet mignon in existence. After that, McDonald's doesn't seem so great any more. You walk by a McDonald's restaurant and say to yourself, "Wow... I can't believe I used to get so worked up over those hamburgers."

So, I found myself devoid of all cravings. No wants. At least, not for anything in the normal day-to-day realm. I did want to repeat the transcendent experience though. So I took up meditation. I was pretty disciplined about it too... for a while. Within a short time, I could put myself into a pretty deep state almost immediately, and I could sit still like that for long stretches at a time, just watching the pretty light-show on the inside of my skull, and that was way more fascinating to me than anything else I used to be into. Spiritual pursuits were all so new. Everything else was a been-there-done-that yawn by comparison.

And it turned out the Buddha was exactly right. Without all the constant desires and cravings for fleeting external enticements, I no longer had any problems. It was so weird. All the mental effort I'd devoted to obsessing over my so-called "problems" was now freed up for other uses. I had so much more time! So much more energy! I didn't know what to do with myself! And that energy would come bubbling up out of me in quirky little expressions of joy that I could barely contain, at totally inappropriate moments. Imagine how weird it would be to see a total stranger spontaneously burst into a fit of the giggles when he's by himself on the corner waiting for the light to change. I was that guy. I didn't particularly want to be a lunatic, but I was so happy that I didn't care.

I would float through my day in this craziest, edgiest of cities, in a bubble of simple contentment, watching as all around me everybody clawed all over each other to get:

- a phone number
- a bargain
- a taxi
- ahead
- some head
- a spot at the bar
- noticed
- the latest craze object (supplies are running low! hurry!)
- a girlfriend
- a boyfriend
- signed
- etc.

And I would just glide past all of it, like "no thanks, I'm good."

And people would be all, "You sure? It's mighty tasty!"

And I would say, "I'm sure it is, but it's not for me. You enjoy it though."

And people would frown, and look at me like I was nuts, or just plain stupid for turning down the opportunity to snort some coke with some fine bitches in the back of Puffy's limo, possibly even getting sort of pissed off at me as in "How DARE you turn us down?!" and I'd be all, "Thanks anyway, but I've got something way better to do!" and they'd be like, "What could you possibly have to do that's better than this?" and I'd be all, "I'm gonna go home, turn off the lights, and sit quietly on the floor with my eyes closed for as long as I can! Haha! Isn't that great?!"

I suppose I'm lucky nobody called the men in white coats to come haul me away.

Now, I'm not sure how long this most amazing period lasted. Maybe a year. Maybe two. Hard to say really, because in some ways, it never ended, and in some ways it definitely did. I couldn't sustain it. I didn't particularly even try. I didn't have a reliable wisdom tradition (can't bring myself to use the word "religion") to draw on, or any real knowledge, simply relying on my intuition to guide me. Sometimes this was just fine. A lot of the time, I felt like I was flying blind, even when I was just fine. And sometimes I did totally fuck things up.

First of all, on some level, I just didn't know how to live as this happy problem-free person I'd become. I mean, I'm a mellow version of an edgy weird neurotic urban Jewboy. I can't function without problems! My entire sense of humor was based on being perpetually infuriated! It was a defense mechanism against how badly everything sucked. If everything is suddenly fine, then I have no use for such a mechanism. How can I be fun at parties if I can't make people laugh due to the most unfortunate fact that I actually like life?!? Oh My God... I've been turned into one of those wide-eyed earnest no-sarcasm dullard people that I always used to mock so incessantly because they used to creep me out so hard!! Poetic Justice! Nooooooo!

And it's not like I could even get upset about it, because the "problem" was that I had no problems! I was too fucking happy! I mean, I LIKED it, even as I watched people squirm and try to get away from me at cocktail parties. I knew I was boring them and creeping them out by being all "genuine" at them and shit, but seeing them run away in fear and disgust only amused me more! And of course, I couldn't even mention this to anybody, much less "complain."

FRIEND: So, what's the matter?
ME: I'm too happy.
FRIEND: Um...
ME: Yeah, my life's too good. I can't stand it.
FRIEND: Should I kick you in the balls or something?
ME: Well, no, I don't think that's the answer, really.
FRIEND: Because I kinda want to.
ME: No, really. That's okay.
FRIEND: I so want to kick you in the balls right now. Are you sure you won't let me?
ME: Should I not have said anything? I shouldn't have said anything.
FRIEND: You definitely should not have said anything. I'm gonna have to kick you now.
ME: Okay fine. Kick away.
FRIEND: Oh no, not if you're just gonna lie down and take it. What kind of friend would I be then?
ME: What kind of friend are you now?!
FRIEND: You're the one complaining about how your life's "too good." I should totally kick you!
ME: You're right. You should. Totally. Go ahead.
FRIEND: Oh My God You Are Such An Asshole!
ME: What? What do you want me to do?
FRIEND: I want you to suffer. Like the rest of us. Is that so wrong?
ME: I don't think I can! I don't remember how!
FRIEND: I don't want to kick you in the balls anymore. Now I just want to kill you.
ME: You shouldn't do that.
FRIEND: WHY NOT!?
ME: Because you might feel bad about it later, or get sent to jail or something.
FRIEND: But not because YOU'D have a problem with me killing you.
ME: Better than living with crushed testicles, I imagine.
FRIEND: Erk-- arg-- mmp--
ME: Yeah, no. Death ain't no big deal. It's just a transition from this kind of life to a different kind of life. And I mean, I've had a good run here as this weird jon-levinish meat-thing. Especially these last couple of years! Hoo doggie!
FRIEND: SO STOP COMPLAINING!
ME: Oh right! Thanks! You've been a big help!
FRIEND: AAAAAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH.

Then, something else started happening that was pretty negative. I found I was kinda getting off on turning things down. Like, instead of merely not being interested, I started perversely enjoying people's stunned reactions when I'd opt out of things other people would kill for. And that's no longer authentic. That's no longer a healthy detachment. It was a weird reverse attachment. I became attached to detachment. (Who knew that could even happen?!)

And of course, the more I opted out of things, the more cut-off from humanity I became. Remember those years you never (or rarely ever) saw or heard from me? Well...

I made a half-assed attempt to find other people who were going through what I was, or who had already been through such a thing, both to learn from them, and just to be able to talk to somebody about it who wouldn't think I was nuts (or want to kick me in the nuts). And as it turns out there are fucking huge numbers of such people all over the place! But I hate them all.

Just kidding.

There are tons and tons of people, obviously, who had been through similar things. Ridiculous to think I was breaking new ground on any of this shit. I mean, really. What the fuck. So, right... I went to Burning Man (too loud). And I visited a yoga/meditation ashram upstate (too rainbow-y). And I attended a lecture at the Theosophical Society (too dry and humorless). And I attended a lecture sponsored by the Multi-disciplinary Association for Psychedelic Studies (MAPS) (too spaced out). And of course, I met lots of other people who knew the score. But I never really let myself become part of a community. I've mentioned in the past how I tend not to join things, even when they're amazing.

And while it was definitely comforting to know I was not alone, I guess I still preferred to go it alone. I'm sure I was some kind of renunciate hermit monk in a past life. Really hard to manage that in Midtown fucking Manhattan. Especially due to the fact that radiating a fairly purely happy vibe, as I was, made other people respond to me totally differently. Before, when I was a miserable bastard, I could skulk around more-or-less invisible. If I wanted some attention, I'd have to go out of my way and do something funny to get it. For a while after I got all happy, people paid attention to me. A lot. Way more than ever before. Way more than I was used to. More than I could handle. At first, I was sort of flattered of course, and if I'd been less of a renunciate by nature and more of an opportunist, I could've gotten very very laid during that time. But I knew that it wasn't "me" or anything I'd done to particularly deserve the attention. And after a while, I found it hard to simply go about my regular routine (New Yorkers can be very persistent). I even left the city for 4 months one winter, to escape to the woods and not be around anybody. If I'd known about silent meditation retreats, I would've done the longest one available, and then done it again. Several times. A psychic lady I saw a while back, told me that I was caught between two polar opposite life-paths, neither of which was really "right" unto itself. She called them the Priest and the Rock Star. Eeewww. I don't want to be either of those! And right... I'm not supposed to be one or the other. I'm supposed to integrate them into one middle-way healthy person. (Buddha was right again!) Well, if anybody knows how to do that, I'm all freakin' ears.

(Actually, I think I have the answer. I think I've had the answer for a while. I've got to take up a regular Yoga practice. The whole mind/body/spirit integration thing.)

Anyway, due mostly to my own stupidity, I ended up almost squandering my calm, happy centeredness, because I started wanting something I had never thought I'd want again. I started wanting to WANT things. In other words, on some level, I wanted things to go back to the way they were before, when life was crappy. Well... be careful what you wish for ladies and gentlemen! (Just kidding.) (Though, yes, in general, it is a good idea to be careful what you wish for, because we have more power than we think we have.)

Nowadays, I am back to wrestling with lusts and desires, but not like I used to. I don't think I'll ever go back to being the way I was... before. One of my problems (I have problems, woo hoo!) is in recognizing when I do legitimately want something, versus when I only think I ought to want it. My desire mechanism is a little rusty and it slips a bit. But one of the things about being me is that something like a busted desire mechanism doesn't bother me.

Maybe I'd be better off if it did.

Should I want it to bother me more?

I wish I knew! (Too much?)

(Now you can see why I didn't try to tell that at the Moth Slam. God. Can you imagine! The whole audience would still be vomitting now, a week later!)

Meh

2008-07-07T08:00:00.000-07:00

Not feeling up to writing much today. If you check this space regularly, you probably noticed I took the last two days off. Holiday weekend and all. Entitles me to a break, no? And I certainly didn't want to spoil everybody's fun with rantings and ravings about the hypocrisy of celebrating U.S. Independence Day. (I have trouble staying on the shiny happy surface of things. It's a hang-up. Sue me.) In fact, I didn't really even get to see the fireworks as I stupidly left my apartment too late, forgot they close the east river bridges to foot and bike traffic and thus was stuck in the subway while the ceremonial bombs were bursting in red-glare air. But if you've seen one fireworks display, you've seen 'em all. Unless they, like, blow up the moon or something.

In other news, I hear that people like drama. But I lead a pretty drama-free life. Or at least, I try to. (I succeed.) To the outside observer, my existence probably seems very boring. But to those of you observing my life from inside my brain (you know who you are) the picture looks very different. (Of course, you know that already.) For the benefit of readers who don't parasitically feed off the energetic emanations of my pineal gland, suffice it to say I lead a richly imaginative inner life.

I do seem to be surrounded by people who create drama, often where there need not be any. Most of them are very young (fetuses) and so don't know any better. No, that's not true. They subconsciously know that without creating drama now, while they're young enough to withstand the nonsense, they won't have good stories to tell later. So I guess I should commend them. I was no different. Almost got me killed a few times. I'm definitely over it now though. And so, with that, I bid you all a resounding: "meh."

Nifty little tidbit: read on the internets that of the 69 US cities with populations above 250,000 people, ranking them in order of which enabled their inhabitants to accumulate wealth most easily, New York City ranked... any guesses?

Dead last.

As if that was even a question.

Ranked number one was Plano, Texas.

Proof positive that money isn't everything, can't buy happiness, can't buy me love and is the root of all evil.

And speaking of money, the dollar continues to fall. I guess I won't be going to Europe any time soon. But that does mean we'll be seeing ever increasing numbers of Europeans visiting NYC. As far as I'm concerned, this can only be a good thing (the Danish, e.g., are ranked the "happiest people in the world" which is equivalent to healthiest and most enlightened, so having more of them come here and rub off on us can only work in our favor -- not to mention, they're all pretty easy on the eyes).

An equally reliable source (those internets again) reports that Ugly Americans are no longer the most hated tourists in the world (woo hoo!) but rather the French and Chinese. Yeah, but this is only because with aforementioned plummeting dollar, we Ugly Americans can't afford to shit on anyone but ourselves at the moment (unless you count our military operations, which... no vacation for them either). We probably could afford to go shit on, maybe, the most decimated countries. And I bet they don't even get asked to participate in the "survey" that coughs up the "worst tourists" results, so we're in the clear!

Hmm... seems I've written a goodly amount today, especially for someone who didn't feel like writing anything. So I guess I'll sign off. Besides, the brain-energy-feeders need me to run some more errands for them -- it never ends with those guys! Almost like I work for them or something. Just as long as I don't have to kill again -- gotta draw the line somewhere.

This is Humbling

2008-07-04T14:06:00.000-07:00

Found this on Gizmodo (yeah, I've always been a bit of a gadget geek). The most impressive animation art I think I've ever seen, considering how it was done. The sheer effort that must've gone into this is mind-boggling...

MUTO a wall-painted animation by BLU from blu on Vimeo.

Looks Like I'm the Straight One

2008-07-03T13:23:00.000-07:00

Well, that settles it. I'm definitely not gay.

(My various ex-girlfriends go "well duh...")

Not that this was actually in question.

But just a few minutes ago, I saw concrete proof.

I was walking up 9th Avenue in my neighborhood, on my way to get some food from the Amish Market, return a DVD to the crappy little mom'n'pop video store that's barely managing to survive, and pick up a dish-drying rack (can't believe I've been living without one for so long) when I saw, walking the other way, my doppleganger. My gay doppleganger.

Apparently, I have a gay evil twin. I mean, picture me, only, you know, much gayer.

Wait... My evil twin is gay? Um... Fierce?

Okay, so how do I know he was gay? Well, his features were softer and more effeminate than mine, and he was kind of swishy as he walked. His big wild hair was styled in a purposeful way, instead of just fuckin' crazy like mine. His beard was neatly trimmed. His sunglasses were similar to mine only not the $5 St. Mark's kind -- his were expensive. He was wearing a sleeveless t-shirt and these darling little shorts. Oh, and he was holding some other dude's hand as they walked along.

Other than those things, he really did look just like me.

So if there are two of us, and he is obviously the gay one, I guess I'm the straight one.

I wonder if he's off somewhere with his boyfriend going, "My evil twin is some disheveled hetero dude with no style? Gross!"

Sorry to disappoint, but you're not what I was expecting in an evil twin either, pal. Like looking into a swishy mirror.

A Moment

2008-07-02T17:37:00.000-07:00

I shared "a moment" with a stranger today. Well, I share moments with strangers all the time, after all, I live and work in one of the densest areas of a big dense city. But this moment was funny and sweet and I think she enjoyed it almost as much as I did.

I was walking down 7th Avenue toward what would ultimately be the purchase of a surprisingly horrible lunch (a salad bar melange from the Chelsea Whole Foods Market which consisted almost entirely of salt as it turned out). This portion of the avenue is populated by many very fashion conscious young ladies. Not that there's any part of NYC that isn't, but this is right by the Fashion Institute of Technology (a good school for that industry, but such a dumb name). These young ladies tend to push the boundaries. They're hipper, cooler, edgier, sometimes prettier but it doesn't matter because they're soooo badass. Well, they think so anyway.

At one corner, I was crossing the street while she was waiting to cross the avenue. She was a tall thin very pretty African-American woman, with big wild hair. When she saw me, a lanky white dude, she obviously couldn't help noticing how big and wild my hair has gotten (it's gotten very big and wild.) She made eye contact with me, and we shared wry smiles, bonding over our mutual out-there hair (looked great on her; me... eh). And then she went back to her cel-phone and I went back to my, um, nothing in particular.

I'd never bonded with anyone over hair before.

Usually... it's the beard.

I Blame Leary - Part 2

2008-07-01T09:08:00.001-07:00

A little while ago, I started writing about our divided America in a post called "I Blame Leary" which made no actual mention of Timothy Leary. I was working up to that, but let myself get side-tracked ranting about how religion has been co-opted and perverted by greedy "leadership" to keep people warlike despite the fact that religion is supposed to foster peace & harmony, or at the very least, tolerance. (Kurt Vonnegut once said that the problem with religion was simply that it aimed too high -- if instead of "Love thy neighbor" Jesus had said, "Tolerate thy neighbor" enough people might actually have attempted to comply to make a real difference.)

But getting back on track... Two Americas: one good, one batshit crazy. Each side utterly convinced it is the good one and equally convinced of the batshit craziness of the other. How does this happen? A stupid-sounding but actually very interesting thing called "Spiral Dynamics Theory" cooked up by a psychology professor named Clare W. Graves, explains it pretty well, and as I understand it, it goes a-something, a-like a-this...

As we individual humans grow from infancy to adulthood, we change and evolve in many ways, including our levels of identification, conscious awareness, psychological development, etc. We move through various stages. But not everybody progresses at the same rate, and not everybody reaches the same stage before "leveling off".

Similarly, whole cultures exist at various stages of development, based on where a critical mass of adult individuals fall in their own personal development. Now, no matter what culture you examine, from any given time and place, you'll find individuals within it at all stages. But until there is that critical mass of people at least one level up from the overall level, the culture itself won't change. Certain individuals help their cultures evolve, and certain cultures help their individuals evolve and both are in constant flux, always playing off each other, etc. etc.

Now, just because an individual's level of development is "higher/more advanced" or "lower/less advanced" than someone else's, doesn't mean he/she is better or worse, nicer or meaner, smarter or dumber, etc. (though wherever they are completely shapes that person's entire take on reality). Similarly, less advanced cultures and more advanced cultures both have positive features and negative ones.

Individuals and cultures at the highest levels manifest the currently unusual ability to recognize that there even are different levels of being to begin with. They also see each level as an inherently necessary and valued evolutionary step, and they are able to retain the positive attributes of the less advanced stages, even as they move on to more advanced stages (very Burning Man).

On the other hand, individuals and cultures at intermediate or low levels think that their level is the only one that exists. They don't think of themselves as being on a "level" -- it's just the way it is, was and always will be -- and thus cannot consciously benefit from the attributes of other levels whether higher or lower. When a group at such a level encounters someone on any other level, they unconsciously assume the guy is on their level (as there are no distinctions to them). But since the guy's behavior is dictated by the different level he is on, he could seem a bit "off" to the group. Maybe even insane. Possibly criminally so. Or, perhaps the guy will be revered as a god. Either reaction is obviously incorrect, but probably inevitable, given the limited awareness of the group. There are many famous examples of this throughout history.

Typically, when an entire culture is nearing the shift from its current level of development to the next, as it gains the critical mass of more advanced individuals needed to hit the tipping point, the culture sort of "spasms" a bit, as it shakes off the remnants of a possibly tenacious old guard, before a new equilibrium and smooth forward momentum into the full flowering of the new paradigm is achieved. The most obvious metaphor for this would be birthing pains. Often, something drastic must occur in the culture, for the transition to take place. It could be violent. But not necessarily. Some births are smoother than others.

We are obviously in the throes of this process right now. We have been for a several decades.

The two Americas consist of:

the people who fear change, so resist and try to prevent this transition

typically operating at a feudal level, culturally, if not even less advanced

those who welcome the inevitable transition and work to bring it about

typically operating at a groovy "1960's" level, if not more advanced

Interestingly, if we continue the "birth" metaphor, then it is the progressive liberal folks who are like midwives trying to ease the process and bring our new baby gently and painlessly into being, and it is the conservative folks who are unwittingly trying to abort it. Of course, given their level of cultural development (a pre-psychedelic, pre-scientific, pre-renaissance mindset) and the fact that they don't know other levels of awareness exist, they can't help but think they're right and that any other viewpoint is insane. But if you interfere with the natural birthing process, you either kill the baby (society), kill the mother (earth), or both. Fortunately for us all, many people are waking up these days.

So why do I say I "blame" Timothy Leary? Well, I think this transition would be going a lot smoother if he hadn't pushed so hard for it so prematurely. The advent of LSD was the most significant event of the 20th century, as far as I'm concerned. LSD has been to our culture what labor-inducing drugs are to a pregnancy. The shit is not to be taken lightly.

In the early days of LSD research, back when such a thing was legal and small amounts were freely available if you knew the right experimental psychologist, Aldous Huxley advocated spreading its conscious use slowly, gradually, starting with influential members of the intelligentsia, and letting it trickle down from there. Leary didn't like the elitist sound of that, and probably feared the creation of some new psychedelic class system, and so advocated dosing as many people as possible as fast as possible.

Now, I'm not elitist, not by any stretch, but Huxley correctly realized that society wasn't ready for a tidal wave of psychedelia. But that's exactly what Leary unleashed. And what happened... the fearless young people tried it, had their revelations and their freakouts and amazing things started to happen. But their parents were scared shitless. For probably the first time, an enormous amount of young people were doing something totally alien to their folks. And the Generation Gap was invented. Or maybe just the biggest generation gap to date.

The nation bifurcated into the people who were adventurous of spirit and wanted to see what the drugs were all about, and the ones (not just in the older generation, of course) who were afraid of all that stuff to begin with, and recoiled in horror at seeing what happened to the kids who got into it. I mean, if you've never tried it yourself, how could anyone possibly expect you to understand purple paisley?

And enough people were adventurous to cause society to take a big clumsy lurching step forward. But the actual critical mass hadn't yet been reached. So that step faltered. And the old guard mustered all of its strength to fight off the insane-looking, rainbow-colored, glorious mess that it couldn't understand to save its life.

And even though pop-culture has largely remained progressive (and drug-fueled), the power-structure has done everything it could think of to set the clock back to before mass use of LSD ever happened. The neo-cons knew that there were millions of people quietly shaking in fear of all the healthy changes taking place in society, so they naturally exploited that fear and formed a new basis by which mostly rural and suburban people of modest means could be convinced to vote greedy billionaires who don't give a crap about them into high office. Certainly better than seeing Wichita overrun by those gender-bending, free-loving, birth-controlling, women working, inter-racial, communal, tree-hugging, artsy, homo-jewish baby-killing liberal elite book-reading hollywood druggie pornographers! Aaaaaaiiiiiiiiiieeeeeee!!!!!!

So now we have one America desperately trying to keep its head buried in the sand even as the beach erodes away, and another America dancing its ass off, (partly to keep from crying). Still, I'm hopeful for the future. Perhaps it took the absolute abomination of Dubya to shake enough people into their own personal transitions, pushing us ever closer to that beautiful critical mass. It hasn't been gentle and steady, like Huxley wanted. But we're getting there nonetheless.

Random Musings

2008-06-30T14:52:00.000-07:00

- If I were king of New York, there'd be way more bike racks.

- Recently met a woman who writes about business and economics, but is also a skilled palm reader. Encountering anyone with this rare combination of abilities merits a blog entry on its own. But she read my palm and it was shockingly accurate. We were at a very lively casual little cocktail party (in her home) and I wasn't expecting to be presented with so much deep truth about myself. The part I remember most clearly was that in another life, I probably would've been more conventional, because I am a person who actually likes order and structure, but that due to an exquisite sensitivity (her unfortunate -- though eloquent -- words) I forced myself onto a much less conventional path. (Afterward, when I told her I'd dropped out of high school, she seemed gleefully impressed at how dead-on her own reading had been.) She also said I needed to get out of my head more, though she said it in much more refined language. I think the implication was that I'd get laid more if I went back to thinking with my balls (or my heart -- sniff).

- Lately, I've been finding myself attracted to married women. Not just because I've become a sick bastard who only wants what can't or shouldn't be had, but rather because married women aren't trying. They're just more at ease, more confident, and more genuine in their interactions with you, and that vibe is so much hotter than what I encounter in the single women out there. This is a problem. If I don't let go of this, I'm gonna be alone for a long time. Unless I meet some real hip swingers. Make ourselves a nice wobbly 'H'.

- I'm toying with the idea of getting a new digital camera. If this blog starts filling up with photographs, you'll know that I went through with the purchase. But I've been to B&H recently (it's on my ride home from work) and the camera selection is a veritable diner-menu of frustrating excess. So this may take a while.

- Maybe I should offer my services as a video shooter to the married couples out there, if they want to spice it up in the bedroom by making some high-quality personal pornos. I mean, there's only so much you can do in bed when you're holding the camera yourself. And some people get off on being observed. Freaks.

- I think I have psychic intestines. I start farting BEFORE I eat something that will give me gas. Is that possible?

- I read in a book about Vedic spirituality that if you always tell the truth, you eventually come to embody the vibration of truth and gain the ability to make things come true with your words. So, if you're a pessimist, you should probably lie from time to time. Just to be safe.

- Based on my mention of the book "All the Shah's Men" in a previous post, my friend Justine suggested I write up a little book-recommendation list. I will happily do that as soon as I read some more books. Look for it soon. If you, like, y'know, know how to read and all.

16 Things a Guy Named Stefan Sagmeister Has Learned in His Life

2008-06-29T17:37:00.000-07:00

Stefan Sagmeister is a designer who gave a funny, inspiring talk at the TED conference back in 2004. Toward the end, he put up a slide of a list he found in an old notebook of his: 16 things he felt like he'd learned in his life. I like the list. I agree with the list. I could've written the list. I did not write the list. I can't say I always live according to the list. But I'd like to. Here is his list...

Complaining is silly. Either act or forget.

Thinking life will be better in the future is stupid. I have to live now.

Being untruthful works against me.

Helping other people helps me.

Organizing a charity group is surprisingly easy.

Everything I do always comes back to me.

Drugs feel great in the beginning and become a drag later on.

Over time I get used to everything and start taking it for granted.

Money does not make me happy.

Traveling alone provides a new perspective on life.

Assuming is stifling.

Keeping a diary supports my personal development.

Trying to look good limits my life.

Worrying solves nothing.

Material luxuries are best enjoyed in small doses.

Having guts always works out for me.

I'm an Idiot

2008-06-28T19:16:00.000-07:00

So I was going out to Governor's Island today for the Figment Festival, and from there I was going to go to Sally and Daniel McKleinfeld's for a party. I figured I'd buy a nice bottle of booze to bring them, and for some ridiculous reason, I decided to buy it in MY neighborhood, at the beginning of the many bicycle miles I'd have to ride. This was a bad idea on several levels. Most immediately, it was a hot, humid day. Like the inside of a dog's mouth. Having any extra weight in my backpack, plastering it more firmly to my back, was contra-indicated. But I didn't think of that until after I bought it, and I was too lazy to return the unopened bottle to the store to get my money back.

I rode all the way down to the bottom of Manhattan, stood on the line to get on the Gov Island ferry, and then some random person said people with bikes had to go to a different line. At first I didn't know whether to trust him or not, but the line I was on was so bloody long that it wouldn't matter if I got out of it and returned later. I had nothing to lose by leaving to investigate the possible existence of a special bicycle line.

And lo! There was such a line! And it was much much much shorter, and in the shade! Bikes RULE!

BUT... upon being let into the shade and onto the line, a security guy said I'd need to open my bag to let them search it. I don't think they searched anyone else. But I was looking particularly terroristic so I didn't mind. Better safe than sorry. I could've blown up Governor's Island, for all they knew. Of course, that meant they'd find my brand new, unopened bottle of top shelf liquor. I didn't want them to think I was trying to smuggle it over to the Figment Festical, so I freely offered the information that I had it, and was giving it as a gift to a friend at a birthday party later, and they confiscated it.

I told them at least to drink it themselves, or give it to somebody, anybody, a homeless guy.

They threw it in the garbage.

I kind of feel like the Figman Festibule people didn't sufficiently warn me that my obvious booze would be confiscated, after all, Governor's Island has no commerce or provisions to speak of and if there was anything we'd need throughout the day, we were instructed to bring it ourselves. What if I needed booze? The event organizers should've recommended concealing our booze in non-booze containers (classy to give as a gift that way). And it's not like a drunken disorderly person could really do any harm. What was I gonna do, try to break Fort Jay?

What a waste. But still... rules are rules and I probably should've anticipated that.

Oh well. It still turned out to be a fun-ish day out there. Things certainly improved once I got to Sally and Daniel's. They threw a great backyard bbq party. And when they took the second bottle of booze I bought that day away from me, thankfully they didn't throw it in the garbage. Therefore, I like Sally and Daniel better than Governor's Island Ferry Security guards.

"Oh Jon," you say, "But that's like comparing apples and oranges!"

Oh yeah?! Compare my foot up your ass!

"Oh Jon, that doesn't even make sense."

Oh yeah?! Make sense of my foot up your ass!"

Some years ago, I found myself peering out the wraparound windows of a corner office on the 42nd floor of a midtown skyscraper after hours (never mind what I was doing there) on a beautiful clear night. The view to the south, of the Empire State Building and all the way down to lower Manhattan was glorious. But I had a vision, clear as day, of the far distant future when all of it would be gone. The vision wasn't frightening, and it didn't make me sad. It was just stating a fact. Don't get attached. It's all temporary. And our way of life will probably turn out to be a lot "more temporary" even than the stuff we worked so hard to build on this tiny sliver of bedrock.

I bet those security guards will feel stupid for blindly following the rules then!

What I'm Pondering Today...

2008-06-27T08:46:00.000-07:00

...is whether or not I'm gonna go to Burning Man this year. Or ever again.

On my mind because 1. the event is coming up soon, 2. I recently started having a facebook-email conversation with Natasha, a cool healer girl from the scene, about her Burning Man plans and logistics, and 3. the benefits at my job have started to kick in, including a little bit of paid vacation time that has begun to accrue. Which means I could, like, go someplace. Possibly two places! And maybe one of the places could be the Burning Man.

But to be honest, I have a slight problem with the Burning Man (my burner friends all gasp).

What possible "problem" could I have with Burning Man? Well... it's not really a problem with the institution, as much as a personality quirk of mine: I'm not a joiner. I don't like "belonging" to things / groups of people / etc. I don't do family stuff. I don't belong to a religious organization. I dropped out of every school I ever attended. I never formed a rock band. Never participated in the school play, etc. I was in my high school marching band, but in retrospect, despite the many good friends I had in that organization, being in the band, you know, sucked hairy goat balls.

According to a book about human beings I read a little bit of once, people are naturally either extroverts, or introverts. Extroverts make up about 79% of the population and introverts about 21%. Why such a huge difference? Well, assuming there's some genetic component to it, it makes perfect sense. After all, it's much easier for louder, more outward-directed, people-person type people to find each other and hook up for some baby-making, than it is for quiet, inward-directed loners to. So, the vast majority of babies that get made each year end up containing extrovert DNA. Of course, in order for society as we know it to continue, a few introverts must reproduce every once in while, for without inward directed loners, all art forms would be much shittier and there'd be no such thing as Alternating Current.

Extroverts thrive on being around people. They are energized by it. When left alone, they go a little nutty. That's why solitary confinement is considered such an extreme punishment.

Introverts, on the other hand, thrive on and are energized by solitude. Without solitude, we go a little nutty, and can't accomplish very much that's worthwhile. When I'm around lots of people, no matter how awesome cool fun creative and awesome they may be, I feel a bit drained. Not their fault in the slightest. And doesn't stop me from loving them. Just that to me, they're kryptonite, that's all. Just kidding. There's no such thing as kryptonite.

Given that extroversion is the norm (like right-handedness) and introversion is comparatively uncommon (like left-handedness), people who are extroverts don't always even recognize the existence of introverts. Instead, they sometimes think everybody is the same, so... extroverts (the default) and some of us are merely being shy for some temporary reason. Like, maybe we're just not feeling well. This is incorrect. And sort of a nuisance. You'd never ask a left-handed person "Are you okay? Is there anything I could do to help you be more right-handed?"

Of course, there are shy people, and both extroverts and introverts can experience moments of shyness. But people aren't born shy. Some people are born introverts though. Apparently, I am one of those.

Still, I enjoy being social as much as anybody (well, maybe not anybody). I do enjoy parties. I even enjoy throwing parties. But sometimes, I find it good to disappear from them, just for a bit, just to recharge my batteries so I can continue partying more. At Burning Man, that's not a readily available option. Sure, there are vast open areas, but then you hit the fence. And spending a ton of money, and putting forth an immense amount of mental and physical effort to be able to attend a week-long 40,000 person party in the desert, only to spend much of the time wishing you could achieve some solitude, is pretty dumb.

But more than that is the hang up I have about community. The Woody Allen / Groucho joke about not wanting to belong to any club that would have a person like me for a member kind of applies, but more than that is I guess I'm somehow addicted to being an outsider. I don't really know how to loosen up and let myself simply enjoy belonging, even when I do truly value a community and everything it stands for.

Of course, part of the central metaphor of the entire burning man experience is how amazing it can be once you let yourself get outside your comfort zone. Just by BEING there this will automatically be the case for much of the time, due to the sheer desert heat during the day, the severe cold at night, the high winds which produce dust storms so thick you can't see your hand in front of your face and the more-or-less constant noise. But it's really more about getting outside your psychological comfort zone. And Burning Man provides a stunning and immense array of delightfully intense ways to do that too. One of those ways, for me, simply comes from realizing that for better or worse... these ARE my people, this IS my "tribe" so to speak. It just... well, it gives me the willies. So, I guess that's a good thing. ?

Meh. We'll see.

I'm definitely open to being talked into going. Or, you know... try some reverse psychology on me an' shit. Like tell me how much it's gonna suck this year, and how burning man has totally jumped the shark, and how there's no more good art anymore and they're going to prohibit all public nudity and sex, and fire, and biochemicals, and they're thinking of putting up a shopping mall. Black Rock Mall. Oh look honey... there's a Sunglass Hut.

Oh my god... We're the Assholes!

2008-06-26T08:00:00.000-07:00

Except under the rarest of circumstances, nobody thinks of himself as an asshole. But in our world of constant karmic collisions, bad shit does occasionally happen, and sometimes it is somebody’s fault. The bad shit could've been an accident, or done on purpose by conscious choice. If a conscious choice, I’ll wager that nine times out of ten, the person making the asshole choice thinks he/she is making a good choice. So just on a purely statistical basis, some of us must be mistaken/deluded/misguided at least some of the time, and instead of being normal citizens, we are in fact, being asshole citizens. You know, sometimes.

But I don’t really care about that. After all, nobody’s perfect. Napoleon supposedly once said, “Never attribute to malice, what can be explained by incompetence.” I can’t tell you how many times I’ve caught myself fucking up recently and had to apologize to somebody. But I gotta say, even if a person you’ve wronged is on an emotional hair-trigger and has some severe immediate knee-jerk reaction, once you sheepishly say, “Sorry, my bad” they’re usually pretty gracious and forgiving, and then everything is good again.

So, clearly, the real problems start when we are unwilling to admit we’ve done the asshole thing. I mean, it’s not like we’re children -- we should be able to admit when we’ve fucked up, right? Anything less would be really weak. And if you've unknowingly been engaging in annoying asshole-type behavior over some extended period of time, and have been way too self-absorbed to even take notice when the offended but kind people around you have desperately and repeatedly tried to gently alert you to your wrong-doing, if there is, finally, a moment when someone or something does get through to you, it can be the most incredibly wonderfully humbling and amazing moment of your life. OH MY GOD... I'M THE ASSHOLE!! [And the heavenly light of healing truth shines down upon you.] You might have to go vomit and cry for a while, but once your stomach is empty and you have a chance to calm down, you'll be living in a much MUCH better world. (Not that I would know about any of that from personal experience or anything.)

Of course, there are those times when we simply have no idea we’ve done anything wrong. Sometimes we do know and try to deny it/cover it up/make excuses. And sometimes, even after our fuckup is painfully obvious to all concerned, ourselves included, we still insist that not only did we do no wrong, but that we are, instead, in fact, in the right! This is when we cross the line from being merely incompetent assholes, to being genuinely crass and terrible. Because obviously, we can’t correct a mistake until we face up to having made it. More to the point, the person or people we've hurt will probably only feel greater and greater anger toward us for our continued refusal to even come clean. Of course, it would be great if we took active steps to rectify the situation, but even without fixing the problem, merely admitting we fucked up would go SO FAR toward defusing what might be an ever-growing powder-keg of our own creation. But no. We gotta be a dick. And the longer we deny that we ever caused a problem, the worse the problem gets.

To my mind, the worst and most blatant example of this dynamic at work in the world today... is... America's Global War on Terror [ding ding!] I know we're all tired of hearing about it, but keep reading, because I've got a slightly different take than the usual slop.

Okay, so... as we all know, the folks calling the shots 'round here claim that there are these radical Islamic fundamentalist nutjobs, who hate us for essentially no reason (for our "freedoms"), and despite the fact that we never did anything to them, they just come out of nowhere (out of their caves) and try to destroy us in cowardly and despicable ways (9/11). Okay. Now, if all you know about the world is what you've seen on American television, then that probably seems like the correct and complete assessment of our current trans-national shitstorm. But it ain't necessarily so.

Let me take you on a little journey...

First: Imagine back to when you were a little kid, riding in the back seat of the car with your younger brother as Dad drove the family a great distance to go see the wonders of Wholesome Family Vacation Spot™. Think of how restless you and your brother got after so many hours in the car. (This was back before portable DVD players, after all.) Eventually, your younger, much less mature little brother, just snapped and started bothering the fuck out of you. You tried to be good and not retaliate. You politely asked him to stop poking you. He wouldn't stop. You tried to keep your cool, continuing to circle the words in your word-search activity book, thinking if you just ignored the poking he'd get tired of doing it and stop. But no, he just poked at your pencil, causing you to fuck-up your word search. Your little brother had the pester-power™ of a housefly on amphetamines, the mindless tenacity of a salmon swimming upstream to spawn. No force on earth could deter him from his incessant poking. And poking. And still with the poking. So eventually, you complained to Daddy. But Daddy was busy looking for the exit to Wholesome Family Vacation Spot, while trying to get a weather report on the crappy radio. He couldn't address your grievances right then. So the poking continued. Eventually, you simply couldn't take it anymore. You lost your shit, became enraged and poked your little brother back. Hard. So he poked you hard. So you hit him. So he grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled with all his might. And you grabbed his arm with both hands to give him an 'indian burn' and back and forth and back and forth, escalating violence and screaming and tears. Mommy noticed the meat-grinder the two of you had become but her intervention was ineffective until she, in a panic, told Daddy to pull over. He quickly glanced back over his shoulder to see his out-of-control spawn trying to gouge out each other's eyes, immediately pulled over (infuriated that he had to deal with this shit on his only week of relaxing time-off for the entire fucking year) slammed the car to a stop, demanded to know just what the hell you thought you were doing, leveling an especially accusatory gaze at you, since you were the older, more responsible one, and threatened to end the vacation right then and there. And also ground the both of you for the rest of the summer.

"BUT HE STARTED IT!!" you complained, craving even the tiniest bit of justice.
"I don't CARE who started it... I'm FINISHING it" said your dad.

And thus, the matter was resolved. You both had to calm down, or else spend an entire summer vacation under house-arrest. But this new "calm" was a tense and uneasy one, as you couldn't help seething with hatred for your younger brother who had, after all, started it. And I mean, come ON -- everybody knows that the one who STARTS it is the bad one, and it just ISN'T RIGHT for you to be punished just as much as the other person if you DIDN'T start it. You even tried to be GOOD! For SO LONG you tried to reason with your younger brother and plead with him and ignore him and shouldn't that count for something? How could anybody expect anything more of you!? Aaargghh!! NO FAIR NO FAIR!!

Now: from that purely hypothetical story, let's move to something real, from the actual history of our actual world...

In the beginning of the 1950's, Great Britain still had some power and influence around the world, fueled (literally) by an enormous supply of practically free oil they had tucked away under the ground in a country called Iran. Like many oil-rich countries, Iran was ruled by a corrupt despot. His name was Mohammed Reza Shah. The Shah of Iran. He had sold out his people and the valuable resources of his land to the British in exchange for a small share of the total oil wealth -- small enough not to matter to Britain, but which would be more than enough to make him, a single individual, ludicrously wealthy. Meanwhile, British geologists took care of the technical workings of the oil business and the people of Iran struggled in crushing poverty.

Then, in 1952, an amazing thing happened. Despite his wealth and power, the people of Iran rose up and ousted the Shah. They then held the first democratic election process in Iran's history, basing it on the system of the most admired nation in the world, the United States of America, and elected a president named Mohammed Mossadegh, largely due to his promise to nationalize Iran's oil industry -- to give Iran's oil wealth to the people of Iran.

Now in office, Mossadegh knew the Iranian people lacked the expertise to run the oil industry, and he knew the British would hate to lose all of the free oil they'd been sucking up out of Iranian soil, so he offered the British a deal: he would let them keep 50% of the oil and in exchange, all they had to do was let their geological engineers keep doing their jobs.

The British didn't like the idea of their free oil supply being cut basically in half, and contemplated the use of force. But since they had many citizens living and working in Iran, they decided it would be too dangerous. Instead, they sent diplomats to America, to meet with then president Eisenhower.

Eisenhower was like, "Yo, what up?"

The British were like, "Listen ol' chap, do us a solid and remove that rat bastard Mossadegh from office, would you please? We'd do it ourselves, except it's rather a sticky wicket for us, what with so many of our countrymen potentially caught in the crossfire and all. So, what do you say? We'd be ever so terribly grateful, you know."

Eisenhower was like, "No way. America ain't in the business of ousting democratically elected leaders, no matter where they are! We're the good guys, yo!"

The British were like, "Hmmm..." and left. Then they came up with a plan and a little while later, they came back to Eisenhower and were all: "Yeah... but, like, Mossadegh is a... um... a commie! Yeah!"

So Eisenhower was all like: "Aw HELLS no. We can't be havin' no spread of communism! Especially not in that region of the world. That would mean that those Soviet Union pricks could end up with access to a fuckload of free Iranian oil, since all them commies stick together! We GOTTA do something."

So Eisenhower earmarked a shit-ton of American taxpayer money for what became known as Operation Ajax: America's first-ever plan to overthrow a foreign head of state through covert spy-shit. The spy in this case, was former president Teddy Roosevelt's grandson, a guy by the name of Kermit Roosevelt who was like a real-life James Bond, even though his name was Kermit. (And even wussier than that was his nickname: "Kim". Seriously.)

Kermit Roosevelt took the ass-load of American taxpayer money, went to Iran and started fucking shit up. He paid gangs of thugs to go around shouting pro-Mossadegh slogans while destroying store windows and property. Then hired other gangs of thugs to go after the first gang of thugs shouting pro-Shah slogans. He did all sorts of things to make it seem like all shreds of civil society were coming completely unraveled under the new guy, who must be totally incompetent. By the end of it in 1953, Mossadegh was overthrown, had to flee the country and the Shah was re-instated.

The British were overjoyed! They came to Washington DC and were all like, "Jolly good show, Americans! Well done indeed. We'll go back to drilling our oil now, thank you very much."

But we were all like: "Not so fast limeys -- ain't your oil no more. We did the heavy lifting on this, we re-installed that Shah dude, so now he deals with us, and ONLY with us. Why don't you fuck off back to wherever it is you came from."

And the Brits were like, "Um... that would be, Great Britain... maybe you've heard of it?"

And we were like, "WhatEVER!"

And thus the British Empire lost the biggest single source of energy it had, and as a result, lost virtually all the power it had. Wah wah. (They could've had 50%, but instead ended up with zero! Lesson: don't be a greedy piece of shit.)

Meanwhile, back on his throne, the Shah didn't forget the fact that many of his own people had worked to oust him, and his regime became even more dickish and oppressive than before.

And when the vast majority of people in a region live in poverty under an oppressive dictatorship for years and years, that region becomes highly susceptible to the onerous influence of -- you guessed it! -- extreme religious fundamentalism. The re-instated Shah, now in bed with America (a country the Iranians once admired and wanted to emulate) was able to enjoy his wealth and his oppression of his own people for about 25 more years until the people had finally had enough and an extremist Muslim Cleric called the Ayatollah Khomeini led a massive uprising, now known as the Islamic Revolution. The Shah was again overthrown, permanently this time, and fled to the United States for a bit (I remember when he was here in NYC).

Khomeini was now the unchallenged head of a fundamentalist Islamic theocracy in Iran (a country which had almost become the only progressive democracy in the entire region until we killed it) and with his massive newfound power, influence and support, Khomeini declared the United States (an obvious friend of the hated Shah) to be an enemy of all Islam.

And here we are, 30 years later, in Iraq, a neighboring oil-rich nation, fighting Islamic fundamentalist "insurgents" who are trained in, and backed by... Iran.

Whose fault is that?

They hate us for our freedoms? Nooooo. They hate us because 55 years ago we stole theirs.

Just because we don't teach our children about this extremely pivotal part of our history, doesn't mean that the Iranians would choose to be ignorant of what is, to them, a completely earthshaking moment in their history. Iran would be a completely different country today, had we not sent Kermit Roosevelt over there -- one with freedom, democracy a high standard of living, a well educated populace, and probably close, friendly ties to the West.

And some people wonder why it's so hard for folks around the world to take America seriously when we claim to be in Iraq on a mission to spread democracy to the middle east. We're the ones who toppled middle-eastern democracy when it was taking its first all-important baby steps. We went against our own most cherished ideals, and the Iranian people went from loving us to hating us.

So... Iraq. We know that the WMD thing was a lie. But it turns out that it was never about spreading freedom and democracy either. It is, and has only ever been, about oil, and about rich people fucking over poor people.

Don't believe me? Read about it in a book called "All the Shah's Men" by Stephen Kinzer. You could also read the book that Kermit Roosevelt himself wrote about what he did in Iran, if you could find an out-of-print copy.

So right, I know. It's a real sinking feeling. Almost makes you wanna puke. But unlike our government, I'm not going to treat you like a baby, because I love you, I respect you, and I have faith in you. I think you both deserve to know, and can handle the truth!

But yeah, it's definitely a bitter pill to swallow, knowing that at least some of the "terrorists" might not actually be insane, and that we may have brought this entirely down upon ourselves. We don't actually have the moral high-ground, nor have we ever had it. Because when it comes to this whole mess between us and the Islamic world... WE STARTED IT.

OH. MY. GOD. . . WE'RE THE ASSHOLES!!

And while finally knowing the truth doesn't magically make the mess go away, it is definitely the necessary first step toward FIXING THE PROBLEM.

The obvious next step is to admit that we've been killing the Muslims in order to get their oil, and then stop killing the Muslims to get their oil. But for that to happen, we would really need to break our addiction to the use of oil, which is why I ride a bike everywhere.

Holy shit. Has this whole thing actually been just another pro-bike rant? How'd he do that?

Please help me spread the word.

Thank you and good night.

Those Two Wacky Americas

2008-06-25T10:20:00.000-07:00

My buddy Jon (not me), who lives in Dallas, sent me this video and holy sheepshit but I don't know whether to laugh or cry. I mean, the thing is obviously hilarious, but the mere fact that places exist where such a video would help a candidate get actual votes, is just so tragic. It may push the limits of comprehension, but keep in mind... this is not a parody:

Thank God Big John is out there fightin' the heathens, doin' the Lord's work for Texas, keeping Texas in power and making the lesser states squirm.

On the other end of the culture spectrum, I just saw the best movie I've ever seen in my whole life and am humbled by its greatness. The film I speak of... Zombie Strippers. You think I'm joking. I am not (well, mostly not). Zombie Strippers is so good I may have to own it. Definitely ups the ante on the low-budget zombie flick. And since I'm currently writing my own script for a low-budget zombie flick, I went into this one with a seriously critical eye. So believe me when I tell you that I gotta say, my hat is off to Jay Lee, the principal creative behind this undeniable masterpiece. Practically a perfect film. Thankfully, it is very different in tone from the one I'm writing, which, if I ever get my shit together, I hope will be as good as (better than?) Zombie Strippers. But O' such a high bar to clear now.

My Craigslist Ad

2008-06-24T07:07:00.000-07:00

Inspired by a previous post, I created the following actual craigslist ad...

Skinny Jewboy seeks Hot Aryan Shiksa - m4w - (Midtown West)

Reply to: pers-728760964@craigslist.org
Date: 2008-06-22, 4:41PM EDT

Seeking hot blond Republican female who desperately needs to work through feelings of guilt and self-loathing over what the idiot war-pig leaders she voted for have done to our country and the world for the last 8 years. If you think it might bring some relief to be sexually punished and humiliated by a skinny leftist Jew-boy for a night, send me a recent photo and I'll send you mine.

it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

PostingID: 728760964
---------------------------------------

Incredibly, I've actually gotten some interest already. A woman (presumably a woman) emailed thusly:

"Are you for real? Please email me back at [email address withheld]... etc."

I responded saying that yes I was for real, though partly kidding. Though mostly not kidding!

(Though, I am mostly kidding.)

I'll let you know how it goes.

tribute

2008-06-23T09:10:00.000-07:00

piss fuck shit cunt cocksucker motherfucker and tits

Revenge!

2008-06-22T11:22:00.000-07:00

I'm in a phase right now where I refuse to let myself so much as touch anybody I could have an actual relationship with. Not sure why that is. I don't feel like I have the classic dude-symptom of commitment-phobia. In fact, some of the most enjoyable times of my life were when I was in serious relationships. But I seem to be up to something else. So, I'm only going after totally inappropriate women. If you know (and want to fix me up with) any of the following, I'm totally open to meeting...

- Republicans
- Lesbians
- Psychos
- Vacationing Europeans
- Army Privates off to Iraq in two days
- Death-row inmates
- Cute girls with non-communicable terminal illnesses

I feel this is a positive step forward for me. Years ago, I never would've entertained the notion of knowingly putting my dick into a Republican. And I had a golden opportunity at one point.

I was working for MTV Online, doing the website for Choose Or Lose 2000, and we were down in Philadelphia covering the Republican National Convention, wherein George Dubya Bush would receive the formal nomination of the Satanic Party. These days, there's never any actual news at the political conventions, as the nominee is decided well in advance. So it's all just a great big nauseating media clusterfuck for its own sake.

In fact, the biggest story of that entire week was one that we MTV folks had deftly engineered ourselves. Seeing that Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson (a superstar at the time) was making a brief appearance to "endorse" dubya or say something macho to the audience or something, our higher-ups got him to come by our little "booth" in the gigantic media tent, to do a real-time online chat with our audience (fairly "cutting edge" back in 2000).

We totally stole the show that day. The media loves covering itself. The networks didn't even know what the hell MTV was doing in the same tent as them, but then we trumped them all by hijacking all of THEIR resources, forcing them all to train their cameras on us. It was a stroke of evil publicity genius. And complete nonsense, obviously. But you shoulda seen the hundreds of camera guys from every conceivable media outlet in the world clawing over each other to get a clear shot of The Rock and my intern and our little thrown-together booth of hastily purchased Ikea furniture--budget $1026. (Compare that to the million-dollar set-ups that ABC and NBC etc. had created, which nobody was paying any attention to).

After all the smoke cleared, young teenage girls whose daddies were Republican delegates from bland places across this great land, were coming up to me and asking for my autograph. I was like, "you do realize that I'm not a celebrity, right? I mean, I'm not on MTV, I just work there. You understand... work?" They didn't care. They wanted autographs anyway.

Strangely, other media people wanted to interview me. I was quoted in several obscure newspapers, magazines and who knows what else.

And at several points, this smokin' hot blond woman came by our booth to make sure we had everything we needed. I don't remember her name, but she turned out to be something like the Media Liaison for the Republican Party. Throughout the week, she'd periodically make the rounds to all the media booths, doing her job obviously, but whenever she came by our booth, she'd linger for no reason, just sort of hanging out. She got pretty flirty with me several times, but after the huge "live chat event with The Rock" she became even more forward with me, inviting me for drinks repeatedly and talking about how nice her hotel room was, etc.

At the time, the fact that she wasn't merely voting Republican but actually serving the party turned my stomach so much that I seriously doubted her hotness (considerable hotness) could've outweighed her inner festering-death-rot and enabled me to achieve an erection. So I just kept politely turning her down, claiming that I had too much work to do, etc.

Now I seriously regret not having boned her.

If I'd known that her evil monkey was going to end up in the White House, I might've accepted her invitations, just to get her to beg me to do nasty things to her. And then do them. And then never see her again.

So, right, if you know any hot Aryan Republican chicks who need to work out feelings of guilt and self-loathing over what their idiot war-pig leaders have done to our country and the world for the last 8 years, and who think it might bring some relief to be sexually punished and humiliated by a skinny leftist jew-boy for a day or two, you let me know.

Scofflaw

2008-06-21T17:20:00.000-07:00

A few months ago, I was riding my bike downtown to see a band. They were going on late, I was set to arrive even later. So this put me on the streets well after many areas of Manhattan had emptied of almost all automobile traffic and much foot-traffic as well.

I like riding late at night. Feels like you own the city.

But heading down Broadway, I reached a congested area. Some roadwork was creating a pretty severe bottleneck. A cop car was in the bottleneck as I squeezed up in between the ten or so non-moving vehicles. I emerged from the clot and continued down Broadway until I came to a stop light at one of the few busy cross streets, busy enough that I actually had to stop instead of blowing straight through the red, which I definitely would've done otherwise.

Eventually, the cop made it out of the clot too, and pulled up to the stoplight near me. Then he rolled his window down and called out to me. We had the following exchange...

COP: Excuse me...
ME: Yes?
COP: Did you know that you came very close to hitting one of those cars back there?
ME: Um... okay... ?
COP: Are you careful when riding that thing?
ME: Of course. That's why I didn't hit anything when squeezing up through those tightly packed cars back there. I'm always very careful, I assure you.
COP: Well... you should be more careful.

[At this point, I notice the cop is maybe 22 years old. Possibly less? When are new cops turned loose? What's the youngest a NYC cop can possibly be? This guy was that at most.]

ME: Is almost hitting something a crime now?
COP: No, but you have to obey the rules of the road just like everybody else.
ME: (considering my response extremely carefully.) Um... okay...

[The light is still red, but there are no more cars crossing our path as far as the eye can see, so, anticipating being able to get moving again, I start re-arranging the pedals to make it easy to start forward in a moment. I don't go anywhere yet, but it probably looks as if I'm about to take off.]

COP: You're about to run this red-light! You're really gonna do that right in front of me?! Right after I just told you you gotta obey the rules of the road!?
ME: I'm just getting my foot set on the pedal. I'll wait till it's green.
COP: Because you have to! You have to obey all rules of the road!
ME: (biting my tongue, biting my tongue... ... deep breath, then very calmly) Fair enough.

After what seems like several minutes, just standing there over my bike frame, poised to continue my journey, the light finally turns green. I let the cop leave first. Then I finally get moving again. I immediately go back to running red-lights and disobeying whatever rules of the road I don't happen to need at any given moment.

The other way that exchange could've gone was...

ME: Is almost hitting something a crime now?
COP: No, but--
ME: Okay then. [translation: 'Then shut the fuck up.']
COP: Look--you have to obey the ru--.
ME: Blah blah blah--this is your first day on the job, isn't it.
COP: Now listen here--
ME: No, you listen pal. I know you think you're just doing your job, and maybe on some level you think you're protecting and serving me. But in all the time I've been riding a bike in this town, do you have any idea how many cops I've run red-lights right in front of? You're the very first one who has ever seen the need to remind me, or any of the tens of thousands of other cyclists I imagine, about the rules of the road, and I didn't break any of them in front of you. I know it must be boring riding around in your squad car all night, but that's a little gung-ho, don'tcha think? What next? You gonna stop and lecture all the jaywalkers?
COP: Don't make me get out of this car! I'll give you a ticket, no problem!
ME: You'd have to catch me first.

Then I would've immediately turned 180 degrees, and sprinted back up Broadway, going against traffic until turning off a side street, taking a few nonsensical turns, doubling back randomly, and would easily have lost the cop in probably no time. But that would've been a bit more of a commitment than I was willing to make, just to satisfy an ego I try not to have in the first place. There was certainly no need for me to make the logic of un-enforceability clear to this hatchling officer of the law. Even one more day on the force would surely show him the folly of our actual conversation. What's he gonna do when he finds himself working a day shift, faced with bike-messengers swarming all over the place? Stop and ticket every single one of them?

The reason why I don't feel bad running red lights is because on a bike, you have perfect visibility 360 degrees, and you don't have several feet of vehicle sticking out in front of you. You're more like a jaywalker, only faster.

The only rule of the road I DO feel like a total asshole for breaking sometimes, is riding the wrong way on a one-way street. And not for my own safety. I never feel unsafe. It is only for the pedestrians. Since almost all streets in all of NYC are one-way, pedestrians never look both ways when crossing. They shouldn't be expected to. And there have been a few times when a pedestrian has stepped out from between two parked cars unexpectedly, while only looking in the direction of car-traffic, and I've had to slam on my brakes. I've never actually HIT anybody, but I've scared a couple of people shitless. Myself included. And even when I don't even come close to hitting a pedestrian, the fact that you can't hear a bicycle approach above the ambient traffic noise any given moment anywhere in Manhattan, means that to the unwary pedestrian (all of them) it seems as if you come completely out of nowhere. I don't want to give some old lady a heart attack just by, you know, suddenly popping into existence next to her. She could be somebody's granny!

Granny!

I'd Happily Serve a Matriarchy

2008-06-20T13:43:00.000-07:00

I used to think men were competitive with each other, until I met women.

Oh my.

Don't get me wrong, I don't mind a little friendly playful competition now and again, and I enjoy it when, say, a long-standing world record for some achievement or other is finally broken. It's like, "Hey... humans have reached a new height. Good for humans."

But these womens today. Oy! Judging and one-upping each other's shoes and outfits and breasts and hair and hairstyles and husbands and boyfriends and diets and sexual activities and pets and psychic abilities and did I mention the shoes?

If women took 1/1,000th of the energy used up by that sort of thing, and channeled it into, say, taking over the world, I'd be a willing slave to whichever mistress would have me.

I'm sayin'.

Brothers in Arms

2008-06-19T10:41:00.000-07:00

Okay, so we're at war.

What else is new.

And if by "we" you mean all of humanity, then the war has been going on for uncountable generations, without a break, even for a single day, like, ever.

But unless you take the view that war is a necessary check on population growth (making you both an extremely cold motherfucker, and an idiot who has never heard of condoms) then this perpetual war of all of ours is just too big and too sickening to wrap our heads around. So we usually only focus on those chunks of war which hit closest to home. Okay... so... Iraq.

At this point, there ain't a lot of popular support anywhere in the world (including here in America) for American involvement in Iraq. At first, there were plenty of Americans who thought it was a good idea, or at least, allowed themselves to be convinced (by lie after lie after Goebbels-level lie).

But now, more than five years later, far fewer Americans are still into it.

Of course, there are those who still believe. How this is possible is quite mysterious and I suspect mental retardation might play a role. Or the consumption of special CIA-developed Kool-Aid. Or both. Regardless. The situation is what it is. We have volunteer soldiers (all lower-class kids) and professional mercenaries (all getting rich) over in an oil-rich country, killing people we've labeled "insurgents" and "terrorists" many of whom are backed by Iran apparently.

My parents are of both the Jewish persuasion and of that generation who were impressionable children during The Holocaust-- just old enough to be highly aware and deeply frightened by it (an experience that has left them forever uneasy regarding all Germans and many other non-Jews, notably Arabs and anyone practicing Islam). Like many people, my folks view the Iraq situation as part of a larger, ongoing conflict with Islamic fanatic terrorists. They also view everything that happens in that whole region of the world, through the "how will it affect Israel?" lens. They would never live in Israel, nor would they even want me ever to visit Israel, but on some level they consider it their country. They will vote for a President of the United States based solely on who they think will help defend Israel the most, even if that means voting for McCain, who, if elected, could lead to the end of civilization (which -- Mom and Dad -- includes Israel.)

I think my folks are saddened by loss of life generally, but I also think that when push comes to shove, they'd say "better them than us." After all, no matter what you can say about us, at least we don't train our children to be suicide bombers, killing innocent civilians in public places for no reason. Therefore, we are morally superior to them and our culture is worthy of being preserved while theirs is not.

But are we really so different from them?

Peter Ustinov famously pointed out that terrorism is war waged by the poor, and war is terrorism committed by the wealthy. Obviously, right. Poor people, with barely any food to eat, or clean drinking water, lack the means to raise a uniformed fighting force. But that doesn't stop them from wanting to defend their land, their homes, etc. And if there happens to be a fuckload of oil underneath their land, and if they could just manage to get rid of the foreign meddlers, then they might not have to be so poor anymore. But in the meantime, their only warlike options are pretty meager and to get the most bang for their dinar, they've got to take an approach which might seem downright cowardly and underhanded to us. After all, what can an innocent civilian possibly do against a teenager suddenly exploding at the next table?

Our methods are far more civilized. We arrange for bombs to fall out of the sky. We usually hit strategic targets. Every time we kill innocent civilians, it is unintentional. Of course, it couldn't possibly seem unintentional to the people on the ground. Just because the explosion comes from above instead of the side, does way more damage and isn't delivered in person, doesn't mean it's more morally acceptable. I'm sure we've killed many more innocent people just in the last 5 years than the whole of "terrorism" has killed from 1950 to now. And that includes the 9/11 death toll.

Still, it's gotta be a truly sick culture that would actually train their children to go off to certain death just to strike at a few coffee drinkers or bus riders. Let's do a little head to head comparison...

Average suicide bombing terrorists...
- probably take their religion very seriously
- are probably from the lower economic classes
- have volunteered for service but are being exploited by more powerful higher-ups
- have been taught to believe they are acting for the greater good
- are willing to die for their cause, which they believe is just
- face certain death
- target anyone including civilians
- are taught to believe that in death, they will be honored by their people and rewarded in the afterlife

Average American soldiers...
- probably take their religion seriously
- are usually from the lower economic classes
- have volunteered for service but are being exploited by more powerful higher-ups
- have been taught to believe they are acting for the greater good
- are willing to die for their cause, which they believe is just
- face varying likelihood of death and severe injury
- target combatants intentionally and hit civilians unavoidably
- aren't officially taught to believe anything specific about what happens after death (to my knowledge)

So the main difference is that they are both more prepared for, and much more likely to experience, their own death.

As far as I'm concerned, our guys are just as misled and exploited as theirs, if not more so. We're just so much better equipped that even when we try not to be, we're still way more lethal to innocent bystanders than they are, including those times when they only target civilians.

Most other differences are just stylistic. Our leaders use religion and honor and lies about the greater good just like their leaders do. And our young people from lower-class communities who don't see many options for their futures, can be convinced to go do the bidding of some truly wicked people. Just like theirs. Most of ours (who don't get continually "stop-lossed") come back. Most of theirs don't.

Is it possible that people are actually the same everywhere? Holy shit who knew.

That means that the real enemy of humanity might not be the other misled poor people around the world, but rather the uppermost elite who call the shots both at home and abroad. They're the ones who tell all the lies. They're the ones who foment the hostilities. They're the ones who continually fan the flames and, at least here in America, they also happen to be getting richer and richer off of all of it. It's not a clash of cultures after all. Turns out, the only real war is the class war, and the rich folks are kicking all our asses! Our hard-earned money is being sucked up by the BILLIONS as taxes, and instead of providing for our general well-being, that crazy Iraq-machine funnels it directly into the laps of a few rich guys running companies like Halliburton. And the well-meaning poor kids keep dying and getting their limbs blown off. Woo hoo!

But the terrorists must be stopped because they hate us for our freedoms cha cha cha.

Former President Bill Clinton

2008-06-18T05:52:00.000-07:00

A co-worker had an extra ticket to see Bill Clinton speak at Radio City Music Hall last night, so I went along. It was kinda fun. I mean, on the political spectrum I fall somewhere to the left of Karl Marx, so I find mainstream politics a bit uninspired most of the time. And Bill is obviously totally mainstream. But given the 8-year slide we've been on, Clinton comes off as a lot more radical by comparison to the current order of things. He's not actually radical in the absolute, but in our world it's all relative. Anyway, I went into the evening with low expectations to prevent myself from being disappointed. Everything Clinton said was pretty obvious, but it was definitely nice to be reminded that the President of the United States used to be someone you could count on to have a brain in his head, and speak with eloquence and expertise on a wide range of topics. And I gotta say, on balance, Clinton was a good president who managed to get a lot of decent things done even working within a system as broken as ours (though it's obviously a bit worse now). So, thanks for that, Bill.

My Alter Egos

2008-06-17T09:51:00.000-07:00

Okay, so if this isn't the universe I belong in, what is? And who am I in that universe? Well... I don't really know. But I have it narrowed down to a few possibilities. (With apologies to Mr. Tom Weiser, whose "Alternate Ithaca Tom" Moth story did not actually serve as inspiration for this post, but which this post cannot help but slightly resemble...)

Alter Ego #1: Absent-minded college professor.
I teach a very popular freshman-level course in interpreting the spiritual messages in the classics of the sci-fi canon. I teach a much less popular upper-level course in interpreting the science fiction messages hidden in the Bible. I'm so focused on my work that I often forget where my office is located, and almost never cut my hair, lending me a disheveled boyish charm that undergraduates find especially endearing and as a result I have a difficult time resisting the temptation to sleep with my female students. I occasionally give in to it, but with only minor consequences (marriage).

Alter Ego #2: Addle-minded rock star.
I started smoking pot at a very early age and quickly discovered the joy of making music while high. Commercial success came surprisingly early, and I ended up dropping out of high school to tour. I almost never cut my hair, lending me a disheveled boyish charm that groupies find especially endearing. After a seriously wild ride and many near-death experiences (whether drug-, motorcycle-, or psychotic-fan-related) I eventually hit an emotional rock-bottom which allowed me to launch a new phase of my career, both artistically and spiritually. I devote myself to the cause of preserving the culture of the Kogi tribe living in northern Colombia and settle into a simpler more fulfilling life on my own floating eco-village in the Caribbean. I can't remember the names of most of my illegitimate children, but I let them all visit me whenever they want.

Alter Ego #3: Rodeo Clown.
No.

Alter Ego #4: Angry-guy stand-up comic.
On a dare, I get up on stage at a comedy open-mic, shortly after dropping out of high school. I get a couple of chuckles, and one big laugh, after which I have the presence of mind to flee the stage, leaving the audience wanting more. I have no more. But I'm bitten by the comedy bug. SO, I devote all my time and energy to writing a routine. Success! Then drugs and comedy groupies! Then rock bottom! Then re-birth, as a Bill-Hicks-esque performer who rants about social issues at great length with occasional dick-jokes thrown in to keep drunken audiences happy. Despite my success, the fact that society keeps sliding into ever greater corruption and decay pisses me off, fueling my bitter angry-guy comedy which only makes me more of a hit. I am tortured by the fact that I'm essentially getting rich off the sorry state of things, but know of no other way to make a difference using my limited talents. I eventually give all my money to eco-charities and go live with the Kogi people of northern Colombia.

Alter Ego #5: Film-score composer.
This is my happiest and most boring alter ego. I live in a sleek Ray Kappe-designed house in the Hollywood hills. My wife is a yoga instructor. We occasionally swing.

Alter Ego #6: Highly successful psychotherapist.
Sick of merely serving as a therapeutic "good listener" to my friends, I decide to get the proper credentials to do the exact same thing for strangers for money. Lots and lots of money. My wife is a yoga instructor. We occasionally swing.

Alter Ego #7: Conceptual/installation artist.
I create a large Dr. Seuss-inspired metal sculpture designed to be played as a percussion instrument by up to a dozen people at a time. It proves very popular, and various cities and towns commission similar works for outdoor plazas and public parks, especially using them to help revitalize blighted inner-city areas. At first I am upset when some kids inevitably tag one of my works and consider experimenting with paint-resistant nano-materials, but decide instead to merely build especially tag-able areas into the pieces, making them intentionally interactive both sonically and visually. Eventually, serious percussive works are written for the different site-specific sculptures, weekly drum and dance circles spontaneously arise wherever they are located, and a culture of competitive musical performance groups develops, soon acquiring highly sophisticated and regimented sets of judge-able criteria.

Alter Ego #8: Dread pirate Roberts.

Alter Ego #9: Mad scientist.
Everyone laughed at me back at the academy when I presented my theories regarding the beautification of zombies. But I'll show them!

Alter Ego #10: Wacky musical instrument maker.
I specialize in constructing musical instruments from junk, found, and common household objects. I toil in obscurity until Radiohead decides to record an entire album using nothing but my creations. That's how fucking cool Radiohead is. After that, I become enough of a cult-figure that I can maintain a modest, but comfortable lifestyle in a small eco-trailer up in the Catskills, generating my own electricity and growing my own vegetables in a greenhouse of my own construction. I get stoned on homegrown every single day. I didn't marry the yoga instructor, but I did have a threesome with her and her hot friend over the course of an entire labor-day weekend.

Alter Ego #11: Buddhist Monk.
[Higher]-self-explanatory.

Alter Ego #12: Architect.
After winning a design award in college for "solar-powered blimp homes" that are tethered to the ground or existing buildings by cables to increase available real estate in dense urban areas without requiring more energy, I become the poster boy for "clever innovations that nobody will ever actually build." (The blimps were totally cool too. They'd remain aloft by retaining heat radiated by the sun, and generate electricity with photo-voltaic panels and wind-turbines. They'd collect rain-water and convert all waste into compost which would be used to grow plants. Non-compostable waste would have to be brought down to the surface world for recycling, etc. And how great would it be to live up in the sky, floating in a blimp!) I am occasionally approached for more down-to-earth (literally and figuratively) projects of an eco-conscious sort, and become the go-to guy for retro-fitting old buildings with green roofs. Eventually, I design and build the world's first vertical urban indoor farm in a gigantic transparent skyscraper. Proponents of the local and organic food movements hail it as a triumph. Architecture critics dig it too, with its characteristic "green glow" from within (especially striking when back-lit by the rising or setting sun). It single-handedly provides fresh produce for 15% of the population of NYC, is a huge economic success and becomes a tourist attraction as well, boasting three gourmet vegan restaurants which get all their produce from within the building. I especially enjoy the Seinfeld episodes wherein George Costanza pretends to be an architect to impress people. Oh George, you lovable ne'er-do-well...

* * *

Well, those are all the Alternate Universe versions of myself of which I am aware. Not sure which is my favorite. I kinda like 'em all. (Vote for the one you think I should've become in the comments!) But here's the thing about them... they don't spend time wondering what my life is like. I doubt they're all that aware of me or any other counterparts. I, in this universe, who don't actually DO any of those cool things, am clearly the one with the time to imagine them all. So... I guess I'm the writer in the bunch. And that's okay, right? Maybe I can find a way to fit into this universe after all. (And I guess I gotta start taking a yoga class.)

What Universe Is This?

2008-06-16T08:30:00.000-07:00

I don't think this is the one I signed up for.

Somewhere along the line, I think I accidentally bounced from the track I was on, to this one. And nothing feels quite right. Most things are just a little off. Some are obviously way off.

Or maybe I'm just tired. I got absolutely no sleep last night. None at all.

Today... ... I'm... ... a... ... bit... ... ... um... ... ... .. ... slow.........er than usual.

I can't focus on this anymore.

Here, watch this instead. It will make you happier.

2008-06-15T11:12:00.000-07:00

This is a test of mobile blogging via email from my celphone.

I Blame Leary - Part 1

2008-06-14T11:36:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, I look at the overall state of things in America, and I can hardly believe it. Things really do suck out there. What gives? I mean, people aren't inherently bad. Most Americans are reasonably smart, reasonably kind and reasonably, um, reasonable. We all tend to want the exact same things out of life. So why is the country so divided?

We didn't dwell on it so much, but we were pretty divided long before George Dubya ever came along. And obviously, the Bush Administration did everything in its power to divide the nation further. The first clue that they'd attempt to do this was in 2000 when Bush ran for president claiming he'd be a uniter, not a divider. Like most everything the Bush puppet says, the truth turns out to be the exact opposite. So, we ended up with the artificial, consciously and carefully manufactured red/blue divide... a very concise shorthand, cementing the metaphorical divide into a concrete wedge.

Of course, the for-profit mainstream news outlets need sensationalism in order to thrive, and making it seem like everything is a heated, down-to-the-wire competition is just good for business, even if it ain't so true. A divided nation certainly keeps people tuning in more than a happy contented unified nation. Unfortunately, when TV keeps spewing the same thing over and over again, enough people do eventually start to believe it, and the next thing you know... it actually becomes true in the real world.

But at this point, the Bush administration has screwed up so many things so heinously that you'd think everybody would've come around by now. Even some former die-hard right-wingers have lost their illusions about the fact that the side they were playing for turned out to be, well, evil (or at least, misguided). Yet Bush still has millions of supporters. How can that be? By rights, his approval rating should've hit 0% a long time ago.

With all the evidence and information currently available to us, how could huge numbers of people actually have voted for George Dubya Bush TWICE? (Even without counting Diebold voting-machine fraud.) Are people really that eager to bring civilization crashing down?

Largely to blame was Karl Rove's master plan to teach Dubya how to act like an Evangelical Christian, solely to gain support of that unbelievably large chunk of the U.S. population. Of course, in truth, George W. Bush is about as close to being a real Evangelical Christian as I am. But there are so many people out there whose faith is so passionate that they couldn't help but want to believe him. And that unfortunate fact has been screwing us ALL over, Evangelicals included, for the last 8 years.

What the--?

What is up with the bloody Evangelical Christians? Why is the United States home to the only significant number of people in the entire developed world (and possibly in the whole world) who don't want their children to learn about science and Darwin, instead insisting that every word in the Bible is literally true and the Earth is only 6000 years old?

How is it possible that 2000 years after Jesus, people who claim to follow the guy can still be so easily manipulated into doing things that would surely make Jesus puke His Holy Guts out?

Well, as we all know, a long time ago the wealthy elites discovered they could use religion to manipulate the masses. Those wacky elites have remained in control by perverting/distorting/obscuring the messages of religious figures, leaders and institutions, keeping the masses down, ever since.

By definition, there are so many more of the masses than there are of the elites that if the common people ever saw their inherent commonality and banded together, nothing could stop them from rising up and squashing the tiny minority of elites. Not that they would ever necessarily do so, as most people just wanna be left alone to live in peace. Still, if you happen to have vast wealth, and happen to be surrounded by huge numbers of people who have next to nothing (perhaps in some measure due to your own efforts) you probably can't help living in constant fear of an uprising.

So, for a long time, the elites have been doing everything possible to prevent the commoners from getting a clue. This has included things like distracting the commoners with all sorts of fanciful but meaningless diversions (e.g.: gladiatorial combat/sports, fashion trends) and instilling fear of enemies from far off lands so that some commoners will be only too glad to sign up to join the armed forces (which the elites pay for). Mostly though, the wealthy elites have had to destroy all true religions and create only false ones, for true religions encourage tolerance for all, love and unity, leading people toward a simple, joyful meaningful life, rich with deep spiritual understanding. False religions pretend to do similar things, but in reality they cut people off from spiritual fulfillment and each other, foster suspicion of those who are different, and create a culture of fear. All mainstream Western religions have been perverted in this manner at one time or another. Maybe all other large religions too. (Not Buddhism though, I don't think -- I digress.)

This problem isn't inherent to "Religion" per se. Though, as with any socio-cultural grouping of imperfect humans, Religion is easily corrupted, especially by greed. For example, in ancient Rome, if the Emperor wanted to drum up support for a war which he hoped would bring him and the rest of the nobility a great deal of wealth (primarily as fertile farmland and new slaves), all he had to do was pay off the priests to rig an augury predicting great success in the battle. "This campaign is favored by the gods!" Well then, I guess we'd be stupid NOT to march off to war!

But then this Jesus character comes along saying how we're all children of the same heavenly father and we should love everybody no matter what, and should turn the other cheek in the face of violence. No good hippie freak! Well, it ain't like anybody's paying attention to him.

WEALTHY ANCIENT ROMAN #1: Um, actually, he's picked up a little band of disciples.
WEALTHY ANCIENT ROMAN #2: Really? What the fuck?!
W.A.R. #1: Is it such a big deal?
W.A.R. #2: Look... if that jewboy's hippie crap catches on, think of the economic slowdown that'll happen when the soldiers suddenly don't feel like going off to kill the Gauls or the Britons or whoever the fuck! [in a whiny voice now] "We don't wanna kill people anymore because Jesus says everybody is a part of the One True God and we're full of love now so we just wanna be nice to people--"
W.A.R. #1: Enough already, you're makin' me sick. Okay, so you're right. Without the conquest and oppression of neighboring peoples and the opportunity to extract the wealth of their lands, our whole way of life is threatened. I promised my wife I'd build her some new vacation homes, and without a constant supply of fresh slaves, I'd have to curtail many of my...
W.A.R. #2: I know about your perversions.
W.A.R. #1: I was going to say, "appetites". Regardless. What do you want to do about the situation?
W.A.R. #2: Well, clearly, we've got to eliminate this Jesus bastard before he makes a lasting impression. Has he written anything down or does he just preach?
WAR#1: So far... just preaches.
WAR#2: Okay good. Let's have him declared a criminal, arrested and executed.
WAR#1: Consider it done.

a few weeks later...

WAR#1: Okay, we've got a problem.
WAR#2: What now?
WAR#1: Remember how we crucified that hippie jew bastard?
WAR#2: Sure, what of it?
WAR#1: Well, some dude said he saw him rise from the dead, and now word is spreading that Jesus really was, like, I dunno, a god or something.
WAR#2: Are you fucking kidding me?!
WAR#1: Nope. His students are goin' around spreading his love messages all the more now, claiming that if you also practice universal unconditional love, you will have life everlasting, just like Jesus.
WAR#2: And people are buying it!? Dude. This sucks.
WAR#1: Tell me about it. Maybe we shouldn't have crucified him after all!
WAR#2: Wait... I think I know a way we can turn this around.
WAR#1: How?!
WAR#2: Well, obviously the common people out there are pretty desperate to believe in something supernatural. So much so, that they're willing to believe some seriously crazy shit. So all we've got to do is fight fire... with fire.
WAR#1: When in Rome, as they say... What do you propose?
WAR#2: Well, Jesus didn't write anything, and not that many people were his direct students, right? So all the masses know is what they've heard. All we have to do is spread some rumors of our own.
WAR#1: Right! So, like, we get people to say "Jesus was a total jerk to me once -- his universal love crap is a sham!" and so forth?
WAR#2: No... I'm thinking we take advantage of the momentum these crazy Jesus stories already have. We gotta get people to forget about his message, right? We don't want anybody actually following his teachings and trying to be all loving and peaceful. So, instead of the message, let's get them to focus all their spiritual longing on the messenger instead. They're already thinking of him as godlike, aren't they?
WAR#1: Riiiiiight! I see where you're going with this now. We get people to reinforce the rumors about how supernatural Jesus was, so obviously the only proper course of action is to worship him. Because no matter what you do, you'll never be able to be like him yourself.
WAR#2: Totally! He was... um... the Son of God Himself! Perfect in every way!
WAR#1: Born of a blessed Virgin!
WAR#2: That's good, but let's not go overboard, I mean, people have to believe this shit, right?
WAR#1: Aww... I like the Blessed Virgin thing.
WAR#2: Well, okay... we'll see. What else? Um... you have to FEAR Jesus because he's so powerful, and if you don't believe in Jesus--
WAR#1: --and ONLY in Jesus--
WAR#2: then you'll burn in hell forever!
WAR#1: YES! So... instead of convincing people to kill the neighboring tribes for us by cutting open a goat and "reading" the guts, or releasing a flock of pigeons and "interpreting" their flight patterns, we'll just tell the teeming masses that Jesus wants them to go out and smite the unbelievers! For their own good!!
WAR#2: HAHA! That's awesome! HAHA!
WAR#1: HAHAHAH.
WAR#2: HAHA... Okay... okay... I gotta catch my breath. Whew! Now... I don't expect all this to happen overnight. It could take a little while before our Jesus cult totally takes off.
WAR#1: Fine with me. I'm just glad we've got a plan.
WAR#2: Right. But in the meantime, we should watch his former students closely and see how things progress. People might start writing stuff down, so we should be prepared to confiscate their texts and scrolls and suppress them. We'll obviously have to supplant them with our own "more accurate" writings, and eventually, people will just accept our version as gospel.
WAR#1: Excellent.

to be continued...

Tee Veeeeeeee!!!!!!!

2008-06-13T08:47:00.000-07:00

Everybody loves TV, and I work in TV, so it's my responsibility to make TV better every day (the bestest job in the world!)! Yay! So here are some ideas for new TV shows I wanna pitch to y'all...

1. America's Homeless Got Talent!
We round up homeless people from all over the country and pit them against each other to see who has the most entertaining way of begging for change. The winner gets a handful of change.

2. Celebrity Fisting
Ryan Seacrest hosts as audience members vote on which famous celebrity they'd rather see get a fist up the ass. The chosen celeb is brought into the studio, stripped and bent over a table. A bucket of a white viscous lubricant rises up through the stage on a pedestal. Seacrest coats his fist and you know the rest! (Sponsored by Crisco.)

NOTE: It has come to my attention, that celebrity fisting has already been done. So, keeping in the celebrity vein, I'll propose a new show:

2a. Dick Cheney's Hollywood Round-Up!
Dick Cheney and his band of Merry Mercenaries kidnap some of your favorite celebrities, and bring them to Cheney's secret island compound. Upon arrival, their black hoods are removed to reveal that they're seated at a table in large Medieval-looking banquet hall. Cheney enters and explains the rules of the game to his guests over an opulent meal of rare meats (both in the sense of lightly cooked and endangered). After a good night's rest, the celebrities are released into the wilds of the island, given a 1-hour headstart, after which Cheney sets out in pursuit, hunting and killing them one by one. (Alternate title: "Dick Cheney's Blood Island")

3. Whose Blood Is It?
Contestants are brought to Iraq, shown a patch of dried blood somewhere, and are given points if they can guess if it came from a dead American or a dead Iraqi. If Iraqi, extra points awarded if they can guess other distinctions, like Sunni or Shiite, civilian or insurgent, man or woman, adult or child, etc.

4. Politician or Convicted Rapist?
Contestants are given a set of facts about a person and have to decide whether they describe a sitting Politician or a Convicted Rapist.

5. Where in the World Should We Send Troops?
Self-explanatory.

6. Beer X-Games
Remember the scene from "Revenge of the Nerds" where they had to ride a tricycle around a track drinking a beer after every lap? Just like that only with motocross jumping.

7. Who Wants to Marry the Cult Leader?
Self-explanatory.

8. Donald Trump Ate My Baby!
Each week, a different celebrity chef prepares two dinners and places them in front of Donald Trump. One is made from typical ingredients, but the other is made from a dead human baby. Contestants wager on which dish Trump will like more/finish first.

9. Drinking with the Stars
Self-explanatory.

10. Hillbilly Dance-off!
Self-explanatory.

11. Hillbilly Dance-off: Extreme!!
Just like Hillbilly Dance-off, only more-so.

12. Firing Squad!
Various people are placed in front of a firing squad.

13. Bitch, Bitch, Bitch
We place a chronic complainer in a small windowless room with a steroid freak, a psycho-cop, a club owner deprived of his cigarettes, and a female drill-sergeant on her period. Contestants bet on who will snap first.

14. Battle of the Major Religions
Self-explanatory.

15. Pave it Over!
Two different small towns are chosen to compete against each other, justifying their right to continue to exist. At the end of the hour, the audience votes and the winning town gets its own new Wal*Mart superstore. The losing town is leveled and turned into a landfill site for the garbage of the winning town. The displaced residents of the losing town, must live and work in the winning town's Wal*Mart. (Sponsored by Wal*Mart.)

16. Name Those Tits
Audience members are shown pairs of breasts and have to determine which celebrity they belong to.

17. Drunken Firing Squad!
Just like "Firing Squad" except with dangerously intoxicated riflemen.

18. Torture the Retard
Everybody's favorite school-yard pastime gets a slick network make-over for prime-time! Self-explanatory.

19. Torture the Retard: Extreme!!
Just like "Torture the Retard" except led by high-level officials in the Bush Administration.

(We fully expect these last two shows to be so popular that they'll launch two entire sub-genres of TV: Torture shows, and Retard shows.)

19a. Torture the Emo boy

19b. Dancing with the Retards

19c. The Magic Retard!
Tom Hanks in the title role -- a retard who saves lives and somehow manages to be at every major world event.

20. Drunken Firing Squad: Extreme!!
Self-explanatory.

21. Hillbilly Dance-off: Extreme!! Special "Dang-it" Edition
Self-explanatory.

22. I Dare You to Lick It
Blindfolded contestants compete by licking increasingly challenging unknown (to them) substances, surfaces, etc. The last one not to vomit wins a prize.

23. You and What Army?
Two average joes are each given command of a small contingent of soldiers from a different one of the world's armed forces. Both groups enter the Australian Outback. One group emerges victorious.

24. Binge 'N' Purge!
Two contestants eat, and then vomit, as much food as possible within 24 hours. At the end of the 24 hours, the vomit is weighed and a winner is declared.

25. Hiding Things In Anus Game (originally from Japan)
Self-explanatory.

26. Trickle-down!
Contestants each pick an impoverished region of the third world and compete to see who can raise its overall standard of living the most by giving large sums of money to whichever one person already has the most money in the region.

28. Name That Turd
Contestants attempt to identify various types of animal feces, using one, two, or even all five of their senses!

29. Celebrity Name That Turd
Self-explanatory.

29. Shoot the Freak
Inspired by the popular Coney Island boardwalk attraction. With real bullets.

30. Paternity Test!
Self-explanatory.

and lastly...

31. Drink! The! KOOL-AID!
How good are you? If you're good, you might get to Drink... the... Kool-aid! If you're bad, you might have to Drink... the... Kool-aid! (Sponsored by Kool-aid.)

Oh YEAH!

A Better Morning Commute

2008-06-12T05:40:00.000-07:00

(Be sure to read all the little factoids. They're totally on point.)

Mat's Commute from Mat Barlow on Vimeo.

Peeved

2008-06-11T11:55:00.000-07:00

Now that I've been back in the corporate world for the better part of a year, some of my old grievances are returning to the fore.

Today's grievance: Inefficiency Masquerading as Efficiency!

How many times do I have to tell these corporate types that "Brave New World" was a cautionary tale and not a style-guide? Answer: probably quite a few more times.

My company is currently in the process of changing a system. I'm not going to bore you with the particulars of said system, but know that the system is integral to all workflows in all business units, and implementation of the transition from the old platform of this system to the new platform for the system will certainly hamper said workflows. What the fuck did I just say!?

Now while the old platform of the system certainly deserves to be scrapped, being that it is a horrid ugly byzantine inadequate piece of cobbled-together broken-down shit... when compared to the new platform, it looks like clean elegant crystal.

"But the new platform allows you to track 500,000 more parameters of every asset!"

Can I track the 8 critical parameters quickly and easily on a single screen like I used to?

"Well, no, but if you click through to 55 unintuitive sub-windows and sub-pages and sub-fields using our nonsensically inconsistent interface, then, yes, you should have no trouble tracking what you actually need to track, assuming you can find it amidst the 500,000 new things you can track, but will never ever need to."

Can I set certain fields to default to my most common settings so that I don't have to manually re-enter the same data over and over again every single time I want to do anything?

"Well, no... but you can manually re-enter it every time. Eh? Eh?"

And adopting this new "better" system is costing the company how much?

"Well, we're paying the vendor company $100,000,000 for the system, plus another $50,000,000 for the customization, plus another $10,000,000 for necessary enhancements as they become, er, necessary, er, and available. Oh, plus the cost of training you people."

Which is what?

"Only about $150,000."

Oh, that's negligible. What about the cost of the slowdown in productivity?

"There's no way to calculate that, but a loose estimate stands at about 4,000,000 man-hours, company-wide."

That seems rather high, no?

"It's actually a conservative estimate. Have you seen the new system?"

So, that number of man-hours translates to what kind of dollar figure?

"Figure a cost of about $150,000,000."

Bringing us to a grand total of...?

"Three-hundred and ten million, one-hundred fifty thousand bucks."

But the company can afford that with no problem... right? I mean, just because I'm using an 8-yr-old computer and there aren't enough video decks to go around doesn't mean we shouldn't be spending 300 million-

"310 million."

Right... spending 310 million dollars to hamper productivity with an ill-conceived system change. Of COURSE the company can afford that.

"Well, it can't really. But we're hoping that the ability to track so much more information will make some people's routine tasks easier."

How many people's tasks will become easier?

"Possibly as many as... four."

And how many people's jobs will instantly become much more difficult, cumbersome and time-consuming?

"Ten-thousand."

So clearly, the day we agreed to adopt the new system platform, the guy whose job it is to say "Holy shit this sucks goat balls" must've been out sick, yes?

"On vacation, actually."

Lucky bastard.