Thursday, August 30, 2007
Sacred things
What we hold sacred does much to define us as a people, but more importantly, as individuals. IS your body sacred? Your mind? Your spirit? How about your word, your honor, or your image? What we value determines who we are. If we do not value our bodies, they are worthless. If we do not value our mind, it will become useless. If we do not value our spirits, we are essentially nothing. Certain things should be sacred. There are parts of our physical, intellectual, and spiritual lives that simply should not be compromised or cheapened. It's that simple, as far as I'm concerned.
All day, every day, a person, or group of people, is trying to get someone to compromise. Overtly and covertly, we are constantly asked to compromise our spirituality, our opinions, our sense of self-worth, our moral position, our ideals, etc, etc, etc. Why? Why do people continually seek concessions from others where base principles and values are concerned? More importantly, why do we feel compelled to succumb? We are nothing if we are not beings with principles and beliefs. Without a vision to guide us, we are hollow and pointless, at best. At worst, our lives are spent doling out and ingesting misery.
With only one journey to create and shape who we are, there is no goodness in expending life's energy devaluing what we are. I'm not perfect, too far from it to ever make myself completely right again, but I feel like I have won at least a small victory in realizing my faults and engaging in honest work to address them. In so doing, I've come to realize just how dangerous compromising core values can be. The very act of compromise diminishes us, as it makes us liars whispering in our own ears. Once we start lying to ourselves, we are truly lost.
I have a hard time with values, not in embracing them, but in my acceptance of the reality of values in a human society. People who claim to have values are everywhere. Every sane person has some declared value system, but people who live their values are rare as diamonds and infinitely more precious. If only we could segregate, by some wholly objective method, the principled from the unscrupulous. We could each have our Walden Pond experiences among people with similar hopes and aspirations. In a pure place, we could find ourselves purified, and better placed to harness our full potential. Ascension would be something we do, instead of something we strive for. Let the sociopaths, narcissists, and egomaniacs have the rest of the Earth. Give me a corner of the globe in paradise where I might spend my days surrounded by seekers and travelers.
A place where Lindsay Lohan doesn't qualify as newsworthy. A place where cheap and easy were universally irrelevant. Somewhere where the life journey, with its struggles and triumphs, was in and of itself the point. A secret land where the souls are golden as the sun and our days could be spent evolving, rather than continually running in place on a broken treadmill. Our values and sacred dreams are more than who we are, they are everything we could be. Without these things, we are wasted time. Maybe I really am suffering some sort of mental disorder, because I'm becoming crazy enough to believe my own bullshit. :)
If you're wondering what the tag below is all about, it's my effort to share a bit more of how I think. I listen to music continually, and I remember MySpace having a function that allowed a blogger to post information about the song they were listening to at the time of posting. Come to find out, FoxyTunes (a Firefox plug-in) allows a similar tag to be inserted into HTML forms and windows. So, I'll try to remember to tag future posts in order to share a little bit of what's inspiring all this nonsense. It seemed like the type of thing my 2 or 3 steady visitors might enjoy...and I'm enough of a geek to think it's cool. ;)
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Now playing: Amy Winehouse - Back To Black
via FoxyTunes
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
I had a couple of things to write about...
but homework called. Luckily, some spineless, bespectacled teen took some sort of reed or 'switch' and used it as a whip against an anonymous teen armed only with his plucky attitude and a skateboard. Said skateboarder did the most logical thing he could and launched his wheeled plank of wood at the would be assailant. The result is comedic gold. Hope you enjoy as much as I did! :)
Original
Super Slo-Mo instant replay
Note to self, don't cry after being struck by anything, particularly if prepubescent and a tad chubby.
Labels: video
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Moment to moment
There was a time in my life when 8 feet ceilings seemed to provide adequate space for all my dreams and aspirations. There was a time when moving away from everything, and everyone, I know in the name of some artistic endeavor would have troubled my mind to the point that the idea could only be dismissed as fanciful ridiculousness. There was a time when I thought of getting back into school, finishing a degree, and actually being able to call myself a college graduate as being almost pointless. Those times are behind me now and I am glad for it.
Glad, because I have finally, and not a moment too soon, embraced the concept that I am mortal. Erik, as I understand, embody, and live him, is finite. There are only so many tomorrows. From the moment a sperm and an egg merged, determining my physical and intellectual characteristics and capabilities, my days were numbered. A tiny spec of the spiritual fabric was encapsulated and harnessed in that instant, it's energy becoming the engine that would drive my life process, as similar specs of Spirit drive all life processes. We are, after all, infinitesimally miniscule pieces of an incomprehensibly large and complex puzzle that serves as the foundation of our collective journey.
Inexplicably, all of these specs are housed in imperfect, often heavily flawed, physical vessels. In my own life, I try my best to live the ideals of honesty, integrity, honor, love, and so on, but inevitably I have failed (and will fail) in various moments of my life. It is in the nature of physicality's limited and fragile expression within what we accept as reality to be rife with imperfections. The best among us limit and minimize these imperfections, working constantly to make their ideals their ideas, and in so doing, a greater part of who they are in day to day existence more of who they envision themselves to be. But most see ideals as unattainable pipe dreams, choosing to abandon the possible for the sake of more easily attainable scraps that become the accepted norm. And the beat goes on and on...
Once in a while, we receive blaring wakeup calls, and in the hearing we are startled to find ourselves at crossroads. Some have their eyes opened by personal hardships, others learn from the mistakes of those around them. There are times when we are collectively shaken by a tragedy or wonder in the world. As we all know, the only constant is change. Life carries on, whether any single one of us exists at any single point in time. Our physical personas are born, will live, and will eventually cease to be. Assuming existence began, that is the only certainty (despite what Ben Franklin thought about taxes).
The universe at its most purified state of distillation knows only now, this moment, this slice of time. Yesterday and tomorrow are products of cerebral processes. The impact of that realization will vary from person to person. One might "live for today" by seeking external sources of pleasure in the form of sex, a babbling stream, an open road, chemicals, beaches, or a billion other outside stimuli. Or, we might withdraw and embed ourselves deep in the stillness of meditation, the comfort of prayer, or other spiritual pursuits. None will be pure in their pursuits, but we are always at our best when what we seek is balanced, and in line, with what our lives truly need.
The intersection and interchange between the external and the internal will be unavoidably intertwined. Seeking life in the moment, which is in effect seeking to erase wasted moments from the imagined time line of existence, will impact the spirit, as becoming more in touch with the moment is in actuality coming into closer contact with our spirit's reality. If Spirit is the engine of existence, it can be said with absolute certainty to have neither a beginning nor end. Our species' first "law" of thermodynamics recognizes this principle. Why can't the spirit be nothing more than a fragment of 'life energy' that has changed states after having been acted upon by the physical changes undertaken by the egg-sperm combinations which generated all of us? The act of reproduction is a physical, fundamental state change, after all. Why can't life be the work resulting of said state change, and the aging process be that work's byproduct. When the work is done, the process stops, the energy changes states yet again, perhaps returning to its former, or venturing into another, and the process continues.
Why doesn't that work for everyone? No deities, no divisions, no rituals, dogmatism, indoctrination, and the like. Life just is, and within its state change dynamic we blink into being like quantum particles, only to vanish again so that our energy might find a new way in which to do work. Is that too simple, neat and tidy? Maybe it's all nonsense...I may be mentally disordered, after all. I do know one thing, 8 feet ceilings still provide enough room, and no room at all, for living a life.
Labels: life, spirituality
For some unknown reason...
I am awake after having gotten about 4 hours of sleep. Maybe the Great Spirit or some malevolent god wanted me to see the below video. Knowing that people like this girl are going to one day inherit this country, and with it the world, should disturb all of us so pervasively that everyone loses sleep. I predict that a future in B-level Skinemax films and/or reality TV is in store for this young lady.
Labels: video
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Mother Teresa
This article at Time.com discusses the forthcoming release of a book which compiles numerous letters from Mother Teresa dating from the beginning of her time working in the slums of Calcutta to her final years as a world renowned humanitarian. The book's contents are actually pretty shocking, at least for me personally. My understanding of Mother Teresa did not go any further than the public face and persona. All I really knew of her revolved around her public works. She was one of the world's most dedicated altruists and seemingly a person of complete faith.
So then, what are we to make of the fact that the world's most famous mother may have been completely discontent with that faith for the latter half of her life? The idea that she could sustain her giving and sacrifice despite feeling as if she had been abandoned by her creator is incredibly powerful. Some might judge a woman who has dedicated her life to a god that she believes may have abandoned her to be a fool, but I find her continued good works all the more admirable. How many people have the strength of character to dedicate their life to selflessness? To make that commitment despite personal doubt and such malignant self-doubt is nothing short of beautiful.
I had a deep respect for Mother Teresa's work before learning about her spiritual troubles, but I now find myself in awe of her determination. This is someone who proclaimed a total love for her god, and did innumerable kindnesses as an expression of that love, yet she felt her affection to be unrequited. In fact, she seems to have felt so abandoned as to question her god's very existence, at one point. In letters to a spiritual adviser/confidante, she raises questions about her god's will and ways. That's powerful stuff, coming from a woman who claimed to be living every day of her life in that same god's name. In this way, her altruism and sense of devotion to positive work transcends religious and sociological divisions.
Her questions of faith make Mother Teresa's life work that much more massive in scope. The entire time she was giving her life to others, feelings of abandonment and alienation from the inspiration behind her odyssey of sacrifice haunted those efforts, yet she continued on until her very last days in this life. That takes a special kind of determination that few of us can understand or hope to possess. What we could accomplish in a world full of people with that sort of character and integrity! Agnes Gonxha Bojaxhiu, Mother Teresa's given name, was an amazing woman, there is no doubt about that. In a world where so few people stand for anything, she stood for goodness and mercy and faithfulness, even when she questioned the very core of that faith. Remove any biases against or in favor of Christianity, and the legacy left behind by Mother Teresa is no less extraordinary.
Questioning spirituality is a natural part of the process of developing one's sense of spiritual solidity. Seekers must question the foundations of their search, and their understanding, to achieve a greater level of connection with their spiritual senses. Purifying that bond means examining, refining, and sometimes reshaping one's perceptions. Teresa appears to have eventually embraced the "spiritual darkness" that haunted her faith as a sort of penance to be paid as a means to achieving some greater connection to her spiritual master. While I may not agree with her reasoning, I again stand in awe of her dedication. I have to believe Christ the man(I believe Christ was 'just' a man) would have been overjoyed to associate himself with someone of such devotion to their shared cause.
In many ways, Teresa was a modern version of Christ's original disciples and in that context, her questioning seems almost tragic or sad, but there is no reason to pity a life spent doing so much good, while asking for little in return. I can only hope she derived some sort of spiritual contentment from the good in her life's work and that her final moments were tranquil and calm. Certainly, her spirit had no reason to be troubled.
Mother Teresa's Wikipedia page can be found here, if you're interested in learning a bit more about the woman and her journey. Fascinating stuff, for sure.
Labels: mother teresa, spirituality
Thursday, August 23, 2007
There's no good reason to own a place of my own
My typical workday starts at 7:30 in the AM, which means I am up by 6:45 and out the door by 7:15. I am freed from subjugation around 4:30 or so and I head straight to the gym. I workout until 6:30 3-4 days a week, and usually get home by 7:00. Wednesday nights I ride down to Quaker Steak, and have been known to take a random ride out on occasion. Once or twice a week, I go directly from the gym to martial arts training, which starts at 7:00 and ends at 8:00, putting me home by 8:30. By the time I shower up, prep and consume the night's vegetarian food product, and read a few favorite interweb pages, it's midnight and time to try and sleep, so that I can do it all over again the next day.
When school is in session, things get even more congested. For instance, my Organizational Studies class started tonight. I went straight from work to St. Petersburg, where I stayed until 10:00. A reasonably fast ride home saw me dragging ass through the front door at 10:40. I ate, watched a few minutes of Dogfights! on History Channel, and started typing this blog entry. A month from now, I will have two courses going on in St. Pete. I hardly see the house, so what's the point? A house is little more than a place to store my stuff and sleep. Why would I possibly get excited about pumping thousands into something like that, particularly with the questionable value of a home as an investment. After you add up taxes, insurance, maintenance, utility bills, interest on financing, and every other cost associated with home ownership, the return at sale is often negligible, particularly if you are looking to purchase another home in the same market. In a market like this one, owning a home is downright painful for most people.
Obviously, given my plans to move away, there isn't much point in entertaining the idea. If you are not raising a family, there just isn't much value, unless you can afford to buy and hold, or have the good fortune of being in a bubbling market. These days, markets are deflating, especially in markets like Florida, so the value in investing here is highly questionable. CNN ran an head-to-head comparison a couple of months ago, pitting stocks against real estate. Stocks won out, despite the crashes and dips experienced during the 20th and 21st centuries.
Owning a house makes sense for families and the uber wealthy, but a single male like myself loses out in several ways. Two years on, I am glad that I did not get the house up the street. Instead of going to school, I'd be locked into my Nielsen salary, paying mortgage/tax/insurance/maintenance bills on a house I have little use for. If having money, going to school, and enjoying life makes me a loser, I'm a loser to the tenth degree. Let the enlightened do their thing. I'm still content with my special version of ignorance.
Speaking of ignorance and money, I got another salary increase this past week. It seems like word of my imminent departure has made its way around the office, though I doubt that had an direct impact on the decision to green light this raise. Year to date, I've accumulated more salary increases than I did in the previous 3 years. Too little too late? I'm afraid so. The most annoying factor in the entire situation is that I will now be taking a substantial pay cut to teach, which is discouraging. Once I have my Master's and a teaching gig at the collegiate level(very iffy, I'll admit), that won't be a problem, but in the immediate future, I might be in for a sting.
If nothing else, the bike will get paid off by next Summer and the car will probably get the motor I have been dreaming of for years sometime in late 2008, just in time to graduate Eckerd and move on to Savannah. Remaining debt free at that point is key, and entirely doable, that way paying rent on a part-time income becomes realistic. If nothing else, it makes me feel better to plan and day dream. Nothing ever goes exactly to schedule, so we'll see. Wish me luck!
Below is a random vid featuring a trained chimpanzee and some bulldogs. Brought a smile to my weary face, hope it does the same for you. :)
Labels: life
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Michael Vick is a waste of oxygen and food resources
I am not sure who's dumber, the hosts of workday morning radio shows, or the people (like me) who listen to them. The topic du jour this morning was Michael Vick, the best running back playing quarterback in the NFL, and now an admitted dogfight enthusiast. Once a person admits to propogating dogfights, they are officially a pile of shit on feet. There isn't much of a case to be made for redemption. It's like arguing the personal merits of a child molester, or rapist. What's the point? But that didn't stop 97X's Fisher from proffering potential explanations for Vick's abhorent behavior. Things like childhood influences, social background, cultural issues, etc were all mentioned as potential justifications for forgiving such deplorable activities. He argued that Michael Vick was not this evil monster organizations like PETA are making him out to be. As a result, Fisher believed that Michael Vick, aka Ron Mexico, was worthy of being reinstated to active status in the NFL when his prison term is complete.
The argument goes that he will have paid his debt to society, and that this payment should be enough. Sounds good on paper, and as someone who believes in the power of redemption, I can appreciate the sentiment behind such thinking, but in reality, redemption is more than just paying a legal penalty of time and/or money. Redemption starts within and generates a pervasive, fundamental shift in mindset or behavior. Michael Vick is the sort of person who kills animals for his own amusement. He has given the finger to his fans and faced allegations of knowingly spreading herpes to a random trollop or two. If these sorts of behaviors do not make him a fundamentally evil person, they certainly indicate a total lack of character. This is not an honorable man who fell from grace, this is a dishonorable soul with a history of conducting himself with little class or humility. He was an asshole before, but now it should be obvious to anyone with an IQ over 15 that he is nothing more than a common, thuggish scumbag.
When two humans willingly enter a ring to engage in a sanctioned, regulated prize fight, they do so knowing full well that they are risking life and limb for money. Some condemn such fights as barbaric, but the fact remains that the fighters are being compensated and are voluntarily putting themselves at risk for said compensation. When two dogs are pitted against one another, the fight is for the sole benefit of the crowd that has gathered to gamble on the match. The dogs are compensated with beatings, starvation, and abuse. These are not animals partaking in a natural, kill-or-be-killed encounter like you might see in a National Geographic documentary. They are being pathologically abused for the sole purpose of being trained to fight to the death. Losing animals are often beaten to death, or in the case of Michael Vick's dogfighting ranch, drowned after submitting in a fight. Animal fighting of any kind is a disgusting and revolting activity fit only for what should be looked at as lower life forms. An intelligent, healthy human being looks on such brutality with disdain, not glee and excitement. Something is fundamentally wrong with Michael Vick's psychology. Much like the child molester, there is no real hope of redemption. If he finds his way back to the NFL someday, I can only hope (futily, I know) that the league's fanbase reacts in a decisive and clear way.
I hardly watch sports at all these days, because of the innumerable controversies and general lack of class exhibited by a large number of today's star athletes. Michael Vick is just the latest, and perhaps one of the more heinous examples, but he is certainly not alone. The fact that there are people who would excuse his actions speaks to just how low-class and devoid of honor our society really is. People will forgive just about anything, so long as they are amused or entertained by those being forgiven. Forgiveness is fine, I believe in forgiveness. The real problems arise from society's willingness to forget such transgressions. Michael Vick is a horrible human being. Forgetting that is tantamount to condoning his behavior. When the argument is framed in that context, the thought of putting him back in the NFL becomes absolutely unacceptable.
Labels: football, michael vick
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Gone riding...
It's a shame that I only have a crappy phone cam to capture days like this one. Sun coming down by the ton, crayon-blue skies nearly free of clouds, and the water glimmering azure all the way to the horizon - it was lovely out there. You have to make an effort to feel disappointed or depressed in a place where this kind of scene is played out on a near daily basis and you have a beautiful machine to enjoy it on. Crappy phone pics follow...
Labels: florida, general, motorcycles
Sometimes sleep does not come easy
I'm sitting here at 2:30 in the morning on a Sunday in August, awake and restless, with my mind scrambling to address all of the things that, for whatever reason, can't seem to wait until tomorrow. Things like: Will I have the bike paid off in time to make a move to Savannah feasible? Was that a legitimate "strange sound", or ordinary house noise I just heard? What happened to social grace and decency? Can I manage to pay off the bike, save a little safety net money, and put a new motor/ECU combination in Scooby? If I never make love to another woman in my life, will I look back on past opportunities with regret? What will Savannah be like? Would cousin France be willing to put me up for a couple of weeks at her house in England, so that I might see London and Paris on the cheap? And on and on and on! There is no good reason to be awake at 2:30 AM and there is nothing productive in a mind running laps around itself. These are the sorts of nights/mornings that tempt me to take a Tylenol PM.
In my gut, I know that things will work out as they will, and that there is only so much I can do about any of it, so there is no point in questioning, but on nights like these, the mind simply refuses to respond. Maybe I am still neurotic on some level, and fatigue allows those old harbingers of insomnia and worry to rise up from the mysterious crevices they normally call home. Whatever it is, I am already finding that typing this out has helped. Some of this endless loop excites me, i.e. thoughts of Savannah, Europe, and the continual modifying of Scooby like Dr. Frankenstein. Others raise the heralds of worry about money, change, loneliness, and the like. As I fatigue, my ability to confidently shrug off such concerns wanes and my psyche puts itself on a treadmill, the end result being a lot of work for little or no gain.
For better or worse, I probably think about a wider variety of seemingly random things than most people would deem worthwhile. These sorts of nights are an unfortunate side effect of that cerebral activity, and they rarely ever lead to any definite resolution. My best thinking is done when I am full of energy and able to actively engage in a productive internal debate. For whatever reason, tonight is a night that everything had to be thought of at once in scatter shot fashion. Hopefully a hot shower and a little music will clear the congestion. Night!
Labels: life
Friday, August 17, 2007
Ch...ch...changes
Change is the only constant, so we must embrace it, or be swept away. It looks like Europe may be out next year, at least as part of any academic program. Because of my desire to expedite my graduation and get onto the business of grad school, I changed my major in Global Business to a minor in International Business. After looking at the course requirements for my new minor, I realized that every one of the business classes I have taken to date were not applicable, which means they would have become wasted time and money. That wasn't going to work, so the hunt for a new minor began. I landed on Management, since every one of the courses I had taken to date applied, which leaves with only two courses to fulfill my minor obligation. I'll knock out one course this term, and the final class in Spring I, which means next year will be almost entirely about art coursework.
As soon as that was settled, as if on cue, I received an email from Savannah College quashing any rumors that they might be establishing a presence in St Petersburg. That was something of a letdown, given that having SCAD establish a local campus would have been ideal. If this particular situation remains unchanged, I will be moving to Savannah for at least two years. Certainly a big change, since I have spent my entire life in the Oldsmar/Palm Harbor area, but Savannah is only 340 miles or so from home, which is roughly 5 hours on the road. Not a quick trip, but not a cross country trek, either. The change would do me some good, I know this, so I am not averse to making the move. Ironically, Scott, Laura, and the twins are moving back to Florida, while I am talking about moving away. Being away from family and friends would definitely be a hardship, but being within a few hundred miles makes things a bit more bearable. Honestly, I think they'd all be glad to see me in small doses anyway. :)
Change is the only constant and I am learning that embracing it, rather than resisting it, makes for a much more autonomous experience. By embracing change, we give ourselves the opportunity to steer and direct, even initiate, that change, rather than being relegated to roles as passengers of circumstance. When life offers up opportunity, we cannot let fear of change deter us from grabbing hold. All the cliches are true! lol And that's the beauty, when you stop and think about it. Cliches are true, otherwise there would be no cliches. Given that fact, life is actually a fairly predictable experience, particularly where people are concerned. We are all fairly predictable, even if we are somehow unstable, because being a known, unstable element is in itself a form of predictability. In this way, our personal stability can remain intact even as those around us see their stability crumble. So change is the only constant, which means that instability is stability. Realizing this, we are free to pursue our own stabilizination and consistency despite change. There is no viable reason to fear change, if we are not content to be victims. We are our own best guides and protectors.
A monumental change is on my horizon, but there isn't any reason to be troubled. Change brings with it an endless stream of possibility, whereas stagnation and sameness brings only limitations. In four years I will have gone from a man with limited formal education and what would could only be described as wasted potential, to a man with a Master's degree in a field I truly love, and a wide range of potentialities. If I can manage to keep things on course, it should be a rewarding journey. Even if everything comes crashing down and I somehow fail to make good, taking the chance sounds much better than doing what I have been, where I have been, for however long the run lasts. Eventually they will force me into early retirement or I will grow bitter and weary from work I have not enjoyed in a year or more. No good can come of that.
Labels: life
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Thinking on catharsis
Catharsis, the word dates back to ancient Greece, but the experience is probably a part of the human experience originating at the dawn of self-awareness. According to Wikipedia (a conspicuous source, I know), catharsis as a means of emotional cleansing is rooted in Aristotle's rebuttal to Plato's assertion that poetry is a danger, as it could lead men to hysterics and mania. Aristotle argued that poetry had the opposite effect. Through metaphorical catharsis (the word literally meant purging, i.e. purging the bowels or stomach), he argued a man could empty himself of the emotions which lead to violence or despair and thereby experience a cleansing of the spirit, without having hurt, or been hurt, by anyone. Given how important catharsis became in Shakespearean drama, I have to agree that he was on to something.
Looking at our media saturated, modern existence, the evidence that catharsis is an intrinsic human endeavor are all around us. We play violent videogames and their otherworldly levels of suffering and destruction. We are fascinated by reality TV and its vacuous, false dramatics. Pornography of ever flavor and fashion is readily available via the web or brick and mortar outlets. We are collectively fascinated by our own depravity. Even I have been known to partake in all of the above at times. None of us are above it.
For instance, I enjoy the HBO series Rome, which is set in the time surrounding Julius Caesar's death and its aftermath. The show is brutal, profane, and vulgar. People are killed indiscriminately and they die in bloody messes, throats slit, bodies punctured repeatedly by swords. Sex is everywhere and is treated as a disposable act. In one scene, Mark Antony is lying in bed on the morning of Caesar's funeral, complaining loudly that he hasn't yet f*#ked anyone, as if it is a prerequisite to getting out of bed in the morning. His mistress Atia refuses his crude advances, and then dismissively sends for one of Antony’s slaves to service her lover. The next time we see Antony, a young slave girl, looking exhausted, is panting in his bed while he dresses for the funerary ritual.
Sex and violence are tools in HBO’s Rome, which seems a relatively accurate depiction, given what we now know about ancient Rome. They were highly organized and very advanced, but they were still very much savages. Are we so different today? We still hunger for all of the visceral stimulations. For instance, I enjoy combat sports, which is to say I see some entertainment value in violence. The fact that prize fighting is violence contained within a framework of rules is my justification, but the regulations in no way raise the action to a higher, moral plateau. It is still violence and watching it, rather than partaking in it, is my cathartic outlet. Similarly, I’ve been aware of pornography since the age of 7 or 8, if not earlier(an unfortunate side-effect of hanging out with older kids as a youngster), so I’ve been aware of that particular cathartic enterprise for nearly my entire life. I’m not going to lie to you, porn has probably served me well in keeping me sane at certain points in my life! lol
We all have primal, base drives that push and pull at us. These drives fuel things like sex and violence. The difference between savagery and civility is controlling those urges. We can surrender and be slaves to our basal nature, or we can transcend and find a new understanding of what it means to be alive. The former requires only that we be breathing, but the latter takes discipline, intelligence, and awareness, which are the true makings of Life. Catharsis can be a part of diffusing the drives that would control or derail us. Like anything, our cathartic exercises can eventually become our masters as well, and they often do. Think of all the hours most Americans spend disengaging their minds or reveling in distractions, rather than engaging fully in their own lives. What was once catharsis, watching TV, playing videogames, becomes a substitute for proactive living. We go from catharsis to escapist and lose the plot entirely…which is why we are more Rome than Utopia and probably always will be.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
I was going to post something...
but it can wait. This was so damn funny, anything I might have to say is completely insignificant in comparison.
Labels: video
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Audrey's first sleep over
My bike had its first sleep over this weekend. My buddy Eric and his family were moving back into town from Miami, so I was helping them move, setup the house, etc over the weekend. Saturday went smoothly enough, although we weren't able to unload the moving truck until 10 o'clock at night, because of delays and weather. I took the rents' cage, thinking we might need some extra space to haul stuff around. No real problems, and everyone headed home by midnight. Sunday, I decided to ride Audrey to the house; it's a decent ride to their location in Hudson and the weather looked like it might hold. I could not have been less accurate with my meteorological predictions were I a professional meterologist.
Literally two minutes from the sanctity of Eric's two-car garage, as I am turning into his subdivision, the sky opens up in a torrent. Less than a mile later, I was soaked to the skin and Audrey saw rain for the second time in her short time with me. So close, yet so far was the situation and a very wet rider and motorcycle pulled into the driveway. As day transitioned to night, we made steady progress on the bedrooms, ceiling fans, and the everything else in the house. Meanwhile, the weather went from rain to monsoon South of us, where I would be headed, were I to ride home. Eric's dad called to let us know that the rain was coming down in sheets. We could see the lightning and hear the thunder rolling from miles away. Making things even more ominous was the fact that the storm was slowly making its way North, directly towards us.
In that kind of weather, with my limited experience on a bike, it's just not worth the risk, so I decided to hitch a ride with my buddy's mom and younger sister, since their house is only a couple of miles away from homebase. Audrey would have to spend the night alone, in a strange place, for the first time since I brought her home in April. I was tempted to make a scene of our parting, but was too tired, so I reassured her that Eric would not put his substantial backside in the saddle, and that all would be well. As we drove away, I stared back at the house until it fell out of sight, tears welling up in my eyes. I whispered, "I'll miss you my love" as the house disappeared and we rolled on into the darkness.
And that's how I got separated from my beloved motorcycle for nearly 24 hours between Sunday and Monday. The bike is back home and she's totally filthy, but it's reassuring to see her leaning in her usual place near the garage door. After only three months, it already seems strange to not see her parked there. School starts in a week, so she may be spending a lot more time on the jiffy stand than the highway, which is going to be difficult, which will definitely be a shame.
A plan is brewing that might see me, the bikes, and the rents heading to Kentucky for Thanksgiving, which should give us the opportunity for some riding, though the weather will be cold in a way that I am completely unfamiliar with by then. Time to get some assless chaps and long underwear, I guess. I'm thinking that a pair of leather pants in the Jim Morrison style might be a good choice for Winter riding. After all, nothing says "hot" like a guy riding a Harley in skin tight with major shrinkage going full effect. I'm gonna look like a total badass!
Labels: motorcycles
Sunday, August 12, 2007
On riding with earplugs
I wanted to write about my experiences riding with earplugs, but first, I wanted to share a look deeper into my private world. For reasons I can't explain, I was thinking of Disney movie tunes while at the same time thinking about my days spent frequenting Tampa's extensive bar scene. Well, it is probably more accurate to say that I was singing a Disney show tune at inappropriate volume, when thoughts of Tampa's bar scene popped into my head. What Disney song would possibly make one think of Tampa's bars and night life? Why, Hi Ho from Snow White, of course! Obviously, the joke is in the chorus, which I repeated at full volume several times, until I felt satisfied with the outburst and had a laugh.
How hilarious would it be to violently kick open the front doors of any South Tampa bar, taking that dramatic moment to strike a superhero-hands-on-hips-chin-up-chest-out pose while a spotlight silhouettes you from behind, then strut through a row of Tampa's finest young people with the Hi-Ho chorus erupting from your lips at maximum volume? This is the type of thing that is probably much funnier inside my skull than it is when expressed in the real world, particularly via text, since the internal images resemble something like a cross between old Van Halen videos and an ancient Hollywood musical. This sort of random inspiration overtakes me often. I need to find a way to share it in a more dynamic way. If you could see and hear the random shit that comes out of me when no one is around to witness it, you'd probably worry. :)
Anyway, on to riding with earplugs...
Riding with cheap, drugstore, 33dB earplugs is akin to playing a flight simulator with the volume turned down to a whisper. The absence of the wind's constant drone and the drastic reduction in other noises take what can be a sensory overloading experience and turn it into something very refreshing. It is difficult to explain the sensation, but there is a definite increase in the pleasure of riding. Strangely, the wind is muted substantially, as are other sounds, but the other sounds become more clear and distinct, so that I can hear the bike's exhaust at speed. At a stop, I can hear people's voices more clearly. The click of the gear selector and whine of first gear are clearer with the plugs in place than without. At a stop, the exhaust note is pleasing and rhythmic, as always, but not overwhelming, as it often is with bare ears.
While in motion, it feels more like flying than it ever did before, but my first impression was that of flying in a dream. I rarely remember my dreams, and have only dreamt of flying a few times in my entire life, but generally those dreams were near silent affairs, where I am rushing through space with only my inner voice narrating the journey. That is what it is like to ride with earplugs in. Concentrating becomes easier, I feel more relaxed, and it feels as if my mind is better able to manage input without having to block the wind's roar from my awareness. My internal dialog picks up speed and I feel more in tune with the flow of objects around me.
Believe it or not, it is the wind that generates most of the noise that damages a rider's hearing. At 50 mph, my 100dB exhaust is barely audible if I am wearing a half helmet. With exposed ears, the wind is creating 100dB or more of noise directly outside the ear canal. That ain't good. My full face picks up a lot of resonant noise from the bike's mechanicals (valvetrain, transmission, exhaust, etc) and can be a very loud place to be as well. Neither is as enjoyable without as they are with earplugs. Hearing traffic is not the problem I was afraid it might be, and actually hearing a guy say "nice bike" while sitting at a stop sign, without having to read his lips, was pretty surprising. If any of you ever decide to ride, I highly recommend you use some form of ear protection. Once you're comfortable on the streets, it really is an upgrade to the entire experience.
Of course, it's not always great times on the street. I'll have to write up a post detailing how my bike came to spend the night in Hudson this evening, while I am sitting at home, but it's late and I'm tired.
Labels: motorcycles
Friday, August 10, 2007
One of mine and a favorite part from one of theirs
Rain comes down like the grim angel's grin
Thunder rolls with the consequence of sin
And I sit chilled looking for a way to win
This crap game of snake eyes set to begin
Grab hold the harlot's barren, white knuckles
And raise our eyes to the sky-
Strike at weakend knees 'til their resolve buckles
Daring those cries for why-
Whithered virtue brings its breeze of greedy chuckles
For the dreams we've lost we lie-
For the lies we've dreamt we die-
Rain down the window's pane rivers breed
god's message waits patient, mythical seed
Time trickles down as fingertips nervous knead
This place gone cold as Virtue's sacred creed
Grey city sidewalks carry soulless foot soldiers
Eyes cast low to the ground-
The dripping streets brim with blistered shoulders
Burned by lightning's shuttering sound-
The ash left behind sits quiet and smolders
Embers glow all around-
Glowing ashes still confound-
Burned down yesterday in acquiescence
Giving in, surrendered diseased dependence
In hopes of finding rebirths in reverence
Amidst dreams of angelic transcendence
"Soul Meets Body" - Death Cab for Cutie
I want to live where soul meets body
And let the sun wrap its arms around me
And bathe my skin in water cool and cleansing
And feel, feel what its like to be new
Cause in my head there’s a greyhound station
Where I send my thoughts to far off destinations
So they may have a chance of finding a place
where they’re far more suited than here
Labels: general
Thursday, August 09, 2007
I may end up teaching
Getting your Master's in Fine Arts is neither an easy, nor an affordable task. In fact, earning a MFA from Savannah is said to be a massive amount of work, and I know for a fact that the money is no trivial matter. That said, holding that MFA in my hands is exactly what I intend to do, so the money and the work will have to be expended. The thing is, a MFA doesn't go far in the "real" world, where MBAs are a dime-a-dozen and our soulless, corporate overlords scoff at the very idea of art having any value beyond wall adornments to be shown off to friends at dinner parties. Art, to most of modern America, is a joke, but that is more a statement on what a joke our supposed culture has become, than on the overall significance of art as a form of human expression.
So what do you do with a MFA? The first thing I plan to do is walk around and tell all of my friends that I have one. Next, I will have to start looking very seriously at teaching what I know about art to others. Now, it was not ever my goal to be a teacher, but after talking to a couple of profs with their MFAs, it is probably the most viable option for making a living and using the degree for something other than a conversation starter. After thinking about it, and a conversation or two with mom, I came to realize that teaching has its perks.
It can be steady work. In fact, my drawing prof has a steady flow of classes at Eckerd, as well as the Dunedin and St Petersburg Fine Arts Centers lined up for this term. Getting on staff full-time is a difficult proposition, but art is a flexible world and as such, one must remain fluid within it. The big bonus is, of course, Summers off. In my mind, this means travel. Assuming I find steady work at the collegiate level, I should be able to squirrel away enough money to evacuate Florida each Summer for parts of the world as yet unknown. I plan on hitting Europe next year, and am seriously thinking about a trip to Egypt in 2009. Beyond that, there is more Europe, perhaps a trip to Alaska, Australia, maybe even Hawaii someday. Who knows, that's the beauty of it. Each year I want to make it a goal to visit different locations around the globe.
At 30 years old, I'm nearly as free as most people are at 18. I have come to understand this as a gift from the Fates. They have given me a chance to live the life I should have in my 20s, but granted me an opportunity to grow in confidence and wisdom, so that I am now better able to understand and embrace said offering. No children to feed, no wife (or ex-wife) to check myself with, and no mortgage to pay. For someone who couldn't imagine surviving my teens while living them, I would have to say that I am in a fairly fortunate position. At 18, I was too busy wishing for the Big Sleep to bother planning for what was to come, and it cost me. The rest of the world has passed me by, and I waved with a smile as they steamrolled at breakneck speeds down life's one way highway. But in rushing past, they have opened up other avenues to understanding. They are out of the way, which means I'm free to explore the scenery that I might have otherwise never noticed. My 20s weren't a total waste after all.
I have to tell you, it's a nice feeling. The subliminal pressures to achieve standard benchmarks are totally gone now. Let the material and tangible measures of a life be someone else's problem. Of course, there will be a price to be paid, but if never marrying, or living a more traditional life, means I might be able to see the world, it seems a small price to pay. Scott and Laura have the repopulating-of-the-Earth thing handled, and honestly, I'm not sure this world has a use for any other examples of my genetic code. In reality, sacrificing that form of stability is the one potential downside. I'll eventually do all those important things, like paying 3 times my current rent for a shithole apartment that is exactly the same size, or smaller, than my current living quarters. I'll have a girlfriend to kick bruises into my soul from time to time, and might have a car payment again one day, but that's the extent of the concessions I am interested in making to modern conformity. If I am going to live a finite existence, I'll be damned if I am going to fill it up with ordinary. There's enough of that going around as it is.
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
Bike nights
Bike nights in the August humidity are swirling soups of sweaty riders, motorcycles of all kinds, and lots of noise. From the V-Twin and sportbike riders bouncing their rotating assemblies off of electronically controlled rev limiters, to the amplified MC's constant monologue pulsing from the portable A/V system, noise is everywhere. But the noise I can handle, what gets tiresome is the people. People are everywhere. Some are cool, most are just background extras(I would fit in this bunch), and a few act like assholes.
You get all kinds: The musclebound badass whose bike is little more than a $50k accessory which will spend most of its usable life parked next to an Escalade or Hummer. There's the squid sportbike rider, complete with shorts, wife beater t-shirt, sneakers, and full-face helmet. You get the girl riders that make sure everyone knows they are a girl and that they ride. Occasionally, you'll see the ancient drunk Harley guy, his scraggly beard a dingy coat over a weathered face that has more crags and crevices than an eons-old rock formation. You get a sprinkling of single women, a few of whom ride their own bikes, but almost without exception, your average bike night is the last place on Earth you'd go to meet a lady. It's just not that kind of a crowd.
But it is a CROWD. If 2,000 bikes show up, which is an average night at the local Quaker, Steak, and Lube, you've got at least 2,000 riders, plus another 500 or so passengers. On a night like tonight, I would venture to guess that attendance surpassed 2,000 bikes by a significant margin, and many of those bikes had passengers. On top of people connected directly to bikes, you have vendors, the facility's staff, and an unknown number of cagers who are either meeting riders, or perusing the parking lot, checking out the two-wheelers that overflow the parking lots. All told, there is a considerable mass of people meandering around a limited amount of space, all while bikes come and go continually. It's a busy place, and I generally have a good time. It good to get out into large crowds once in a while, if for no other reason than to remind myself why I spend so much time avoiding larger groups of people.
Labels: motorcycles
Monday, August 06, 2007
Grass hopping
I am the grasshopper and I will freeze, should a truly harsh Winter ever come my way. That’s the conclusion I came to this weekend as I rode down to pick up my resurfaced backrest pad and passenger pillion. The bike looks great with its new seat and accessories. I will have to get a picture online sometime soon. Thirty years old and I have very little in the way of material worth. My income is above average, but nothing special, I own no home, no land, and have very little desire to purchase either. There is no real reason for me to nest, beyond the investment angle, but housing is such a questionable investment, in the long-term, it’s just not something I am interested in. I am the grasshopper, and I recognize that the ants may be wiser.
It turned out that my trip down to St Pete at 9:30am was to be the start of a relatively long day riding traffic in the unrelenting Florida sunshine. Once everything was bolted back together, I headed North toward Clearwater via Gulf Blvd and the beaches. Had to meet my professor, so that we could work out the terms of the independent study I will be doing this coming term. If I am going to be a functional artist, I have to find a way to be more expressive, so we outlined a course of action that should help get me there. It should coincide very nicely with the painting workshop I have this term.
Speaking of school, the aforementioned professor mentioned that SCAD had posted a job search seeking 12 professors in the St Pete area, which is great news, because that is a strong indicator that their plans to open a St Pete campus are further along than feasibility studies. Doing a Master’s degree there might be realistic after all. This was definitely a big of good news, given my previous thoughts on the matter. I would still like to get away from here, but not having to pick up and move would be a financial relief, as I could continue to finance my education with my current salary, which should allow me the funds I need. Doing my graduate work through SCAD would be ideal, so I’m really hoping it all comes together.
I would end up putting nearly 200 miles on the scooter Saturday, all of it spent riding traffic, and much of that in the Summer sun. By the time I went to Biff Burger’s in St Pete in the evening, I was starting to feel the effects of fatigue. For the first time, I felt the need to buy earplugs (because of the wind, not the exhaust, believe it or not). I will have to write about riding with earplugs some other time, as it changes the experience drastically. Leaving Biff’s, I made a wrong turn and ended up headed Southwest into St Pete, rather than West to the beaches, which had been my original intent. This little sojourn forced me to take the big slab 275 North and cost me an unknown amount of time. I had to take a break on the way, because of fatigue. By the time I rolled into the driveway, it was after 11:00 and I was spent. The new seat and backrest combination are awesome! Without them, there is no way I would have been able to put that many miles on. More and more, an Iron Butt ride to Key West is calling my name…
Being the grasshopper, I might just have to pack up and make a long weekend of it one of these days.
Labels: life, motorcycles, school
Friday, August 03, 2007
The plot thickens
Got a laugh at my own expense this morning. As noted in one or two my previous posts, I wake up each morning to the sounds of Fisher and Boy of the 97X morning show. A vast majority of the time, I give little or no attention to the subject of the moment, but this morning they were running a call-in contest searching for the oldest male still living with his mom/parents in the Tampa Bay area. Today’s prize was a pair of concert tickets to one of the larger shows coming to town…I can’t remember which at this point. Now, I’ve gone over the reasons for my living situation, so I’ll save the explanation/justifications, because the phone calls that began making it to air made any justification I might have irrelevant. As far as the world is concerned, these men are my peers, and in some ways, my people. The more calls they fielded, the more pathetic things became, but I couldn’t help but laugh.
The contest was inspired by an AP story about a 61-years old man who still lived with his mother, received an allowance, depended on her for his meals, etc. The calls start coming in and the bidding, as it were, starts at 27 years old. Quickly things advanced to 29, 31, 33, and so on. I had to leave for the office before the contest could reach its conclusion, but I’m guessing they found someone in their 40s or even 50s before wrapping up. I was taken aback at how few of the 30-somethings even paid rent, and they all seemed to be jobless. The 33 years-old didn’t even have a high school diploma. I laughed, because like or not, these are my peers. These are the men strangers will associate me with. Finally, I have a peer group! What a relief it is to have people I can relate to. :)
In related news, I’ve decided that I am going to do a Masters in Fine Arts, and that I am almost 100% certain that I will be doing it through Savannah College of Art and Design (SCAD). I dreamed of taking classes there as a kid, and it seems reasonable to make that happen now that I am older and wiser. There had been talk that SCAD was looking for Florida facilities in order to open a satellite campus in the St Pete area, which would have been ideal, but that talk has since died down and things are now looking doubtful. This means a move to Savannah will be in order, should I decide to do my Masters there. USF has an excellent MFA program, but nothing like what is available at SCAD. The more I think about the possibilities, the more attractive the idea becomes.
SCAD is located in the heart of Victorian Savannah. The college has created something of a bohemian environment in which students of art can congregate and expand their collective understanding of what it means to be an artist. I’m told the area itself is beautiful, the residents being more Mayberry than Desperate Housewives, and the general vibe being more laid back, old-South, than sprawling metropolis. When I think about the possibilities, I get excited at the idea of getting away from Tampa’s vacuous ‘culture’ and diving into what sounds more and more like a tiny, artist’s retreat. Of course, the costs of getting a Masters at SCAD will be nothing short of exorbitant, but life is short, money comes and goes, and I’m bored with business anyway.
So my plan is starting to become more defined. First, I’m going to change my business major to a minor, thereby making it possible to finish my VA degree next Fall. By that point, I should have the Harley paid off. With a little luck, I will have six months or so of rent saved up, so that I can find a part-time job in the area. This means I will have to quit Nielsen…I’ll miss the salary, but not the work…and take out some student loans. The loans would be a nightmare and are the last thing I would actually want to do, but given the expense of attending SCAD, I won’t have a choice. With enough aid, grants, and assistance, I might be able to keep the costs from going stratospheric, but there’s no way I will be able to avoid digging a hole of debt, should I have to move to Savannah.
Bonus: Georgia has some awesome roads to ride on, I wouldn’t be too far from home, so weekend trips back to town wouldn’t be unreasonable, and I’d be away from the malignant nature of Tampa’s populace, which would certainly do my spirit some good. Ironically, it looks to be an almost sure thing that Scott and Laura will be moving back to the area, which means the twins would be nearby and I could potentially be moving away. What are the odds?! Hopefully, SCAD will come to St Pete and all of this talk of moving will be made moot, though I do have to admit that I would like to get away from here for a year or two.
Thursday, August 02, 2007
We are all recycling
I know I've blogged about this before, but I just can't help myself. I'm human and my ideas recycle and recirculate around in my head just as human behavior has recycled and recirculated throughout all of recorded history. Humanity recycles and spins its wheels continuously. Occasionally, a genuinely unique soul will share its vision with the multitudes, but these gems of history are so rare as to be nearly unheard of. We are the byproduct of years spent recycling ideas. There are innovations along the way, but most of them are technological and superficial. Even with advances in education and information sharing, we still are essentially stationary as a species.
How can that be, given the seemingly limitless amount of technology and innumerable advances made by science in the last 100 years? It's simple, we are still primates. We still make war over money and land. We still seek out immediate gratification; of the ego, of the body, of the mind, often to the point that it brings about our own destruction. Our primative minds have not evolved much in capability and form since the age predating Ancient Egypts rise from the muddy banks along the Nile. Physically, from the layout of our organs to our musculoskeletal construction, from the shape of our brains to the function of biology, we are effectively the same as we were five thousand years ago. Why then would anyone expect us to act any differently than our ancient predecessors?
Of course we will be barbaric, gluttonous, and greedy. There is no reason to believe that the good will not continue to be overwhelmingly outnumbered by the apathetic and the evil. Greed moved the leaders of ancient Sumeria, and so it continues to be the primary motivation for the world's most powerful figures today. Our species has warred over ethnicity, spiritual egotism, ideology, money, power, and resources since the dawn of what came to be called "civilization". Several great empires have risen and fallen, all in very similar forms and fashions. Collapse comes from within more often than without, and so the trend seems to be continuing today. Progress, as we understand it, has more to do with the superficial than the integral. The evidence is all around us.
Greece had its brothels, bathhouses, and orgies, we have San Francisco during the 70s and 80s, the Bunny Ranch in Nevada, modern thailand, and websites like adultfriendfinder.com. The Romans built an Empire that spanned the entirety of the known Western world. We have corporate governments spreading the principles of globalization, which have counquered almost every industrialized nation on Earth, and of which we are all citizens, whether we realize it or not. Four thousand plus years after the monotheistic faiths began appearing on this planet, we still live in a world where wars are waged in the name of one god or another. Religion continues to divide us, rather than unify us. People continue to breed as if the world features a limitless carrying capacity. Over one billion people exist in India and China today, nearly three billion between the two countries. There were less than 3 billion people on Earth in 1950!! History is one long lesson in what is constructive, and what is destructive, but we continue to learn these lessons the hard way.
Anyone making an argument that we are not a very primative species is living in direct oppositin to the facts. At our core, we are still very much the barbarians that came before us. Of course, we have made some intellectual advances, but none of that has done much to truly elevate the overall human condition. Growing up and living in one of the world's wealthiest nations blinds most Americans to the fact that a vast majority of the world's peoples live at or under the abject poverty line. A majority of the humans on this Earth do not have adequate food and clean water to meet their basic needs. Most people partaking in the Western lifestyle feel entitled to their existence, rather than grateful for having had the good fortune of being born into their circumstances. The poorest American is still better off than 2/3 of the people on this planet. Even that is not a first in history.
We need to evolve, we need to take another step in our physical capabilities, particularly in our geenralized cerebral capacity. When the top 5% of intellectuals becomes humanity's bottom 5%, I believe there will be reason to believe real, substantive progress might be made. As it sits, we are not any closer than we were five thousand years ago. Scary stuff, when you stop and think about it...
Labels: life