I arrived in Seattle late last Saturday night, to 37-degree weather that felt nothing short of tropical.
It's good to be home. I just missed the avalanche. Lucky me. Whew!
After arriving at my new digs in Shoreline, I took a day to recuperate from traveling, reconnect with my roomies who I hadn't seen in a long while, and reintroduce myself to the neighborhood. I grabbed a burger and fries, I did some banking, and oh! those damn sideburns are way-hay-hay too long! Time for a haircut.
I mosey on down the street towards a salon but on the way find a different place offering men's cuts for $9.00. Cheapskate that I am, I'll take that deal. It's five dollah less dan de place up de street!
The moment I opened the door, I should have turned and ran the other way. I was assaulted by the humid scent of some oriental fish dinner which made me stop in my tracks. Is this the right place? I look at the sign - yep, haircuts for men, women, and children. I shrug and walk in.
YO! Certainly, NOT me.
"Hey! Hey! You wanna haycuh-t? Clo dooh, clo dooh!" yelled an older Vietnamese lady in black stretch pants and some kind of top in a horizontal zebra-striped print. She's sitting in one of those chairs used for mani/pedi clients, eating what I assume is the rotten fish I smell. "You wan haycuh-t?" I nod. She yells into the back, "Hahy! Cuh-tomah need cut!" in a shrieking Asian falsetto. I'm feeling the pangs of regret already.
Out from the back comes a young, slender Vietnamese girl who, I swear to God, looked like she was about to fall over dead. She's no nonsense. "Seedown!" She gestures at the haircut station. I sit. Just as she begins to strangle me with the hair drape I notice a half-used box of Theraflu and dirty tissues littered all over the counter to my left. She coughs. Or has a seizure. It's kinda hard to tell. "HAAAACK! AAAAACK! ACK!" Oh, my god. I hope her's is a cold and not tuberculosis.
"How yuh wan?" she asks, after regaining her breath.
"Um, excuse me?" For a second I'm wondering if we're still talking about a haircut, considering that there is a neon sign in the window advertising massages.
Wish it was me.
She glares at me. "How yuh wan?" She grabs a comb that's about ten inches long and starts pointing (stabbing?) at photos on her mirror of impossibly handsome Asian men that must be twenty years younger than me. "Off the ears, off the neck, shorten the sideburns, and just make it look nice." She gives me a phlegm-filled huff (oh, please not in my face!), grabs a electric razor and goes to town. Hair is flying e-ver-y-where. I'm somewhere off in space. In retrospect, I believe I was suffering from shock.
To my right, through a door and behind a beaded curtain I can hear a young boy playing a video game, murdering pixelated soldiers with wild abandon. To my left, Buddha has a meal that some flies are beginning to take an interest in. Behind me, Grandma Zebra has taken her own client, another Asian woman who can barely communicate with her. As I'm spitting out hair that is falling like snow, I can hear the music in the shop, a kind of oriental-style elevator music. Holy crap! Is that "Guantanamera"?
Nope. It's her.
Fifteen minutes later, I'm standing at the cashier's booth, slightly dazed. "Yuh like! Yuh like!". I can't tell if the girl is asking me or telling me. "Uh-huh," I say as I pay and walk out the door. I passed by a mirror in the window next door and can see the haircut up close. Totally. Butchered. MyHair. For a moment, I felt like Britney Spears - and not "Baby Hit Me" Britney. We're talking self-shaved, drink in one hand, baby-driving with the other hand Britney. As I'm writing this, I'm having one of those maniacally strained giggle-snort-WTF?-combo moments.
FEELS like me, sometimes.
After this incident, I was wondering how I could memorialize this in a photograph. I see myself, wearing the hair drape, hands by my horrified face, climbing backward on the barber's chair. In the foreground, all you see is a hairy arm holding a machete that drips blood. Really, it would be a better comic book cover than a photo.
Thankfully, I can say that after a good wash and a bit of product, this is really a rockin' haircut she gave me. My only wish is that I didn't feel like I just rubbed shoulders with an episode of the Twilight Zone. Welcome home.
OK. For those of you that don't already know, I'm a total dork about some things. The old "Star Blazers" cartoon is being developed into a two-hour live action movie! As I sit here, partially ready to do a little dance, I have the same misgivings I had about the "Lord of The Rings" trilogy: either it's going to be fan-fucking-tastic! or it's gonna suck ass.
Here's a little "halla" to those that watched it before school when we were kids:
Click on the title to go to the Rotten Tomatoes news release!
3000 cases, or 19,000 bottles of whiskey, packed and ready to ship to France have been stolen from a UK distillery. Someone is gonna have a great party somewhere.
Click on the title to go to the Belfast Telegraph article. Thanks for the link, Elizabeth!
OK, apparently this video is at least four years old, maybe older, but it's wonderful. It's the recreation of the opening sequence from The Simpsons using real people and places. The level of detail is astounding (don't miss Homer's plumber butt) and, as one person put it, slightly disturbing when real people are involved. Ah, the British!
OK, don't listen to me. See it for yourself. Click on the title to go to the video. Thanks for the link, Andee!
An Alaskan legislator underwent a full-body scan and then was told that she would have to submit to a intrusive pat-down because the scan revealed a prosthetic boob. (She'd recently had a masectomy.) She refused and opted to take the ferry home to Alaska.
Bully for her.
I refuse to fly anymore. The TSA makes you about as safe as a snowfall in the Andes gives you something to drink.
The TSA was just a way for Michael Chertoff to sell full-body scanners to the government. It's that simple.
Click on the title to read more about how your right against unreasonable search and seizure is trampled on every day.
So, as I've mentioned, I'll be moving back to Seattle on March 1st. It didn't really sink in until my general manager came to show my apartment to a prospective replacement for my job. Since yesterday, I've been feeling a mixture of fear (to be expected, especially in this economy), regret, and ... what is it? ... loss?
I didn't realize how closely I'd drawn to people here. There is a fellow I work with who I adore. He's smart, humble, honest, and generous. We have a similar sense of humor, which we got to see earlier tonight when we both blurted out, in unison, a funny taunt to someone that was telling a story. I wanted to reach over and give him a bearhug.
There are others who come to me and ask if I'm sure I have to leave, in tones that leave no doubt that they're feeling a little upset at my departure.
Of course, there is my family. All of them want me to stay.
I always say that it feels good to be needed. There's no doubt that I'm needed here, for many reasons. However, what is unique about this move is that I feel a sense of wrongness. I feel ..., well, I feel.
I've been frozen for many years. I distanced myself from people because, in general, people are hurtful, coarse, and uncaring. I wasn't going to allow them to shake my tree, no way. People who knew me back when I was a teenager describe me as being "aloof". It's true. I wouldn't allow anyone to get close. If you want to know how I felt about myself, listen to "I Am A Rock" by Simon and Garfunkel. I could have written that song, myself. I know now what it means to be "living in my head". I had no body sensations at all. "I" was only the space behind my eyes. My body was just a shell that carried around a conceptual "me".
At some point over the last couple of years, I've allowed myself to thaw a little. My sense of humor has improved. I express my desires instead of hiding them or always deferring to other people's wants. I know how to say "no" and mean it. (Always room for improvement in that department.) I no longer live behind my eyes. It's a subtle feeling, but tangible. I feel "me" all the way from the crown of my head to the upper portion of my chest. It feels good. I spend a few minutes every morning just experiencing and appreciating this new awareness. Often, I feel like I'm gargantuan in size compared to others around me. I wonder if I will become more fully integrated and what it might feel like. I can only imagine at this point.
Is it by allowing others to become close that I've come to these new feelings ? Or is it that having these feelings has allowed me to become closer to others? Do these feelings arise spontaneously or simultaneously? Am I over-thinking it? Probably.
Any way this pie gets sliced, I feel sad about leaving. I've been valued and respected. I've made new kinds of connections with others that I've never felt before and am reluctant to relinquish them.
As if it wasn't bad enough that the unemployment rate is sky-high and not looking so great for the foreseeable future, now some companies are not willing to hire unemployed applicants.
Apparently, it's a mechanism to screen out people who have particular profiles of race or age and possibly people that have out-of-date skills.
Let's hear it for living in the good ol' USA!
Click on the link to go to this vomitous article in the Seattle Times.
Leave it to our politicians to screw us ten ways from Sunday - every time.
Do you honestly think you are safer from terrorists if the government can look at your library records?
BTW, there are three more bills in Congress that would extend the Patriot Act for another ten more years. Do you really want to live under that kind of surveillance?
Recently, on my Facebook newsfeed, someone I know made a comment about how he doesn't care for the infamous Lady Gaga's music which, in turn, launched a full-on bash-fest. I was taken aback by some of the comments, one of which read "I'd like to punch her in the uterus." (I hope that commenter is about 14 years old, because that's the kind of crap I expect to come out of a teenager. From an adult, it's not funny or witty - it's just pathetic.)
Fashion is nuclear.
Let me send out a disclaimer: I'm not gaga about Gaga. She has some entertaining videos and a few of her more popular pieces are quite catchy. Would I spend money to go see a concert? Eh, probably not. I'm only using her as an example because she was the subject of this particular Facebook post.
After reading many vitriolic statements about Gaga, I realized that there is a big disconnect. Huge, in fact. People don't understand the difference between personal musical tastes and recognizing other people's talents.
It's very simple. Just because you don't like someone's art is not a gauge of their talent.
There are thousands of talented musicians that will never see a recording contract in their lives. Why not? Because their music has zero commercial appeal. Lady Gaga happens to have huge commercial appeal. Don't agree? You don't have to. The money backing her speaks for itself.
And she is mega-talented. It can't be denied and if you do, you're just swimming in denial. She has a voice the size of a barn and a deep passion to back it. She sings, she dances, she plays piano, and she gives people something to talk about. She's a one-woman show. Before you criticize her (or anyone like her), let me ask a question: when was the last time anyone paid you to sing and dance for them? Uh-huh, that's what I thought.
I just remembered, someone mentioned their dissatisfaction with her "pandering" to the gay community in order to support her career. What she's doing is not pandering. She knows her market which is a key part of doing good business. It looks like she's doing pretty good business.
How about this: instead of bashing on other people's success or discussing whether they are talented or not, why don't you take some voice lessons or learn to dance, yourself? Seriously. It used to be that everyone had a talent because when the sun went down, all we had was ourselves. We told stories, sang, danced, or played instruments. We did shadow puppetry, played charades, and other games that engaged everyone. We weren't consumers of entertainment. It wasn't someone's job. It was part of the pleasure of living.
That would be far more interesting and entertaining than listening to talentless people sit around and bitch.
Tonight, while I was helping prepare our once-a-month family dinner, my nephew, Jesse, came in to tell me about some news stories he's heard about at school. Immediately, I braced myself.
"Dude, you know what this tastes like?"
Jesse is 15 or 16. I remember very well what most young people that age consider to be newsworthy. At that age, I was interested in the Soviet Union, Ronald Reagan, and Michael Jackson. (Back then, Jacko was in the papers nearly every week.) The other kids that went to school with me, their idea of news was along the lines of "Did you hear about that tramp, Tracy? She was caught with some peanut butter and, like, gag me with a spoon!" You get the idea.
Apparently, a woman went to the grocery store and accepted a yogurt sample from an employee. After tasting it, she complains to the management that it tastes like semen. "Whoa," I said. "Already there is so much that is wrong with that story I can't begin to tell you." Jesse continues, telling me that she complained to the management about the taste of semen in the yogurt. They told her that it was Greek and that people like it that way.
"Actually, that would be French."
At that point, I turned and said as an aside to my brother, "Actually, that would be French."
Click on the link to go to the MSNBC story, which isn't nearly as entertaining as the comments that followed it.
It was just announced on MSNBC that Hosni Mubarak has turned over all authority to the military to oversee the governmental transition in Egypt. The military has guaranteed the repeal of emergency rule that the public has lived under for thirty years.
I'm watching the celebration in Tahrir Square right now.
As I am writing this, at 2am PST, the military is surrounding the Presidential Palace in anticipation that the protesters in Tahrir Square are going to move on it today. The military has asked the protesters to go home, that they guarantee that the protesters demands will be met in full.
The protesters aren't buying it. They are laying in the square chanting "Peaceful". They are building latrines and showers in the Square and are saying on live television that they will not move until Mubarak steps down. They are calling this the "Friday for Martyrs".
My wish for Egypt is a peaceful transfer of governmental authority. However, after the massacre in Tiananmen Square over twenty years ago, I have concerns that this will end badly.
Always remember what happened after China bulldozed thousands of people with tanks and then conducted a countrywide witch hunt for dissidents: nothing. Not one country in the world did one meaningful thing. Oh, they suspended some loans and financial assistance, but big fucking deal. In fact not ten years later, China was named Most Favored Trading Partner of the United States.
Donald Trump has just announced on Piers Morgan's show on CNN that he may make a run to be the next President of the USA. This is not a joke. And I have to admit, I kinda like what he had to say, which is primarily a very strong stance against China's unfair economic policies toward the US. He says that he'll make his decision between now and June.
Whew. Thank goodness. One of the most horrible pieces of legislation EVER, has expired. However, like the villain that keeps coming back at the end of a bad horror movie, Republicans are trying to make it permanent. Call your representatives and let them know We The People don't want it!
What's really sad, though, is the ongoing damage done via the Patriot Act, like the creation of the Department of Homeland Security and the TSA. You might feel like you're safer if someone gropes your junk when you fly, but I don't. (Personally, I think anyone that would want a job like that is a pervert of some sort.) The TSA is a primary reason why I don't fly much anymore. That hurts because I love to fly. And how do you like the treatment you receive at the hands of your local law enforcement? That's another consequence of the Patriot Act. It basically gave police at every level almost KGB-style bash-and-grab authority. For those of you who don't remember the fucking KGB, I'm not even going to put a link in. I'm going to make you put some effort into reading about the Soviet secret police and then look at what's going on in your own country.
Seriously? People who hate you don't know you? It's neither very presidential, nor does it represent strong leadership for someone to discuss such a subject.
Let's be honest, Mister Obama, it's not you personally that people don't like. It's your continuation of the Bush Administration's policies that people don't like. We don't like that you handed the insurance agencies a windfall in a supposed "health care reform", which doesn't reform anything at all. We don't like that the military complex is humming along nice and expensively without accountability in a war that we should never have started. In two different countries. We don't like how Wall Street is still without regulation and continues to trade volatile derivatives just like they did before the stock crash. We don't like how you have done nothing to repair America's international reputation.
In a nutshell, we're past the point of being interested in you personally. That's what the campaign trial is for. Now, what we're concerned with is what you do.
Click on the title to go to The Seattle Times article.
The date is set! I will arrive in Seattle on March 1st and I'm very excited to be home again.
Coeur d'Alene is a beautiful little town with lots of fresh mountain air. But there is not any public transportation to speak of. Plus, the temperatures get down to nearly zero in the winter. That alone is a deal-killer for me. Call me a wimp all you want, but I'm me, not you.
I'm looking forward to seeing my friends again and getting back to my favorite restaurants. I think the variety of food in Seattle is the thing I like the most. The traffic, the pollution, the homelessness, and the crime are real turn-offs. The downtown Public Library is simply depressing. The Metro bus system is a superior service compared to other cities I've lived in, even if it is standing room only on many routes.
City of Light
I remember Seattle from when I was a little boy in the 70s. It was big, colorful, and had an unusual personality. I remember walking behind a pimp in a bright orange suit with a huge feather sticking out of the headband. He was walking this jaunty, funky strut. I got in right behind him and started imitating him. My mother was caught between a gasp and dying of laughter. I was about seven or eight years old. Down at the Pike Street Market, the Cuban Communists were on the sidewalk, selling their propaganda. In the UDistrict, record stores were staffed with people that wore black eyeliner and purple hair, among other things. You could buy a crepe with apple butter from a chef behind a pass-thru window. The Greyhound station was dirty and dingy. Hustlers would stand in the doorways of the restrooms. You had to pay a dime to use the stalls. (My brother and I just slipped underneath the door.) Drunks could be found in the gutters of Pike Street on Sunday mornings. Well, most mornings. But Sundays in particular. I remember walking through the UDistrict Safeway with my mom and piping up "Hey mister! Why do you have a dog in the store?!?" My mother was mortified, but the man shushed her and told me he was blind and that was his seeing-eye dog. So, I peppered him with all kinds of questions about the duties of a seeing-eye dog.
But the thing I remember the most was Seattle's friendliness. I keep hoping for it's return. I'd love to see these chilly people warm up, just a little bit. I'd certainly feel much more at home. Still, I'll be glad to be back.
Yes, seriously. A cub scout beauty pageant. Whoever the fucktard was that came up with this idea for a pack meeting should have been tarred and feathered.
I was, oh, I dunno - maybe seven or eight years old? Scouting was a very popular thing in the community that I grew up in. There was no question that I was joining. Everybody did.
Somebody's parent got it in their head that it would be fun to have a "beauty pageant" and dress the boys in drag. I swear it must have been a child molester looking for future sport.
Anyway, my mother and my grandmother got all excited about it. My grandmother let me use one of her chemo wigs. Mom drove me to The Salvation Army and we picked out a little blue dress with white French knots all over it. Somewhere, I don't know where, some fuck-me pumps materialized for me to wear. I remember that I looked really good.
The way the game would be played that evening is all the scouts would line up in front of the audience (I've never seen so many people at a scout meeting in my life), the MC would call someone's name, and that person would step forward. Whoever got the most applause would be the winner.
They called us to the front of the auditorium. There were probably about ten of us. I looked up and down the line, sizing up the competition. I didn't really care if I won or not. I was just having fun. As I saw the other boys, all with their heads hanging down, faces squished up like they'd eaten a bad oyster, I suddenly realized that I did want to win - and badly so.
The MC started calling out our names. Every boy before me shambled up a step or two when they were called, obviously unwilling and unhappy, and then returned to their place. Each got a smattering of applause. Instantly, I knew how to cinch the victory.
When my name was called - I was about third or fourth down the line - I imitated an old 40s film star I'd watched. I strutted out about five feet, swinging my hips, one foot in front of the other, stopped and took a pose, one hand on my hip, while the other went up to flounce the back of my hair. Then, I turned with a toss of my head and my nose in the air and skank-walked back to my place in line.
Crowd. Went. Wild. I mean, seriously so.
The boy standing to my left, who was next to go, was just agape and staring at me. I winked at him, silently daring him to try to top me.
I won first prize. I don't have any recollection what the prize was. All I remember was that I had fun doing what nobody else was willing to do. That was prize enough for me.
It also set the stage for the rest of my life. I learned that most people are unwilling to do something unconventional, even if there is some potential fun to be had. But get this, if I was willing to go first, they would usually join in soon after. They are too scared that someone will make fun of them or think badly of them.
Well, I don't mind at all.
Robert Frost wrote a famous poem about how he came to a fork in the road, chose to take the road not taken, and how his life was so greatly different for having done so. I've always taken that to heart and, indeed, my life is so much richer than I ever could have imagined on my own. I look forward to plenty more of the same.
I can't believe it. I've only been blogging about three months and already I'm almost to 1,000 pageviews! Apparently, someone out there likes me.
I have to admit, when I started blogging, the idea of 1,000 pageviews was ridiculous to me. I would have been happy with 10 this whole time. Instead, I got 100 times more than I hoped. Thank you, everyone.
I'm getting ready to return to Seattle at the end of February. Sometime in March, I'll be starting a separate blog about the little hole in the wall restaurants I enjoy visiting. I wouldn't say I'm a foodie. I just want to showcase some of the hard-working kitchens that deserve more publicity for their delicious meals. You know, places you might have seen but thought "ewwww."
Lastly, I'm working on a special project and requested input from you readers. I'm sorry to say I haven't gotten any responses on that. However, I'm not deterred. It just means that I have to figure it out on my own. I'm only disappointed because I know many of you have information on cool gatherings and locales. One of my friends told me about something called the Rainbow Family Gathering. (It's going to be in Washington State this year.) Someone else told me about an event called "Barterfest", which I'm considering. And then, there's the Telluride Mushroom Festival I'd like to attend.
This is the end of the free Internet. Lieberman wants to give power to the Executive to shut down parts of the Internet or en toto. Of course, it's for our protection. Do you really believe that? BTW, do you remember about me posting the article about how Obama wants to issue National Internet IDs to American citizens?
Tell me what answer you get when you add 1+1.
Thanks to Sheye Blaze for the link to this Huffington Post link. Click on title to read the vomitous details.
I've noticed over the last several weeks that I don't wait for my alarm clock to ring before I get out of bed. It's true. I am beating the alarm clock by almost half an hour. And I feel great. I hope this is a continuing trend. I have no reason to think otherwise.
I hear from a lot of people who struggle to get out of bed everyday. They moan and groan when the alarm goes off. They hit the snooze button three times or more. They lay in bed, mumbling "It's time to get up," over and over again. They wait for the very last second to get out of bed. Not very long ago, I used to be one of them.
These days, I'm hopping out of bed, well-energized, and looking forward to my morning.
What the heck happened?!?
What happened is I got a little respect - some from my co-workers and my manager, some from myself.
I see now how my life for the last thirty years has been ravaged by depression which stemmed from family upheavals, a toxic religion, and unpleasant work environments. I didn't even realize it was happening. It felt normal to be dragging all the time and I blamed it on my narcolepsy. Now, I realize I was wrong.
At my present job, I've been given a gift over the last three months. As the night manager, I have great responsibility, yet few demands. I've been able to rest and relax with little stress. My manager listens to me and respects my decisions, treating me as an actual manager and not just some monkey who checks people in after midnight. I've re-learned that I can trust myself. I think I'm feeling happy. (Geez, it's been so long since I've been happy, I'm not sure!)
About five years ago, I asked one of my closest friends "What's wrong with me? Why does nothing I do work out? Why does nothing I do make me happy?" I was frustrated and discouraged. What was wrong? I didn't like or trust myself. I let employers bully me around. I let a toxic religion tell me that I didn't have any value. I let my acquaintances walk all over me. Anyone would be depressed after years and years of that.
A little respect is great medicine. It's both an antidote and an antibiotic. It makes you stronger.
This video was brought to my attention by Matthew Chase of Seattle on Facebook. I'm not normally into drag queens but this is wonderful political satire.
Can you help me? I'm working on a little project and I'd love to get your input. Do you have any favorite festivals/celebrations and/or regularly held arts and craft shows that you enjoy attending in the United States or Canada? Do any of your friends? Can you ask around and report your suggestions back to me?
Here's a sample of what I'm looking for:
chili cook-offs anywhere
the Rose Parade in Portland, OR
Folklife Festival in Seattle, WA
Razor Clam Festival in Grays Harbor, WA
the Chicken Gizzard Festival in Pottersville
the University District Street Fair in Seattle
the Telluride Mushroom Festival in Colorado
the Solstice Parade in Fremont, WA
the Tulip Festival in Mount Vernon, WA
barter faires anywhere
Quirky is good. Out of the way is wonderful.
The Wanderer by Leventep
I'm also looking for:
artists that have a unique style, whether it be painting, sculpture, glass blowing, whatever
interesting destinations (think Niagara Falls, Breitenbush Hot Springs, Grand Canyon)
yoga or meditation retreats
I'll be sharing the why's and wherefore's about this soon in an upcoming blog post. Please email your suggestions to me as soon as possible (within the next week?) to colossal.rob@gmail.com.
Thank you!
This is one of the best articles I've ever read regarding the rise of the atheist's voice in America. It's short, elegant, and eloquent. If you don't get it, ... well ... Click on the title to go to the original Facebook note. Reprinted here, unabridged and unedited, with permission of the author.
Why Can't You Leave Religion Alone?
by The Thinking Atheist on Monday, January 17, 2011 at 10:34am
The protests come every day from the religious, and they go something like this:
"Why spend your time disproving God?"
"Why not just let people believe what they want to believe?"
"Why can't you leave religion alone?"
As one YouTube commenter said recently, "No one can explain to me why it is so important to convince theists to abandon their beliefs."
The answer is simple. Pages like this one exist because religion exists.
Religion permeates our culture, shows up on our doorsteps with literature, scriptures and threats of eternal damnation, influences our science books, contaminates our political systems, indoctrinates our children and postulates that its doctrine must be followed, lest we be destroyed in body, in soul, or both.
Non-believers are simply responding to the avalanche of religious messages that bears down upon us daily.
Religion gets carte blanche to be as vocal as it wants, to knock on our doors and accost us in our homes, in our places of work, in our personal and professional lives. Believers are charged with a life mission to preach, teach, disciple, shout it from the mountaintops and to "go ye into all the world and preach the gospel to every creature." Religion...is everywhere.
Ask yourself. When's the last time an atheist rang your doorbell with the Good News of Humanism? How often do you find Richard Dawkins books in the dresser drawers of your hotel rooms? When was the last atheist temple erected in your neighborhood? Have you ever attended an atheist revival? Has atheism demanded 10% of your household income? How many dedicated atheist television channels come through your satellite dish? How many atheist verses were you instructed to memorize as a child? When's the last time someone thanked a FARMER (or even the cook) at the dinner table instead of God?
On a more radical front, what's the name of the last atheist who sawed the head off of an "infidel?" Or sentenced a shrouded woman to death for displeasing an oppressive husband? Or strapped explosives to his belt in order to kill hundreds in a public square? Or publicly hung a gay person for his choice of lifestyle?
It's everywhere. Religion is a pounding drum that has gone mostly unanswered for a long, long time. And religion is not satisfied with merely existing quietly in the homes and hearts of the faithful. Its very nature compels the believer to proselytize, preach, promote, convince, convert and prevail. If you play on the team of the religious, your game plan is to stay, always, on offense.
Throughout our history, those who raise a simple hand of protest against these advances have been portrayed as the real problem. Religion has attempted to marginalize and defeat legitimate questions and concerns by indignantly portraying any resistors as misguided, immoral, rudderless, angry, miserable, lost and alone.
And when skepticism challenges wildly improbable (or impossible) stories found in the bible, the Qur'an and other holy books, the religious wail, "Why can't you just leave us alone?"
The irony is thick.
And religion impedes curiosity and inhibits learning, as the much-maligned Creation Museum proves. It stymies critical thinking. It stretches us to believe the unbelievable. And it poisons the foundational teachings we are using to train up the generations of tomorrow.
Pages like mine exist as a response... a counter-argument to ensure that the cacophony of superstition does not go unchallenged. And if your belief system is so undeniable, so factual, so provable, so real and so true, certainly it can withstand the opposing viewpoints presented here and elsewhere. Certainly, it can survive the acid tests.
Just remember. Religion began the argument. It amplifies itself before the world. And it threatens all mankind with punishment upon its rejection.
We are atheists. We are moral. We are reasonable. We are thoughtful, intelligent, compassionate, happy, fulfilled and well-informed.
And as long as religion insists on fixing human beings who are not broken, we will respond with the evidence that we are not the problem.
"I was called by the hotel next door, warning me about these people. They are violent and abusive, among other things, and we don't want people like that for guests. So, could you please ..." and I made shooing gestures towards the people.
Don't you love coming in on the action?
Looky what I found!
As some of you know, I'm the night manager at an economy (NOT budget) hotel in Coeur d'Alene, ID. My primary responsibility is the safety and security of the hotel during the graveyard shift. I do it every evening; I don't get any nights off. Last night, around midnight, my front door buzzer starts blowing up. I quickly throw on my shorts and t-shirt and run upstairs, thinking that there is a potential guest at the door. It wasn't. It was a policeman. Oh, and five other police cars. I'm thinking "Oh, great. What NOW???" because I've had to call the cops two or three times over the last two months.
Having the boys in blue at your front door with their lights all ablaze is not great advertising for any hotel. Especially at this frequency. And SIX cars? Holy crap!
I open the door and he starts, literally, pushing past me to get into the lobby. I stand in front of him, slightly indignant. He may be a police officer, but he owes me an explanation why he's at my door.
"Excuse me, officer. Is there something I can help you with?"
He looks at me, slightly confused, and says that I called for police support. (Um, I can vouch that this poor fellow isn't really the brightest bulb in the lamp.You know the type - as soon as they open their mouths, their level of intelligence is so glaringly low that Hollywood couldn't have hidden it with computerized special effects.)
"No. I'm the night manager and I didn't call anybody. Did one of my guests call you?"
One of the other cops yells something in the parking lot and he turns around to look. He abruptly walks off to get in his car. "Sorry to bother you," he shouts as he gets into his car. All of them speed off. Well, thank goodness it had nothing to do with my property.
Yet.
About a half hour later, my front door buzzer is blowing up AGAIN. I'm like, WTF is it with people tonight?
This time, it's a young black kid. I open the door and can tell he's a little agitated.
"Do you need a room for the evening?"
"Yes. Do you have doubles?" he asks. He is standing ramrod straight, fidgets, and won't look me in the eye.
This is where I need to learn to trust my gut response, especially after working in the prison system in Texas. A person becomes highly sensitized to odd behavior in that kind of environment. But we are taught in this country that we shouldn't make snap decisions about people, which I agree with. However, we are not taught how to make a distinction between a snap decision and recognizing danger signals.
I told him yes, we did have rooms like that available. He tells me he'll need two rooms and he's going to get the rest of his party. He leaves and I wait in the lobby for about ten minutes for him to return. I almost gave up on him coming back when I get a phone call from the hotel next door to me.
"Have you had a group of black people show up to rent any rooms?"
I look out the window. "They just drove up."
The desk clerk on the other end says "Don't rent any rooms to them. They are violent and are very high on drugs. We just had the police come and evict them. We saw them driving in your direction and wanted to give you a heads up. But don't tell them that we called you because we don't want them coming back and causing more trouble."
Oh great. And now the kid is knocking on the front door, wanting in and a van full of his posse (I counted at least seven people) is parked in our portico.
"No problem. I'll tell them I got a call from the police warning me about them."
I hang up the phone and go to answer the door. Now there is a policeman standing behind the kid.
I open the door and the kid starts frantically yelling at me. I look at the officer and ask if I can speak to him privately for a minute. He comes in and this is what I tell him:
"I was called by the hotel next door, warning me about these people. They are violent and abusive, among other things, and we don't want people like that for guests. So, could you please ..." and I made shooing gestures towards the people.
He actually grinned at me. "Hey, no problem," and walks out the door. I scuttled my fat ass back behind the counter - in case shots got fired. It got loud and abrasive outside for a few minutes but quieted down. I saw the van drive off. I took a deep breath and thanked my lucky stars. Disaster averted.
I couldn't sleep all night, worried that they might come back and break windows, smash guests cars, or who knows what. Thankfully they didn't so, now, at 8am, I might be able to get a couple hours of sleep.
A few weeks back, I posted a conversation that I had with a guest at my hotel who I referred to as "Left For Dead" (LFD), because they had been beaten to the point of being unrecognizable and left to die on the side of the road. LFD has been a regular guest since my tenure here as the night manager but had been absent for the last several weeks. I've been curious about their situation.
I found out that LFD stayed with us last night. I was just coming on-shift and we crossed paths. LFD is doing well, I'm happy to say, and preparing for trial against their attackers.
In our conversation, I happened to mention that I was feeling a little homesick for Seattle. LFD said "Just remember what you told me," and proceeded to instruct me in the same method of stress relief I had coached them on many weeks ago. To say the least, I was flabbergasted.
"You remembered all that?" I asked.
"Oh, absolutely," said LFD. "If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be able to sleep most nights."
I don't know about you, but it's not very often I get feedback from people telling me how much I've helped them. It was touching to know that I had helped LFD in a meaningful fashion. I almost started crying.
LFD says "I would hug you, but I know you are a manager and that wouldn't be appropriate."
"A hug? You've done better than give me a hug. You've given me a sense of worth when I needed it most."
About fifteen minutes ago, a drunk came through the lobby of my hotel, wanting a room. It started out as a regular check-in until I misspoke. I asked him a second time why he was going to be staying with us.
Yes, he told me right up as he was coming through the front door that his alternator was out on his car. But when you are in this kind of service business, sometimes things become automatic. So, when I got to the part of his check-in where we normally ask why they are staying with us, of course I asked. Immediately, I realized I made a mistake and was about to joke about it, like I normally do. But he flew off the handle, yelling at me.
"Shit! You don't listen worth a damn, do you?!? Did you go to college?"
"No, I didn't," I said.
"Yeah, well it shows."
What I'm thinking is that I've done pretty damn well for myself, having not gone to college, you redneck- drunken- fucking-jerk-spazoid-inbred-mongrel.
Then, I had to ask him what state his license plates were registered. He starts waving his driver's license in my face, quite belligerently, shouting "Can't you see? Can't you see? You really are an idiot, aren't you?" Fact of the matter is that I see lots of Idaho licenses from people that have plates from Montana, Washington State, even Oregon.
At this point in time, I'm ready to kick him out. I'm not paid to be abused, belittled, and insulted. There is a point where my ability to endure someone else's shortcomings collides with my sense of self-esteem. Oh, I know that my bosses would say that it's just part of the job and that I need to be nice to the guest, but the guest just crossed a line with me. When I was a bartender, I've 86'd people for this kind of behavior. Fuck the guest.
A couple of nights ago, we had something called a "110% Meeting" at work. The idea is that giving 100% is just doing our jobs. But, of course, that's not enough. We are supposed to go above and beyond (even though we don't have any true incentive to do so). Basically, like many service jobs out there, we are supposed to allow the guests to run us around and walk all over us, oh, and if need be, go lay down on the traintracks because they come so far before our own interests. Can I hear a big "SCREW THAT"? This guy is a prime example of why I think customer service is so fucked up in the US.
I have a friend who has been checking groceries at a major supermarket for many, many, years. Admittedly, his stories are much more sordid, nauseating, and unbelievable than what happened to me tonight. When I hear him talking about his own experiences, all it does is cement in my mind how I feel about customers/guests/clients. They aren't always right and it's wrong to allow them to behave badly towards the service agents that are trying to assist them. Service agents should never put up with it. I say call them out on their bad behavior. If they want to act like 4-year olds having a tantrum, I say show them the corner and send them to time out. If that doesn't work, show them the door.
I told you. I'm pissed.
Be nice to your desk clerks, waiters, taxi drivers, etc. Most of us really are trying to do a good job for you.
For a few years now, I've had an interest in Buddhism. This arose from a comment someone made to me about a discovery I'd made about myself. She told me that what I'd experienced was a perfect example of a certain buddhistic (is that a word?) principle. When I want to learn something, I like to consult with experts. Why waste time with wanna-bees? So, I've been reading "The Way of Zen" by Alan Watts.
Alan Watts
This isn't reading you just plow through like a sci-fi novel. I take in a few pages, let it sit a couple days and then go and re-read it. And maybe re-read it again. Which is part of the problem, no doubt. While I'm trying to process the information, that is contrary to a primary concept of Buddhism. Watts says this: "... Taoism concerns itself with unconventional knowledge, with the understanding of life directly, instead of the abstract, linear terms of representational thinking." You have to live it. I like that.
I am proud to say that in less than two months, I have gained seven people in Denmark (among others) who are regular readers of this blog. Welcome! And thank you!
Why not get to know each other while we're here? If you would be willing to send me a photo and some autobiographical information about yourself, I'd love to feature you on my blog. Once a week, when I change my weekly quote, I'll put a new face in my sidebar for all to see. Email your photo and information to colossal.rob@gmail.com. I look forward to hearing from any of you!
Since my original idea for this blog was to post about spirituality and politics, I would be amiss not to comment on the recent shooting down in Tuscon.
First, let me just say that this is a horrifying tragedy.
Second, my sincere apology. I've told people that the way to deal with radicals in politics would just be to shoot them before they ran for the presidency. It was my frustrated response to the insurmountable partisanship in American politics. It was wrong, regardless of the reason, for me to say something like that. Again, I apologize.
There is a lot of room for apology in American politics right now. All of the articles that I've read, all the videos I've watched, the authors have said that all of us need to own up to how we contributed to the shooting in Arizona. Yet, when you read the comments following the articles, almost every commentator is focused on blaming one side or the other, instead of owning up to the universal wrongness in our society that led up to the murder of six people, serious injuries to 14 people, and the attempted assassination of Congresswoman Giffords.
That's where we are, folks. Not on the eve of a national revolution to rid ourselves of oppressive dictators, but dans de la merde, a nation that has gone totally lu-lu. All the legitimate politicians are exiting the scene via death or retirement and what we are left with are a bunch of whack-jobs who won't balance the nation's checkbook, on the take from corporations, and full of hateful rhetoric that stirs up all the other whack-jobs that are listening. Who cares what I say in the political arena as long as it gets me on TV or lands me a book deal? Right?
Wrong. That is a perversion of politics. American politics isn't supposed to be about personal gain or pushing your personal social agenda. It's supposed to be about performing a patriotic service by representing your fellow man. Few people in my generation were taught about having manners in public, much less about good citizenship. How do you expect them to be any kind of decent politician?
Since the shooting, some folks have jumped on the "watch what you say" bandwagon. While that sentiment sounds fine, it's a little too ambiguous and Big Brother to me. Watch what I say? My answer is "Back off, bitch." Why? In my experience, people that say things like that are generally not in the habit of using their freedom of speech. When the only people they talk to are their friends and family (not even their neighbors anymore!), freedom of speech, by and large, goes to the wayside. Don't talk about politics. Don't talk about religion. Don't talk about race. Don't talk about sex. Don't talk about money. (Holy crap. What DO you talk about???) So, telling someone else not to exercise their freedom of speech goes hand in hand with their own failure to take advantage of it. They have little or no connection to freedom of speech because they don't engage in it, therefore lack appreciation of it. If it was taken away, they wouldn't even notice.
Not in my family. Sex, drugs, rock-n-roll, politics, business, religion, ... there isn't a topic we don't touch in a single evening. And it doesn't change in public. So, yes, I'm sensitive about someone saying, in essence, to shut up. If you don't participate in public discussion, you have no business suggesting to someone that they "watch what they say".
How about I offer this, instead: "Certain topics require thoughtful consideration before speaking." See? Reasonable. Civilized. Inoffensive. Responsible. And guess what else? A perfect political statement in a nation gone crazy.
The Obama Administration wants to create an Internet ID for Americans.
Of course, they say that they aren't going to create a database, etc.
And we're supposed to believe them.
This is a time to get up and start calling your Senators and Representatives.
Or maybe it's time to move to Canada.
Your free speech - if you are actually using it - is absolutely endangered.
I guess this wasn't really a conversation as much as it was just a short exchange. Even so, it's generated a lot of thoughts on my part.
I was standing in the meat section of Albertson's today when I saw some beef marrow bones, which have always intrigued me. There was a meat cutter a few feet away, putting new product on the shelves. I said, "Hi, I see you have marrow for sale. Have you ever had roast marrow before?"
He says, "Oh, those are just to give to dogs. That's all they're for." He didn't even look at me while he was saying it. I bit my tongue, literally, and went to shop for other items.
And here is where I start to have my meltdown. If you don't know what I'm asking, just say so. I highly respect this phrase: "I don't know." It's efficient. It's accurate. And most of all, it's honest. Yeah, big fan.
Myself, if someone asks me a question and I don't know the answer, I start asking questions. I might not know the answer, but I might know someone that does. Or, even better - for me - I might learn something.
We are living in exciting culinary times in the United States. Many of us that are cooks and foodies are rediscovering dishes that used to be considered delicacies and somehow fell out of favor to the point of extinction, like eating bone marrow. Marrow bones are roasted in the oven till browned and then sprinkled with coarse salt. In older days it was served with toast. You used your marrow fork (yes, there were even special forks for eating marrow), insert it into the bone, twist, and pull out the softened, gelatinous marrow and spread it like jelly on the toast points.
BTW, they are also called "soup bones". Guess why?
All I wanted to know was if this meatman had ever had marrow and did he enjoy it.
Do I expect too much from people? You might be saying, "Well, he's only a meat cutter. Why should he know anything about marrow?" Because he's expected to know the product he's selling.
C'mon! Have some fuckin' interest in your profession!
A conversation with someone I work with prompted me to revisit this subject, but at greater length.
Have you ever wondered why men only live a few years, compared to some of the so-called "lower" animals? My mother's birds are going to outlive her by many years, maybe even decades. Even trees live several hundred and even thousands of years. Doesn't seem quite fair, does it? I used to say this, myself. When you think about it, how damn egotistical is that point of view? What makes us so special?
Let's just pretend that men routinely live 500 years, instead of 70 or 80. Tell me, what would you, yourself, do differently? Do you think that you'd spend more time with your family? You'd work less and play more? You'd go visit the aurora borealis or climb a mountain?
I don't think so. I think you'd be living exactly how you are right now. Sitting in front of your computer, your TV, your desk. Putting off getting married, putting off visiting your grandmother, putting off going to school, putting off having children.
We all tell ourselves, "There's always time." It's tomorrow, next week, next month, next year. We tell ourselves - no, we LIE to ourselves that there is plenty of time to live our lives. Suddenly, we find out that we're too old to have children because we're well past our reproductive years. Or our bodies have broken down so much that we could never climb that mountain. Our eyesight has degraded to the point where we can't even appreciate the stars in the sky. All because we put off enjoying the pleasures life offers us.
"Fear is the mind killer." Dune
I'm sure at least some of this orginates with fear. Fear causes paralysis.
Which of your fears screw you up? Fear of growing up or growing old? Fear of disapproval? Fear of missing out on something? Something else?
Aha. Suddenly I realize my own fear: fear of failure.
"You do it to yourself, just you, and that's what really hurts." Radiohead
Excuses, excuses, excuses. That's what fears are. It's what we tell ourselves to keep ourselves stuck. Nobody does it to us; we do it to ourselves and we do an ingenious job of convincing ourselves that our problems are all external. We had nothing to do with either causing ourselves to be stuck or staying that way. It's the rich. It's the poor. It's the government. It's my health. It's my family situation. It's my age. It's my finances. It's the illegal immigrants. It's my this, it's my that, it's my -OH, SHUT UP.
It's your Own Damn Fault.
My mother called me out on this over Christmas dinner. Thank goodness she did, too. I had become so mired in my own bullshit that I couldn’t see the way out. I needed someone to slap some cold water in my face. I hope you have someone in your life that cares enough to do the same thing.
"Live, live, live!!!" Rosalind Russell as Auntie Mame
Artists have been saying this for ages in books, movies, and other media: Get up and live!
There is a book for young adults, called "Tuck Everlasting". In it, the female protagonist has the opportunity to become immortal. One of the already immortal characters tells her this: "It isn't death that you should be afraid of. What you should fear is the life not fully lived." (My paraphrase. Italics mine.) In the end, she chooses to remain mortal.
"A life lived in fear is a life only half-lived." Strictly Ballroom
In the movie adaptation of "The Lord of The Rings", Elrond's daughter, Arwen, had to make this same decision. Would she continue in the way of the Elves, immortal and aloof, living as children without concern for time, and, ultimately, living meaningless lives? Or would she choose to love who she would love, even if it meant she was calling down her own doom upon herself?
"I choose a mortal life," she says to her beloved. You go, girl.
One final example. Harry Potter, in “The Sorcerer’s Stone”, finds the Mirror of Erised, which J.K. Rowling used as a metaphor for television. It shows the viewer their deepest and most desperate desires. Dumbledore explains to Harry that the Mirror “holds neither knowledge or truth” and that men had “wasted away in front of it, even gone mad”. He ends his speech with wise advice: “It does not do to dwell on dreams ... and forget to live.”
OK, I lied. One more example, but of someone who did it right: the one and only, Auntie Mame.
"Give me hope, help to cope with this heavy load, trying to touch and reach you with heart and soul."
George Harrison
Maybe you have a lack of faith in the future of mankind. I can relate, believe me. With all the problems we have, who wouldn’t be having a crisis of faith?
Don't complicate it. It's just another form of self-sabotage.
Did you know that there are some professions that create with a view to the future and save not a sip for the present or the past? The one I’m thinking of in particular is winemaking. There are some wines being bottled today that won't be ready for 40 years. The people who will enjoy the wine bottled this last season are only being born today.
Consider this animated story I found on YouTube. It’s in three parts and each segment is about ten minutes long. It's a Canadian program called "The Man Who Planted Trees".
If you have children, this is a must-see for them.
The man in this story grew an entire forest without thought of fame or fortune. He had faith in his mission and took small, steady, consistent actions every single day of his life. The result is that countless numbers of people benefitted from his generosity of spirit.
"If you don't find a purpose for your own life, someone else will gladly make one for you." Anonymous
Are you just wasting air and food? Does your life mean anything - anything at all? Mao Tse Tung, the deceased leader of Communist China, is credited with saying to an aide: "It is of no benefit for that man to live and it is no loss if he dies." In other words, Mao declared someone to be a worthless person. What can be said about your life?
It's not the length of the life you have that's important. It's what you did with it while you had it.
"I went sky diving, I went rocky mountain climbing, I went two point seven seconds on a bull named Fu Man Chu. And I loved deeper and I spoke sweeter, And I gave forgiveness I'd been denying. An' he said: "Some day, I hope you get the chance to live like you were dyin'." Tim McGraw
I'm always trying to find the upside of things. Why not? Make the best of a bad situation, lemons into lemonade, all that. Sometimes all it takes is just knowing that I choose to be wherever, experiencing whatever.
Actually, now that I think about it, I see that it's a way of accepting responsibility. I'm only where I am because of the choices I've made. So, I accept, and thereby am able to be happy wherever, whenever.
Even the female inmates (when I was working at Lane Murray Prison Unit) noticed this. As one officer was walking an inmate by my office door, the inmate commented "Mr. Pickett is so different from everyone else working here. He is so cheerful all the time." The officer replied, "Yes, he's a very happy fellow, isn't he?"
My objection with this article is that the author acts like Hispanics are a new flavor of ice cream in the U.S. The number of Hispanics has been growing steadily and invisibly for years. And, oh, that's right, Hispanics only have large populations in Texas and Florida.
But he is right about languages. Spanish is the most important second language for Americans to learn.
