Gravity

Not really gravity, but more along the lines of universal gravitation or if you like simply

Every single point mass attracts every other point mass by a force heading along the line combining the two. The force is proportional to the product of the two masses and inversely proportional to the square of the distance between the point masses.

This is truly the force that binds the stars, moves the earth around the sun, and is the power behind the tides. It is what keeps us constantly trying to fall to the center of the Earth. It is what attracts us, in a fundamental way, to every other thing in the universe. According to Sir Isaac it is a force something that does not think, breathe, or have a sense of fashion. We rarely think about it except when we a) drop and break something or b) when, after too many pints, we find the floor by looking up over our shoulder. It is relentless and ruthless, do not appeal to gravity's sense of justice, do not beg it for mercy. It is not good, it does not need justice; It is not evil, it does not need to be merciful. It simply just IS, and a lot of very bright people have spent a lot of time trying to figure it out. They come up with complex formulas, and whole new theories just to explain why planet A is acting a damn fool and orbiting planet B in such an erratic fashion. It reminds us that hitching our wagon to any particular star may led to quite unexpected, and unintended results.

A Plea

No this is not a guilty plea, I will save that for when I really need it. This is a plea from a life long agnostic to be allowed to live in peace. Obviously, Christmas is not a big time in the life of an agnostic for several reasons. People try to say that Christmas is not all about religion, but about other things. Well, news flash people! It is supposed to be the "birthday" of your saviour. For fuck's sake how more religious can you get? Even if all this gift giving crap is not based on religion, I have another problem with it. I am a minimalist, I am not a huge fan of "stuff" the majority of the things I "own" are books. Lucky for me I can afford to buy my own books, in fact I have about 25 books in my possession that I have not read yet. I am pretty set for books. Any other gift I do not need. You know why I can say I do not need it? Because I do not already have it. If I need it I buy it. I do not like getting gifts. I certainly do not celebrate Christmas as either a religious or economic holiday. All I ask is for some of this so-called Christian understanding and love crap. After all, I have been in churches (usually against my will), and respectfully bowed my head at "prayer" time. I did not cause a scene, or jump up and start disputing the bible with the Christian in charge. All I ask, and it seems to be too much to ask, is for the same respect. I respect (though sometimes mock) your beliefs. I am not a convert them or fuck them type of agnostic. Believe what you want, the fact that you are wrong (in my opinion) should not dissuade you from holding your beliefs. If it does then you were not that serious in the first place. All I want is similar respect. I do not believe in god, do not take it personally, I probably do not believe too much in you. I do not ask you to share, understand, or convert to my way of thinking. Please do not expect or ask me to throw away 25 years of solid thinking on this subject just so I can get a fucking gift that I did not want or need.

P.S. If you insist on trying to give me a gift which makes me unhappy and is borderline disrespectful, give money to a charity in my name (I suggest Amnesty International), that way you can take a tax deduction.

A Stone

Take a line, any line, from anywhere, a poem, a song, a death threat, a movie, or a really bad novel. Take that line, use that line to the best of your ability. Make that line YOUR line. Use it as the foundation of your next big idea. BE the line, LIVE the line, and make the line come alive. Somewhere in that line lies part of your life, a part that you might not even have been aware of until you heard the line for the first time. Nevertheless, there it is in a moment of sheer imagination and creation your life writ large by a line SOMEONE else bloody wrote. Still, you can recover your balance, and use this line to good effect it is just going to take a little bit of effort.
Warm laughs, lovely words whispered and meant, and rough skin. You like all of these things, but, you really love a stone. Because it is smooth, cold, and you really want to be told that it is all your own. Your own personal stone. To make your own, to do with what you want, and to make it yours. You have shifted a lot of dross to find this stone make sure it is the right size, shape, and sharpness. This is a stone that has seen a lot of things, some of them sublime, some of them absurd. While you were picking pebbles out of a drain, this stone was being formed by forces, about which you, in your wildest imagination, you can only speculate. Do not allow yourself to shoulder the blame for this stone, do not shout names at flickering screens because of this stone. Don't phone your friends, or go fucking insane. Don't overstate your case make it simple. Stones are simple things. Nothing too damn complex about a stone. You know this, you watch the Science Channel, they have not run a twelve part series explaining the complex nature of STONES. This stone has WEIGHT, it is dark, and can dream. This stone dreams of being the keystone above the gates of a castle where a towering queen with a lovely daughter lives. This daughter would be lovely, stubborn, and brave. This stone would know the bitter dismay of suitors that brought presents to lay at her feet, all the typical desires of your typical queen's daughter. Things that make people gasp in shock, and coo in delight. These suitors would be pleased to fall at her knees, to post her decrees, to name all of her city's streets. However, she loves a stone, and being in love with a stone can cause some consternation, especially one would suspect, to the stone. Remember no one ever claims to be a stone.

Timing

They say timing is everything. Well I do not know who "they" are, but I certainly am not on board with that rule. I have impeccably bad timing. Now this is not a serious problem it is not like my bad timing affects the life or death of anyone or thing. It is just a simple fact. The major problem with my bad timing is simple. I (meaning my physical presence) simply tries to be in the same spot as something/someone else pretty much all the time. As you know this just simply cannot be; two things cannot occupy the same spot at the same time. However, someone needs to tell the rest of the world that. It does not matter what I am trying to do or when I am trying to do it. There will be SOMEONE else right there at the exact same time, attempting to do the exact SAMETHING. I could be trying to buy pickles in Louisville, Mississippi at 3 a.m. and lo! and behold! There would be at least one other person standing right there in the pickle aisle slowly trying to comprehend why in the world there they are there, and why there are so very many brands of pickles to chose from. All the while, there I am trapped behind this damn fool muttering foul words under my breath. You see if I could just get around you my pickle choice will only take about three seconds. This gift/curse is amazing. I can and have actually demostrated it upon demand. I pick a random place to walk into, and tell my amazed audience to watch and wait for that person who just suddenly has to be in the doorway of the room I am trying to enter, and are utterly befuddled as to why they are there, but they are certain it will come to them if they just stand in the doorway for a few more minutes. I only wish that somehow, someway I could profit from this curse/gift. I really think that one day I will suceed, and occupy the same place as something or someone else, and Newton's idea will be blown to hell. Stay tuned for a rip in the fabric of the universe

Black Sheep

Though I would like to claim to be the only black sheep in my family, I fear that it isn't a completely true statement. After all, I had uncles that spent some time in the cozy dens of the state's custody. However, I suppose intellectually I do take honours for being the black sheep. I am the family's unknown boy, the one who ran off to the big city, and never came back. I do not plan on going back home again to rest. I do not plan on going home again at all. I suppose that the bright lights have seduced me beyond repair. I explained to my family that if they loved me they would let me live in peace to try understand that my time in the area in which all of them live has come to an end. They do struggle to comprehend why I would not want to come rushing back into the fold. This obstinate behaviour of mine has lead to some tension in the past, but I think/hope that they have come to peace with my decision. Besides, in this big city with the bright lights and big dreams is full of girls with faces fair that see the shine in the black sheep. Why on earth would I want to give that up? Even the black sheep can sometimes wear the golden fleece, and win a hand or two in the game of life.

Idea

I have an idea. It is a really great idea. I have had this idea for a few years always there hovering on the edge of my consciousness. It is the kind of idea that makes people look at you, mouth agape, and say "That is a brilliant idea, how the hell did you ever come up with it." I am not sure if they are shocked that it is a good idea, or appalled that my goofy ass came up with it. Either way it is an idea that makes you smile everytime you think of it because you think to yourself man that is a great idea, and not only it is a great idea, but I came up with it all by myself. I mean this is the kind of idea that people build societies around. The kind of idea you can be put into history books for. Squares in towns you have never heard of in countries that you never knew existed will be named for you just because of this idea. This idea is something that even your friends, once they get over the horror of not coming up with it themselves, use as a way of introducing themselves to other people. They go to parties and say you know the guy that came up with (inserting your idea here), I know that genius. We used to hang out and drink lots of beer, honest to god. No one will believe them of course, because this idea is so damn good that they will think your slug friends could never have hung out with the mind that came up with this idea. This idea gets your name on the top of the letterhead. Children will have to read books about this idea, parents will struggle to work this idea into their day to day lives. It is a really good idea. There is only one small problem. As I mentioned earlier this idea has been hovering around for a while. It is like a shadow that you sort of see when you cut your eyes really fast in one direction. It is a fleeting idea, an idea that is so good that it makes you want to really work to have it. It is not some cheap ass idea on maybe trying Korean food, it is an idea thtat will ring down throughout the centuries. Which leads us to the problem with the idea. The fundamental flaw that makes this idea like every other idea I have ever had (that is to say a generally bad idea). I have not had it yet.

Death comes for the Archbishop

Ok so my friend B_____ is not an Archbishop, and Death did not come for him he went to it, I just thought it was a snazzy way to title a blog entry. In fact, the poor fool in question was an agnostic of many years. I guess that does not stop Death from coming it may just make it a little less or more painful, or maybe it makes it more complicated. I am sure that a conversation between B____ and Death would have had some interesting moments, and probably was sprinkled with a few words that should not be repeated lest they ruin some people's moral fiber. Anyway, Vegas buried poor B______ in style or, at least in as much style as our little band could muster. Most everyone kept their dignity, but certainly did not keep their money. B_____ had his maudlin moments, but for the most part he seemed resigned to his fate, as only those who know it is futile to struggle against fate can. He is/was not a morbid fellow, except maybe morbidly obese, and he seemed to be, in the words of the Mayor, "jubilant" near the end. That may have been because he could not be bothered to walk a straight line, or finish a coherent sentence, or it may have been because even though his sand was about to run out of his hourglass, he was amongst pals and was having a very good time. I did manage to catch him in a reflective moment, he had just tottered out of the bathroom, and asked him what he thought about the world now that he was about to leave it. He valiantly tried to focus his redshot eyes, snorted, and said "in the end there is no Justice just Death" then, turned and put another one dollar bill into an entertainer's G-string.

Circles

Sorry but this is what Tidy would call a "random mind dump." When we are born we each enter into a world full of possibilities . This is what I would call our circle of possibilities. Granted we are all born into different sets of circumstances. I would not be so foolish as to believe that a Borgia or a Bernadotte's circle is the same as some child born to dirt farmers in Alabama, or one born in Zambia. Thus, before we even began to scream for air on the planet which we are going to inhabit for our entire lives our circle of possibilities has been narrowed (or maybe widened). Throughout childhood this circle is pretty much totally beyond our control. We are young, and people feed us, bathe us, and wake us on their schedule not ours. However, during this time circles are opening and closing to us, and we probably are not even aware of it (if we ever are aware). Hopefully, one day each of us wakes up or staggers out of whatever pub they have been in for the last 8 hours, and makes the decision that, as far as we are able, we are going to attempt to take control of the circles that lie before us. Not a whole lot we can do about the circles that lie behind us except to try not to let them close (sorry got distracted by a pretty girl walking past my window) any of the circles in front of us. From that moment on, each decision we make hopefully is part of a plan. Although, I truly wish I had a plan, I am not so sure that I know what that plan is. I sort of think that we make our decisions which close or open circles to/in front of us, and then in a reflective moment or in a drug induced haze, adjust ourselves to the decisions we just made. No matter how small a decision is, to go left or to stay right for example, circles open, shut, widen, or narrow in response. Getting out of bed 10 minutes earlier or later may put you at that red light some knucklehead runs through, and off you go to the hospital instead of going to work to sleep through some important meeting or to send some insulting e-mail to your boss (quite by accident of course). I guess my friend B_____ who's funeral date is fast approaching made the critical decisions that lead him to Death in Vegas. I tried to ask him the other day, but he seemed to be just a little too calm to provide me an adequte answer. All he said was "do you think I have got anything figured out?"

Dorian Grey

One of my friends has a co-worker that she refers to as Dorian Grey. Dorian Grey? I asked? Why him? She proceeded to tell me about her co-worker, and I think I agree. Tell me what you think. It seems she and this guy work in the same office in our typical cube environment. Lots of fun as I am sure we all know. It seems this forced day to day closely knit (forced) share living has led her to believe her co-worker is a prime example of a modern day Dorian Grey. He seems to think that no matter what he does, no matter how vile or disgusting he acts it has no affect on his personality or reputation. According to her, he makes Waylan Smithers toadying look amateurish. He is constantly planting his lips on the bosses ass. Like most offices, their office has layers of command. She says that it does not matter which bosses ass he kisses, he kisses them all. Making sure that his smiling face is always there when any chance for self-advancement crops up. However, just like Mr. Grey he does not realize that the rest of the world is looking at your "portrait." This portrait is the picture the rest of us see when we glance in your direction. She says that when she looks at him her "lunch struggles to stay in her stomach." It seems the true tragedy of his toadyism is that the "main" boss thinks he is ready for promotion. Sorry there is not really a lesson to learn here folks, it is just something that strikes me as a sad commentary on today social mores.

Death in Vegas

In two weeks, my friends and I have a funeral to attend in Vegas. Myself, Lefty, The Mayor, P Diddy, JPK, and a couple of others will board our separate flights, head to Sin City and lay our dear friend B_____ to rest. It is not that sad of a story, our buddy had a good life of nearly 38 years at least half of which he enjoyed. I mean if you are happy 50 percent of the time you are doing fairly well. You may wonder how we know it is in two weeks, and why it is in Vegas. Well it seems B_____ planned it that way. He took the fateful steps that lead him to Death in Vegas about 6 months ago. None all of us knew it, I am not sure he knew exactly what he was doing at the time, but here we are 6 months later trying to piece it all together. We do not know if we should be terribly sad, or terribly happy about this turn of events. We do know that a lot of drinking, and remembering the corpse will take place. We are also aware that all the King's horses and all the King's men are not going to be able to put B_____ back together again, and as the date of his funeral draws closer, I for one, think that maybe, just maybe he wanted it that way.

The Horror

No, this is not a post about The Heart of Darkness that is another story entirely. This is merely a quick post to bemoan the fact that I have been for the past two weeks utterly bereft of ideas to blog about. I wonder if Zola or Hemingway had this problem? I also wonder what they would do about it. My boon companions and I have a slogan that solves most of our problems. It is a simple slogan "DRINK THROUGH IT" it works most of the time. Notice I said most of the time. No plan is perfect, and when you are throwing up in the bushes at 5 a.m. the idea of drinking through it does not really seem to be a great idea. Perhaps the solution is, and it is the one that obliquely I am attempting is to write through it. Though as I stare blankly at the blinking cursor that is taunting me by saying "you do not have a single cogent thought worth writing down." Writing through it may not seem the best idea either. However, as your faithless correspondent I feel at least some small obligation to my world-wide readership to attempt to shake the "blog bloc" that has afflicted me in such a horrid way. Perhaps this is what Zola or Flaubert tried simply writing something down in the hopes that it would shake something loose. Though for those two gentlemen their writing was never good enough. To write what seems to be gold one day, go to bed content with your days work, and to wake up read it again and find that somehow, overnight your gold has turned to lead is a terrible thing to happen to any writer. I share this affliction, though for me it does not take overnight. I return to my post almost immediately after publishing it, and find to my amazement how it all went so horribly wrong.
Though I believe that this post has acheived something worthwhile. In the immortal words of Frank Constanza "I'm back baby!!!!!!!!"

Dear M

Yes, I know I have a habit of blogging about failed friendships. It is a gift. However, this does warrant its own post.

Dear M______,

It is with some degree of remorse and sadness that I respond to your last correspondence with bad tidings. You tell me that I blow hot and cold, that it is "too much work being my friend." These facts I do not dispute, they are for the most part true. It probably is a lot of work being my friend. I ask a lot of my friends. Truth, loyalty, honesty, and dedication being just a sampling of things I expect from my friends. However, in my defense, I do not ask anything that I am not willing to give. It may be hard to be my friend, but I think it is worth it. If you are my friend, I will go to the wall with/for you. Whatever you need just ask. If it is within my power to give it to you it is yours no questions asked, and no return of favour is expected. You and I have reached the logical conclusion to our friendship. No further discussion is necessary. We have known each other for almost 6 years. We have had our ups and downs, our good times and bad times. At this stage we have reached a down that is permanent in nature. No amount of tinkering can fix our friendship. It is broken beyond repair. You tell me I blow hot and cold, that is fine, that is your opinion, and I suspect it has some merit. Towards you, from now on, I am cold. Please do not test me on this. Someone who knew me long before you did, and in a similar way once told me that I was "the coldest person she had ever met." Do not make me prove it to you. From now on we are finished, we are not connected you and I, at no point do we touch. This is indisputable. I advise you to move on with your life, and I am sure you will. In the future when I think of you, if I think of you, it will be in the past tense. I wish I could say that I am sorry it ended this way, but honestly I am not. This is the path we both chose there is no need in denying it. I hereby declare a "break" with you. Relations between us have come to an end. Quite simply, we are done. We have "run our course," and no longer have anything to discuss. Bon chance.

Cezanne Part Deux

It seems my previous post about my painter ex-friend was, shall we say, a little off. The problem I had with my friend was not necessarily the choice he made, but the fact that he had a choice to make at all. For all of us pluggers in the world I was upset. This is not sour grapes it is simply angst at seeing talent tossed to the winds because of a "bad" attitude. I should mention that my friend has had a problem with authority and rules for the majority of his life. When we were younger it was quaint and cool. Once we reached thirty it just looked like surliness. Here he was with this gift that people would give their first born for, and he, in a fit of pique, decided to piss away a chance to better his career. He was certainly no Cezanne or Monet but he had talent, and he worked very hard to be good at what he did. He was committed to his art, and to see him refuse to "seal the deal" was extremely frustrating. I certainly did not want to live his life for him, I have enough trouble living my own life. This is merely a cry of mediocrities everywhere when they see genius wasted.

The Lady or The Tiger

A long, long time ago in a place far, far away the following events happened. A kingdom existed that you or I have probably never heard of. Its king a typical king not a great monarch, but not a foolish one either. It so happened that one of the customs of this kingdom was to throw people accused of high crimes in an arena where there were two doors. Behind one door was a beautiful maiden, behind the other was a very, very hungry and slightly pissed off tiger. The trial of the accused was simple, they were led into the arena and told to choose a door. They were told to choose wisely because if they choose the wrong door they were food for the tiger. The logic was fairly simple, if the accused chose the lady they were "innocent" and were allowed to take the beautiful maiden as their wife regardless of their previous marital status. If they chose the tiger they were "guilty" and were rightfully punished by feeding the tiger. This custom was a very ancient one, and deeply ingrained in the kingdom's tradition. However, our "typical" king just so happened to have a lovely daughter that had taken a lover that was far below her station. The king when he became aware of this was duly outraged, and ordered his daughter's lover into the arena. Now pay attention boys and girls because this is where it gets tough. The king's daughter always was privy to the secret of what was behind each door in the arena. As she sees her lover tossed into the arena she is aware of what (the lady or the tiger) is behind which door. Our problem, our dilemma, our tragedy is simple. Does the king's daughter give a signal to her lover to tell him to pick the door with the lady, thereby assuring his survival, but knowing he will marry the beautiful maiden, or does she signal him to pick the door with the tiger, assuring his death, but never having to see him happy in the arms of another woman? Obviously, I would love to hear your opinions. Who does our young lover chose the Lady or the Tiger?

P.S. No, this is not original this is a famous thought experiment based on a short story that I was forced to read a long time ago, and to write a creative response.

Cezanne

Much like Zola knew Cezanne (they grew up in the same town, and were fast friends for a long time before Zola wrote his book The Masterpiece). I knew a painter once. He wasn't a natural genius when it came to painting. He went to your typical school of Beaux-Arts, and learned his craft much like the rest of us do. However, he did have some natural talent he just chose to use it painting. Not sure it was his "calling" or it was just something he decided to try. Either way he became very adept at painting small landscapes and still lives. Nothing too complex, but something that did take some skill. It was always my opinion that after a while he started to "settle" painting things that he knew would sell enough to earn him a decent living. Needless to say, this opinion caused a little friction between us, but it was not anything earth shattering. My friend painted this way for about 3 years when one day he was offered a "commission" to begin painting larger, more complex types of painting for someone with a little too much money, and a desire to appear cultured by being a "patron of the arts." My friend thought long and hard about accepting this commission. He was content, for the most part, doing the paintings he knew he could do as well as anyone else, and was not sure that this "patron" could fulfill any great desire of his. In fact, I think that my friend did not really have any major desire to be a great painter or anything else for that matter. He was just simply a very smart, fairly talented guy that just sort of cruised through life. It was at times very frustrating being his friend. Being the less talented sort, and seeing your buddy with all this skill just easing along through life. Eventually, my friend turned down the commission to become "someone's lapdog" as he put it, and continued to paint the paintings he knew he could accomplish with his eyes closed. I was furious to see my friend turn down something I felt he was extremely qualified to do for no "real" reason made me want to strangle him. Being the type to let my feelings known I told him that he was being a fool, and cutting his nose off to spite his face. His response, and the last words he ever spoke to me (we have not talked since) were "It is my nose, and it is my face."

Housman

'Is my team ploughing,
That I was used to drive
And hear the harness jingle
When I was man alive?'

Ay, the horses trample,
The harness jingles now;
No change though you lie under
The land you used to plough.

'Is football playing
Along the river shore,
With lads to chase the leather,
Now I stand up no more?'
Ay, the ball is flying,
The lads play heart and soul;
The goal stands up,the keeper
Stands up to keep the goal.

Is my girl happy,
That I thought hard to leave,
And has she tired of weeping
As she lies down at eve?'

Ay, she lies down lightly,
She lies not down to weep:
Your girl is well contented.
Be still, my lad, and sleep.

'Is my friend hearty,
Now I am thin and pine,
And has he found to sleep in
A better bed than mine?'

Yes, lad, I lie easy,
I lie as lads would choose;
I cheer a dead man's sweetheart,
Never ask me whose.


A.E. Housman

Expulsion

Once upon a time in a land not so far away there lived six, count them six, average people. These six people all had jobs, families, and all the other day to day bullshit that makes up people's lives. Things were going relatively smoothly; they had their bumps here and there, but for the most part the group was in fairly good shape. There was a seventh person amongst this group a shaman/medicine man type who was sort of the "one in charge." He was older and wiser than anyone else in the group, and the group looked to him for answers to their tough questions. He was far from perfect, had his flaws but the group admired him all the same. Then one day for no real reason the shaman was disposed by an "outside" group. It was a bit like a coup d'etat, and the other six members of the group each reacted to this situation according to their personality. Mostly though, they were a little saddened at the loss of the old shaman. This sadness was both noticed and commented upon by the new regime. The new regime was unable to understand why our six heroes were demoralized. Sadly, our band of heroes did not posses anyone clever or brave enough to stand up to the new regime, and to tell them the reasons for their sadness. Needless to say, this situation was extremely uncomfortable for our heroes. I realize that stories are supposed to have both a happy ending and a meaning, but this tale has neither. It is a work in progress, and as yet unfinished. Apologies for all of my mulitude of readers who were expecting something better.

Richard Cory

Whenever Richard Cory went downtown,
We people on the pavement looked at him;
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
favored, and imperially slim.
And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
“Good-morning,” and he glittered when he walked.
And he was rich–yes, richer than a king–
And admirably schooled in every grace; In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.
So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread; And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head

Edward Arlington Robinson

Prometheus

Prometheus 0% Extroversion, 100% Intuition, 27% Emotiveness, 14% Perceptiveness

You are most like Prometheus, and you probably knew that before you even took this test. You probably aren't deliberately altruistic, but you still tend to do things that benefit everyone, even at great expense to your health and personal relationships. You aren't ruled by your emotions, but you still have a strong sense of justice. You make good descisions, but they can sometimes backfire (and this isn't due to a flaw in your reasoning, but due to faulty premises instead). You are very reasonable, you understand systems, you can quickly pinpoint flaws and you know how to correct them. You pride understanding and knowledge above everything else, and your greatest fear is to appear to be incompetent. You tend to be contemptuous of authority, but you don't accept leadership roles yourself until everyone else has demonstrated their own incompetence. You've built a very specific skill set. You know exactly where your strengths and weaknesses are, and you pride yourself on this kind of self-knowledge. You distrust tradition, which you see as arbitrary, and you rely instead on your own judgements. You also pride yourself on your pragmatism. You're also a very private person. Most of all, people think you're arrogant, but screw them! They're the ones who benefit from your ideas and discoveries, and if they took the time to understand why it is that you say and think the things you do, they'd realize that you only appear arrogant because you are exactingly precise when it comes to your area of specification, and most of all because, when you don't know something, you don't have an opinion about it (unlike most of the loudmouths that you have to deal with on a day-to-day basis). Relationships are your kryptonite. It isn't that you don't want them -- in fact, you would very much like a very close relationship with someone who understands you. They're just the one thing in the world that you're naturally bad at. Famous people like you: Niels Bohr, J. Robert Oppenheimer, Werner Heisenberg, Issac Newton, John Maynard Keynes, Erwin Schrodinger Stay Clear of: Apollo, Icarus, Hermes, Aphrodite Seek out: Atlas, The Oracle, Daedalus

Death comes for the Inquisitor?

Obviously not making light of death (see mine and Tidy's recent posts on the subject), but I think I may have had a peek at a possible cause of my death. Other than wanking myself to death (which I have been trying to do for years, or falling off some or down some great height while drunk, I think that it is going to be "Death by MATA Bus." Obviously, MATA is the transit authority in my town. I truly believe that one day there is going to be a MATA bus with my name on it. I think that the powers that be when to an asylum, and picked the 50 most suicidal sons of bitches they could find, and gave them bus keys. Saying here you go here is a monster machine, we need drivers and we do not care what happens. I can almost picture the "test" for becoming a MATA bus driver is like the Kramer and Newman test for ricksaw drivers (where they wanted to use homeless people). These people are insane AND seem to think that the rules of the road do not apply to them, hell I am beginning to wonder if they think the rules of physics apply to them. So, dear readers do not be surprised if one day the headlines scream "Inquisitor run down like a dog by MATA bus, for once it seemed he was sober."

Midweek Poetry

BEAUTY
Conceive me as a dream of stone:
my breast, where mortals come to grief,
is made to prompt all poets' love, mute and noble as matter itself.

With snow for flesh, with ice for heart,
I sit on high, an unguessed sphinx
begrudging acts that alter forms;
I never laugh, I never weep.

In studious awe the poets brood
before my monumental pose
aped from the proudest pedestal,
and to bind these docile lovers fast
I freeze the world in a perfect mirror:

The timeless light of my wide eyes

Or put another way

Je suis belle, o mortels! comme un reve de pierre,
Et mon sein, ou chacun s'est meutri tour a tour,
Est fait pour insirer au poete un amour
Eternel et muet ainsi que la matiere.

Je trone dans l'azur comme un sphinx incompris;
J'unis un coeru de neige a la blancheur des cygens;
Je hais le mouvement qui deplace les lignes,
Et jamais je ne pleure et jamais je ne ris.

Les poetes, devant mes grandes attitudes,
Que j'ai l'air d'emprunter aux plus fiers monuments,
Consumeront leurs jours en d'austeres etudes;

Car j'ai, pour fasciner ces dociles amants,
De purs miroirs qui font toutes choses plus belles:
Mes yeux, mes larges yeux aux clartes eternelles!



Charles Baudelaire

Reunion

So it appears that next May it will 20 long years since I graduated from high school. Since we Americans are big fans of reunions and such I just got the "invitation" to "get the gang back together." What follows is my open letter to my former classmates.

Dear Ex-Classmates,

Yes, it is difficult to believe that it has been 20 years since we all graduated from ________ High School. Two decades that have seen the Berlin Wall come down, the Trade Center bombings, two wars in Iraq, and numerous other life changing events. I regret that I will not be attending the reunion. You see, I am not unable to attend quite the contrary I could be there in less than two hours, it is simply that I am unwilling to attend. Twenty years ago I was a goofy, dorky, confused 17 year old teen age boy with no clue as to what I was going to do with my life. Now, twenty years later, I am probably still a little goofy and dorky and probably more confused now than I was then. However, at this point in my life I can rest assured that seeing a group of people I did not like twenty years ago is something that I do not want or care to do. It is simple, most of you maltreated me then, and I have no desire to dredge up old sad memories of a life that ended twenty years ago. I would not piss on any of you if you were on fire. We were merely "friends" only because we happened to live in the same school "zone." I certainly would not choose any of you as friends today, and certainly do not want to waste any length of time pretending like I care what has happened in your life over the last twenty years. There is a reason that I did not keep in touch with you people. I do not like you it is just that simple. So, erase me from the "list" pull a Stalin and erase me out of any class photographs you may have. That is fine with me. I wish I could say that I wish you all the best, but truth be told, I really do not give a tinker's damn what happens to any of you. I moved away and on a long, long time ago. Please do not think that I ever want to see any of you again.

Sincerly,

The Grand Inquisitor

my own personal editor

my own personal editor is one harsh son of a bitch. he is unflagging in his criticism. he belittles what little output i am able to create. he obviously knows best, and rather refuses to come to my defense. he is very good at showing me where i went wrong. he is one acerbic bastard. when he raises his voice i quail and run for cover. he tries very hard to keep me from being so bitter that i am unreadable. it is a constant struggle between the two of us. one of us always has to be wrong, and the other one has a tendency to rub his nose in it. the fact that we haven't killed each other yet is a miracle. the last post i managed to squeeze out is a perfect example. for once i was proud of myself, and considered myself to have done a good job with my subject. i felt that i had "captured the mood" quite well, and had gotten my point across with some force. he, on the other hand, recognized the valid nature of my point, but proceeded to take an axe to my attempt at expressing myself. it was both painful, and a learning experience. i suppose it was a painful learning experience. i will say one thing for the bastard, while he is not the most experienced or the most educated editor in the world, he certainly makes some valid points. sad to say this makes him even more unsufferable. perhaps one of these days i will be able to please him. however, until then i will continue to peck out imperfect posts for him to chop up like cordwood. so, bear with me dear reader(s) this is still after all a work in progress just like i am. i can only hope that the lack of any capitalization in this post will cause the son of a bitch to stroke out and give me some peace.

How to Save a Life

a little of Tidy's bad day, a little Scrubs, and a little of the Fray. How to save a life. Of course at the end of the day you cannot save a life. The end result of all of them is not a happy ending. Sit down and talk it through. Hold onto conversations you have had that were important to you. Remember the foolish foolish things you did together or on their behalf. Or the foolish things they did for you. Being a fool is being alive it comes with the territory, and isnt always a bad thing. Do not worry about where you may have gone wrong, focus on how to save a life. Treasure it beyond compare this may very well be all there is grab it by the throat and live it to the best of your ability. We all leave, some of us leave messily some of us leave quickly, some of leave slowly. The point is look around at the lives you are in (and even the worst of us are in more than just our lives) and realize this is important. Do not allow bitterness or anger to keep you from saving a life. Remember the sound of their voice, focus on the feeling you get when you saw them walk into a room. Do you smile when you see them? When they aren't around do you think of things that you want to share with them? Stupid stories/things that happen to you (to all of us) during our day that makes us think ______ would love this story. Those are the things to hold onto. Sure they made you mad, maybe they made you cry or made you lose faith in yourself, but whether you like it or not that was your life. Remember you affect other people as much as they affect you. Be careful of missing something important because you were not paying attention. Focus! Be conscious of the fact that by being alive, and in someone's life is a extremely large responsibility. One day you might make it into their journal, diary, or a letter to a friend. Years later that person's grandchildren may be cleaning out their attic, and run across that page (or pages) and there you are in two people's lives without evening trying to be. Stay up with them all night if you have to, bail them out of jail if you they need you to, drive them where they need to go. That is what we do, and we should not have to be asked but once to do it. Be there if they need you, get the hell out of the way if they want you to, but keep the phone turned on just in case that tirade they just directed at you runs out of steam (and it will run out of steam). Finally, remember them, cherish them, hate them, love them, romance them, cry with/over them, share them, be jealous of them, tell them their faults, revel in their triumphs, console them in their disasters, laugh with them, accept them, and keep them. This is how to save a life.

RE: Judges

In response to Tidy's comment. Judges do just that they judge they listen to all the dross and big words us moronic lawyers toss at them, shift through it and volia! MAKE A DECISION! At least in the normal world. Some judges make their minds up right away, and all the king's horses and all the king's men are not going to change it. Some will listen to you blather away, and then fly in the face of all logic and do something that completely flies in the face of the proof before them. DISCLAIMER: I AM NOT SPEAKING OF ANY PARTICULAR JUDGE!!!! Judges, despite some of thinking otherwise, are people too, and with that humanity comes all the baggage. Some are brilliant, well-read, well-spoken jurists that are deeply committed to being as just and fair as possible. Some could not spell CAT if you spotted them the C and the T, and are more concerned with trying to avoid getting on the news. When a judge makes a ruling for or against me I can usually respect it, if there is a sound reason for the decision (Although I will admit, I HATE TO LOSE, so it usually takes about an hour for me to realize that I was not just robbed of a verdict by a total fuckwit). Generally speaking, the cases that go to trial have issues that are truly debatable (very generally speaking). That is why you have two lawyers in monkey suits "making their case" judges (the brighter ones) know these arguments as well and take the time to weigh both sides before rendering a verdict. Also, for the most part, both sides will (hopefully) have/make some valid points. Therefore, in my humble opinion, a verdict that "splits the baby" is (generally) a verdict that a) makes both parties mad, and b) is probably the closest to "justice" you get. Hope that explains it, dear Tidy, without getting me either fired or sued for libel.

The opinions expressed above are really not opinions there are obviously the ravings of a madman, and should not be taken with any seriousness "signed" The Grand Inquisitor's legal team.

Self-Created

As I was shaking it off the other night (no, not shaking THAT off, something else) I came to a sudden horrible realization. That I am both Dr. Frankenstein and his monster. Bear with me here, it will make sense. When I was a mere pup (22 or so) a wise man said to me "the only thing other people cannot control are your emotions" made sense and an idea begin to germinate. Later on in life (25 or so) another saying came my way "control your emotions or they will be your downfall" made even more sense. After a little bit more pondering, I decided to "create" myself. To roll out of my bed one day, and announce to the world ( whom I was positive was waiting with bated breathe for the occasion) I am the Grand Inquisitor, and I do not care what you think (name changed to protect the guilty). This act of self-creation has lead me to the person that I am today (see the post below delineating my faults). All of those flaws or character traits I, for the most part chose, I am a relatively bright bulb. I know the bad traits from the good traits, but I still embrace the bad. I lie to myself and tell myself that I am going to try to "be a better person" but I know I am lying. Obviously, I cannot trust a word I say. I turned myself into my own monster. Remember the monster was not a evil creation, in fact, not a bad dude at all until society decided to shun and reject, then kill him. Hopefully a similar fate does not await me. Luckily for me, I am much more articulate and better looking that Dr. Frankenstein's creation (at least on the outside). I suppose the point of this raving is that whenever I get "down" I should stop and remind myself that you created this "monster" you have to live with it. My only hope is that, unlike Dr. Frankenstein, the "monster" I created is still a work in progress, and that I can tweak it a little to attempt to make it a better functioning creation. Oh, and also unlike Dr. Frankenstein, I do not want to end up at the North bloody Pole, drowning in freezing ass water.

Sir Matthew Hale

Sir Matthew Hale a great judge for his time several others I think were great judges: Baron Pollack, Learned Hand (yes his real name) Benjamin Cardozo, Thomas More, Lord Mansfield, Edward Montagu, and Robert Jackson. Obviously an incomplete list, but these people were JUDGES. The first duty of a judge is to make decisions regardless of what happens it is a judge's responsibility to make decisions. In this day and age judges are elected, a horrid way to get justice, but it appears to be the most popular way we have. An elected judge is like a congressman they have a consituenty voters who can make or break them. It puts a lot of pressure on a judge facing re-election to be seen as fair or tough on crime or as just in order to win votes. Somewhere in all of that justice is sometimes lost or at least seriously misplaced.
I see and experience judges on a daily basis some good, some not so good, some terrible. It is the terrible ones that make you wince, judges that refuse to either follow the law or refuse to make decisions. The ones who try to make everybody happy. In my experience the decisions that make both parties slightly mad are the best decisions. There is no rhyme or reason to this post except I am suffering from a mild case of witer's bloc, and this is the best I could do. After all, I do have a responsibilty to my thousands of readers.

Stolen Stuff

Stolen from Tidy who stole from someone, who stole it from someone else. You get the idea

Layer One
Name The Grand Inquisitor
Birthday June 25th
Birthplace Martin, TN
Current Location Memphis, TN
Eye Colour- blue today, green tomorrow, grey the next
Hair Colour- Dark Brown
Height 5'11
Righty or Lefty Righty, left handed just doesn't feel the same
Zodiac Sign Cancer the Crab or the name of two diseases

Layer Two
Heritage Welsh and French
Shoes you wore today Haven't left the house haven't had on shoes all day
Your weakness Women, gambling, alcohol
Your fears failure and going blind
Your perfect pizza the John Wayne pizza at Old Venice in Oxford MS
Goal you'd like to achieve making something of myself

Layer Three
Your most overused expression on AIM :) i smile too much
Your first waking thoughts Where is Nichole Kidman, I swear she came home with me last night
Your best physical feature my eyes i would guess

Layer Four
Pepsi or Coke Diet Coke
McDonald's or Burger King McDonald's the BK guy in the commerical scares me a bit.
Adidas or Nike New Balance actually
Lipton or Nestea Lipton
Chocolate or Vanilla from the looks of me Chocolate
Cappuccino or coffee coffee

Layer Five
Smoke Only second hand (about a pack) when I am out with Tidy
Cuss What the fuck do you think, shitbird?
Sing only when I can't be heard by another human being
Do you think you've been in love- I know I have
Want to go to college Been there done that got the student loans
Liked High School Not at all
Believe in yourself- who the hell else is there to believe in.
Get motion sickness No
Think you're attractive Of bloody course, am I supposed to think I am ugly?
Think you're a health freak I am lots of kinds of freak, but health freak isnt one of them
Get along with your parent(s) One of them yes One of them no
Like thunderstorms Love them
Play an instrument No, I am the manager

Layer Six
In the past six months you've.....

Drank alcohol Yes
Smoked No
Done a Drug No
Made Out Like a bandit
Eaten Sushi Hell no
Been dumped No
Gone skating No
Gone skinny dipping Nothing about me is skinny
Dyed your hair No
Stolen something.. Yes this blog idea

Layer Seven Ever
Played a game that required removal of clothing Strip Scrabble baby!
Been trashed or extremely intoxicated Ummm Yes
Been caught "doing something" Bloody nosy roommates
Been called a tease.. Yes
Been beaten up Yes but probably deserved it
Changed who you are to fit in Maybe

Layer Eight
Describe your dream wedding I am a guy I don't have a "dream wedding"
How do you want to die At the height of my powers and fame, and suddenly
What do you want to be when you grow up Who said I was planning on growing up?
What country would you most like to visit Ireland or maybe Hungary

Layer Nine

Number of people I could trust with my life Zero
Number of CD's I own 20 or so
Number of piercings had 2 in a previous life
Number of tattoos One just two weeks ago
Number of times my name has appeared in the newspaper I dont know I dont care
Number of scars on my body 3 or so
Number of things in my past I regret A few, but that comes with being human

By Request

By request (and you know who you are) a book you MUST read http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/9639116793/sr=1-1/qid=1154457929/ref=pd_bbs_1/104-2411185-8736727?ie=UTF8&s=books

Sorry not good with links and stuff that will have to do. Written by a Hungarian author Gyula Krudy, mostly newspaper articles from the late 20's and early 30's some really good stuff. His article on spending a night boozing with the poet Ardy is pricless, makes you feel as if you were there, except you don't have the hangover afterwards. Buy this book! Read this book!

Keep in mind Krudy WAS a raging alcoholic, and these articles paid the bills. He was always under the pressure of a deadline, and many of these articles were written in your typical dark smoke-filled public rooms of whichever tavern he was haunting on any particular night.

A Cautionary Tale

One night about a week ago as Tidy, Lefty and myself celebrated Monday like a Roman emperor, and as we discussed me and Lefty getting our new (and first) tattoos a realization hit me. However, it took a week or so for it to set it. This realization came from a response from Tidy to my question of "why the hell are we out at 1:30 a.m. on a Monday?" His response was pretty simple "Because we are alcoholics." That simple statement set me to thinking, once I became sober enough to think, my paterfamilias is an alcoholic and I made a promise a long time ago to not turn into my father. Now, that is a tall task for any of us, the apple does not fall too far from the tree as they say but, my father and I parted ways in a philosophical sense many years ago. I certainly do not want to wake up one day with a raging hang over, and come to the horrid conclusion that I have morphed into my old man. Luckily I have come to another conclusion (rationalization?) I am not an alcoholic, I am a drunk. There is, in my opinion a difference, to me an alcoholic NEEDS to drink if he does not things start to fall apart. A drunk, on the other hand, drinks to satisfy a WANT (at least that is what I am telling myself) as Baudelaire says get drunk be it on wine, woman or virtue, but get drunk. I drink as a social experience with my pals, I wonder sometimes if we could have a conversation without some drinks being involved. That is not a bad thing it is just a simple fact. It helps the flow of conversation, and provides us an easy forum in which to communicate. Surprisingly enough, a few ideas even manage to come from these conversations (before they collapse into some drunken foolishness) such as the idea that I am a drunk not an alcoholic.
Or, as Homer Simpson put it "to alcohol the cause of and solution to all of life's problem's."

Tidy You bastard

Being tagged is bad enough, but I haven't been blogging log enough to be able to tag 5 people. May you rot in hell.

Five Things in My Freezer

Ice Cream (french vanilla)
about 7 hot pockets (two minutes and death awaits)
a bottle of vodka (my roommate's I swear)
a couple of decrepit ice trays
frozen hashbrowns (don't ask)

Five Things in My Closet

my suits
my ties (a sad thing I must wear for my job)
a box of books that I seem to refuse to unpack
a load of white shirts that I can not longer wear (they shrunk I tell you)
a few magazines dealing with anatmony

Five Things in My Car
a random tie just in case I forget it on the way to work
a pack of gum
lots of change
a map
CD's

Five Things My Purse/Man-Bag/Wallet/Pockets
Keys
my cellphone
about 3 dollars in cash
it appears I am two items short

Flaws in the Operator

Just a quick list of my faults. Brought on by a little too much time on my hands, and some odd desire to point them out.

1 self-centered
2 woefully undereducated
3 chunky
4 bad grammar
5 bad posture
6 not a good listener
7 unkind
8 arrogant
9 petty
10 too critical
11 much too cynical
12 much too skeptical
13 bad speller
14 bad writer
15 poorly focused
16 terrible accent
17 cold sad to say that someone who used to know me called me "the coldest person she had ever known" I took it as a compliment.
18 bad eyesight
19 dull
20 I talk too much without saying anything, also I am too soft-spoken
21 I drink too much
22 I am a degenerate gambler
23 I can be cruel
24 I do not like authority at all.
25 I am not generous enough with what I have.
26 I squandered my youth
27 I waste too much time doing unimportant shit.
28 I am not as smart as either I or a lot of people think I am.
29 I do not really like my father. Either as a person, and certainly not as a father
30 I get angry too easily
31 I do not care about other people's problems, but expect them to give a shit about mine.

I think that 31 flaws in under 7 minutes is enough for today.

Writing for the Desk Drawer

Once I started writing this blog it became apparent to me that I had to continue it regardless of readership or how badly I thought it was going. I understand that this is a common reaction to "writers" (as I hope to one day fancy myself). The writer who writes for the desk drawer is paralyzed, even as an actor can not "act" alone in his room because without an audience he is not acting but merely making faces like a child or a madman, so the writer can not write solely for posterity. The writer needs to have an immediate reaction, the sooner the better. Writing to no one is an exertion, a task that requires a great deal of effort. Writing needs to be read, reacted to, criticized, edited, praised, or any number of things. If it just sits there the writer begins to lose hope. Even if the writing is rubbish, and a great deal of what is written is, the writer needs to know that at least someone read his attempt at writing and found it wanting. This has become my attitude on my writing, it may stink, it may be boring, it may not contribute anything to society, but it is something that I feel a NEED to do (Kafka had a similar issue, but more on that some other time, and I am certainly no Kafka). Perhaps, one day in a fit of genius or inspiration I will write something truly great, but I certainly feel that the only way that might ever happen is to keep writing and see where it takes me.

My Boss or the Man would can't identify me

Well I guess I sort of lied in my mission statement by saying that I would not post about my boring job and/or daily life, but I just feel that this story is too good to pass up. I hope to make this post short enough so that those among us who get ass cramps from sitting in one space too long will be able to muddle through without any emergency surgery being required (and you know who you are).
I work in a typical office environment, office gossip, office politics (my main boss is an elected official so it get worse at certain times), and all the other good things involved in living life in a cube. My boss is a politician now that is not a good or bad thing as far as I am concerned, but simply a fact. He has to know a lot of people and has a lot of people working for him. That is said in his defense. Now, I have worked in my office close to three and a half years. I have not had a lot of person to person contact with my boss, he works on a different floor and he is the boss he does not need to know what is going on in my world on a day-to-day basis. However, one day not so long ago as I was in a co-worker's office my boss came in and starting speaking to me about a work related issue that he thought I was "handling" sadly for the both of us, I realized quicker than he did that he has mistook me for another co-worker who was actually handling the issue he was speaking about. Now this is a tricky moment in a peon's life, how does one gently tell one's boss that he has mistaken you for someone else, someone who has been with the office a year less than you, and you really would like to bash his face in for being such an ill-formed soul. I merely said "no, boss you have me confused with someone's else, he is a little shorter and tubbier than I am and works in a different division". My boss looked flummoxed by this news muttered something, and walked away as laughter burst out behind him mostly at his expense, but some at mine as well. The fun twist on this cat's tale is about two weeks ago my boss and the powers that be offered me a "promotion". They were amazed when I turned it down. Wonder why?

Advice to the Writer in all of us

Reading the Mad Maygar(or Sandor Marai as he is more commonly known) Memoirs the other day I came up several passages that I believe would help instruct all of the world's aspiring writers. Not sure I am an aspiring writer yet, but I certainly was struck by it so I figured I would share the highlights. When discussing another Hungarian writer Marai's writes "He got so close to what he was describing-a street corner, a contemporary article of fashion, a human face- that he seemed to be sitting in the room and talking personally with his readers." "This is the secret of all great writing." I completely agree, for what good is a writer that can not take you where they want you to go? A lot of us read for knowledge or for fun. Some us read as a means of escaping the everydayness that we have to trudge through to make our way in the world. When I pick up a book set in a different time and a different place I want to be teleported there. I no longer want to me in Memphis reading about early 19th century Budapest. I want the author to take me there make me see what he sees the streets, the crowds, the sights and smells of a place that physically. I may never visit, but for a brief moment feel as if I am there. In some respects reading is an act of submission. I read, and allow the author, if they are any good, freedom to take my imagination and thoughts were they want them to go. It is my act of submission as a reader that allows the writer to take me on the same journey as they are going. However, the cost of that act of submission is that it becomes the author's responsibility to make the journey worth my while. That is heavy duty stuff, and sadly not a lot of author's are up to the task. Arthur Schopenhauer said that there are proably only 25 books worth reading in the entire history of humankind. I figure there have been a few more written since he was around, but he makes a valid point. If I am to give up access to my imagination and thoughts even for a brief time to read your book, it is incumbent upon you as an author to make the trip worth taking. This is the author's duty. Someday, when I learn how to write over a fifth grade level I hope to be able to fulfill that duty, at least for myself.

Finding My Voice

As we discussed life, love, and poker last evening, my pal Luke a.k.a. Tidy actually managed to say something of importance. Now, of itself this is a shocking development. However, in this case the other shocking part was I actually remembered what he said enough to write about it. Considering the amount of alcohol we had consumed that is no small feat. He said that I needed to find my own voice. Now in theory I could respond that if I have not found it by now I might be in a little bit of trouble, or in the alternative I could have asked him whose bleeding voice did he think I was looking for? I chose not to wise off for once, and did some pondering along with more drinking. At some point before I passed out err went to sleep I realized that this blog is my attempt to find my voice. I suspect that it will take a while, and it is quite possible that I might never find it. I might go through two or three voices along the way, discard them, and possibly come back to them afterwards who knows? I certainly do not know, but then again that might just make it all worthwhile. I can only hope that along the way I learn something I might not yet know about myself, teach myself something, improve my writing skills to somewhere past the fifth grade level, and make a fortune doing it.

God's Bank Account

This just in, it appears that while the death of Pope John Paul II cost the Vactian 9 million bucks (and in a side bet won me 10 bucks, but that is another story) the Vactian still "made a profit of 9.7m euros ($12.4m) in 2005 - its best budgetary performance for eight years." That is super fanastic it appears the Catholic God made a crap load of money last year. To whom does it pay taxes? I am scandalized beyond belief. How in the bloody hell can God spend all that money?

How to become unpopular or VIVE LA FRANCE

After watching the final of the World Cup, and seeing the French go down to defeat. I decided to become unpopular, and proclaim my admiration for France. Sure they are an arrogant, rude, contrary bunch of people who make themselves unpopular the world over (hmm sounds very familiar) but they are a passionate and proud people as well. I for one do not see anything wrong with that. They proudly say this is our culture and it is better than yours. Now that might be a little overly simple and over the top, but do not Americans say the same things. Do we not do ignorant things like rename French fries because the French would not support us in a war they believe to be unjust. Sure, the U.S. saved their asses in WWI and WWII, but didn't we save the British and the Belgians and the Dutch? Were the French not grateful enough? The independent path chosen by De Gaulle rankled with the U.S. who thought the French "owed us." Forget not who came to whose aid during the struggle for American independence. So, as I watched David Treguzet blast one onto the bar, and watched it kick out I felt some sort of sadness for a team that in spite of their captain's moment of madness had clearly been the better team for nearly an hour without a goal to show for it. This team with it diverse background had, for a brief time, united a very fractured nation behind it carrying the hopes of a people that had lost a lot of the Gallic pride in the last 60 or so years. Of course people say that the team was not a good representation of France because only 4 players were white. Thierry Henry was born in Paris, if that is not French the I am not sure what is. Either way they lost, and history will remember the victors. I, on the other hand, being a contrary, rude, and arrogant soul will remember the valiant losers.

Noah Cullen

Noah Cullen: I ain't gettin' mad, Joker. I been mad all my natural life.

The one and only Sidney Poitier in the Defiant Ones. Explains a lot, of course Noah Cullen is mad because he is a black man in the 1950's in the South, and with good reason. However, for different reasons entirely, and I can not say my reasons are even close to being as valid as Mr. Cullen's but they are at least made clearer by that statement. In my case, and as I said, it is not even close to being the same, my anger is not directed at society for treating me both differently and badly because of my race. My anger is more subtle, and probably not as valid. I have the misfortune of sharing Mr. Cullen's geographical location the South. Obviously, the race issues are still around, but my issue is not race but religion. The South is also the Bible Belt, and it is were I was born and bred. Not the greatest of environment for someone with my particular affliction. People in the small town were I grew up go to church on Sunday and Wednesday night, and spend the rest of the week pretending they are holy. It is a lot of fun for someone who does not want to participate. The reaction one receives when he makes the fatal mistake of letting it be known he is "different" is usually not a pleasant one. People decide then and there to pontificate on the ultimate fate of your "immortal" soul. Usually condemning it to the nether regions of hell reserved for heretics. It is a lot of fun having mother's tell their precious daughters not to date you because you are an "atheist." Trust me, I had enough trouble finding a girl near-sighted enough to date me when I was in High School without the atheist tag. It certainly did not helps matters at all. So, just like Mr. Cullen my reaction was anger. Looking back on it I suspect that anger is probably not the best reaction in the world. Cullen is mad because he is black and treated like an animal. His anger makes him look and, at times, act like an animal. He fights back the only way he knows how with his fists, thus completing a vicious circle. I reacted in a similar fashion, brand me an atheist, and I will park myself outside your churches and lob brick after brick at it. Not literally of course, but the effect is pretty close to the same. Perhaps, getting mad was not the best reaction, but I was very young. At the end of the day, what choice did I or the Cullen's of the world have?

Or another version of a world without God :)

A World Without God

Everything is far from being permitted in a world without God. A shift occurs as to where your outlook lies (or it is lays). Murder for example, is still,in most respects immoral and "wrong." There is still a moral compass, you just have to figure it out for yourself, and generally by yourself. Morals and social mores still affect, and in some respects govern you, but you now have to realize that the punishment you receive while alive may be all the punishment you receive. If that is the case, you much take that punishment even more seriously. I am a prosecutor and a non-believer however, I am against the death penalty. I believe that life is all we have after that there is the "void after death". To take that away even from the most heinous of individuals is, in some respects to play God. I am certainly not qualified to play God, I have enough trouble getting my dry cleaning done. Also, my opinion is if you sentence someone to the ultimate penalty of death for there crimes, a shift in public opinion might occur. Suddenly, this person isn't the animal that killed a 92 year old grandmother with a baseball bat for 12 bucks, but now they are someone's son or daughter facing death. All the civil rights groups who, rightly or wrongly oppose the death penalty rally around this person, and attempt to paint them in the most favourable light possible. Mostly forgotten is the reason the person is in jail to begin with. We humanize this person to such an extreme point that they sudden become the victim. Sorry about the length and the tangent I went off on, it seems I am having a reflective day.

A Mad Maygar

A Hungarian write that you MUST read. Sandor Marai. Wrote a lot of books in his native tongue. Sadly, only two have been translated into English. Embers and Casanova in Bolzona. Both are excellent books, and I highly recommend them both Some of the most beautiful imagery and language I have come across in my varied readings, and my reading are pretty bloody varied. So much that I feel the need to share some. Marai posited a human attitude that
". . . does not hope for a supernatural reply to the problem of death, nor expect solutions to human problems from supernatural powers." "Man, a two-legged mammal abandoned and shaped by blind accidental will in an indifferent and hostile universe is the only living creature who can find his way in the world independently of his instincts."

Good stuff, and it leaves you wanting more which, lucky for the three people (if I am lucky) that read this dross, I will provide.

He later writes "St. Francis was compelled to fear death because he was a believer. I, for example, don't believe in an afterlife; so I am not afraid of death." "I hope to experience an absolute death, one that spares me the threat of resurrection: To step out into the Silence, into the Darkness without prosthesis and hope, the last dignity to which Man has the right between two Voids: the Void before birth and the Void after death."

Excellent ideas I think. Being a life-long (for the most part) non-believer, I really liked that passage. In some regards, it makes a lot of sense. As a believer I should fear death, in the believers way of thinking they must face the possibility that somewhere along life's path they did something that condemns them to whatever concept of hell they subscribe to. Though, in theory, the reward for a believer is great, the punishment is just as, if not greater. Much like Ivan Karamazov I chose to respectfully return my ticket, and not participate in this sort of belief system. At least in the non-believer's world everything happens while they are fully aware of it (for the most part).

First Time for Everything

This will be my first time posting, my first blog, my first attempt at open self-expression. I will try to be gentle with myself, and with any other fool with more time that he or she knows what to do with that reads this blog. I am going to attempt not to bore anyone who reads this, or befoul this space with the everyday happenings of my life. The mundane no longer interests me that much. This will hopefully make these posts more interesting to read, and not just retelling of any given day of my life. Trust me, my day to day existence would bore a statue to tears. Anyway, this is my first foray into this medium, I will post more of my mission statement once I figure out what it is.