I Want to Know

I want to know right from wrong,
I want to know "who wrote this song,"
I want to know why people lie,
I want to know why my pets have to die,
I want to know do willows really weep,
I want to know why do people make promises they can not keep,
I want to know the time
I want to know if I can borrow a dime,
I want to know how it feels to be king
I want to know if it is alright for me to sing
I want to know why history repeats
I want to know if i should take the leap
I want to know if guilty people sleep
I want to know if I sow what do I reap,
I want to know how to love
I want to look down on my life from above
I want to know is this all there is
I want to know why I feel the need to keep forcing this post by rhyming
I want to know how to make ends meet
I want to know the cause and nature of my own death
I want to know what certain people are thinking
I want to know all the answers
I want to know the question
I want to know how to do higher math
I want to know why

Control

A very wise man once told me "Control your emotions or they will be your downfall." Another fellow traveller told me that "one of the only things you can control is your emotions, when other people start to control your emotions, they control you." Well, besides the fact that it seems I know a LOT of wise men, these two pieces of advice have always been guiding principles in my life. I understand that following these ideas has led to me being seen as a bit of a cold fish at times. It just seems to me that people who allow others to control their emotions are not being honest with themselves. This is why I do not truly hate anyone (well besides Oliver Cromwell, and Will Ferrell but that is another story). I believe that to hate someone allows them to control your emotions. If someone you hate walks into the room your mood is instantly affected, and not for the better. Jaws may clench, unkind words are muttered, and fists even may be clenched. All because some moron walked into the room. Indifference is a much more effective tool. If you have an enemies list, let them know that if they were to fall off the face of the planet tomorrow, your life would be virtually unaffected. Truth is emotions are tricky things to control, and sometimes in the attempt to control you merely repress, or worse you send the wrong signal. It may be that humans just can not control emotions, maybe they are what truly makes us human, and maybe they will lead to our downfall. Perhaps, there is nothing you can do to stop it, no matter how hard you try.

Origins

An Irish Airman Foresees His Death


I know that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere among the clouds above;
Those that I fight I do not hate,
Those that I guard I do not love;
My country is Kiltartan Cross,
My countrymen Kiltartan's poor,
No likely end could bring them loss
Or leave them happier than before.
Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,
Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,
A lonely impulse of delight
Drove to this tumult in the clouds;
I balanced all, brought all to mind,
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death.


William Butler Yeats



Pretty uplifting eh?

Joiner

I am not a joiner, I do not "join" with other people to form large masses of people intent upon some collective "mission." I come from a state that is nicknamed the Volunteer State, but I personally do not think it applies directly to me. I have always been suspicious of crowds (or herds as I prefer to call them), they never seem to know exactly where they are going or who is in charge. Now, I am not so cool and collected to believe that I know where I am going, but at least (when I am alone), I know who is in charge, and therefore who to blame and hold responsible when I go the wrong way. I suppose it boils now to a matter of control. In a herd, you forfeit a certain degree of control to receive the protection of the collective herd, and the benefit (to some at least), of not having to make a command decision. This is all well and good for some people, but for me it just does not work. I am too much of a cynic to hand over immediate control of my fate to some jackass whom I know could not find his/her ass with both hands, a troop of boy scouts, a GPS system, and a copy of Grey's Anatomy. Do not get me wrong, I have difficulty getting my crap together too, but I try to realize that it makes me a poor candidate to be put in charge. Groups make me nervous. Especially if planted in the group I have been asked to join is some bungler that I really can not stand. What possessed them to think, for even the briefest of moments, that I would join the group in the first place, and it beggars belief to think I would join a group with some horse's ass that I can not stand. The major problem with my lack of joining is that one gets labeled as a "non-team player." Horror, how could anyone not want to join our team? No matter that we are a group of donkeys that has no clue what is happening, how could someone refuse to join us? These are the tough questions that I have to face. Being the gentle person that I am, I usually make up some lame excuse that allows my presence to be elsewhere, and scuttle off to the safety of my local. However, realization has dawned that I am being intellectually dishonest, and in some respects, unfair to both myself and the group that asked me to join. I suppose if I were a stronger person I would rudely tell the clutch of morons to bugger off. If I were a nicer person I would politely refuse, but promise "next time" I would gladly join their group. If I were a more politically motivated person I would join the group, plaster a fake smile on my face, and sing and dance to the tune that they called. However, being the person I am, I just darkly mutter a excuse, and toddle off to bet on baseball.

Role

As you lay there in bed and see the day's events replay themselves like a bad movie in your head, do you wonder what part you were playing? Were you the hero (sigh), the anti-hero, the villain, or just some two-bit character actor woodenly going through the motions in a performance that would make the critics howl like the Hound of the Baskervilles? As the moments of the day glide pass do you stop to point out your mistakes? Do you even realize you made them? Do you wonder if maybe the script you had was different from the script the other people in your little drama are working from? Maybe we all have different scripts, and that is the problem. Perhaps we are looking through the wrong camera lens, but I truly wonder if we can adjust that lens. Can we step out of life so boring, and look at the lives of the other actor's? Wonder how it feels to be them? To see yourself through the lens of the drama in which they are the lead actor, and you are just a member of the supporting cast. Then the problem arises that if, just if, you could tear yourself away from behind your camera, which I believe is next to impossible. Could you stand to focus through their lens at yourself? Could your performance stand the bright lights? Remember the camera adds ten pounds, and your voice is going to sound a little different (do i really sound like a soprano?) because it is no longer traveling through your facial bones to reach you. Of course you risk the horrible realization that through their lens you are a troll, a braying jackass, an insenstive boor, an incompent boob, or worst of all that your part has been cut from the script without you knowing about it.

In Sickness

So for the last three days, thanks to some intensely painful dental surgery, I have been missing work and laying (or, it is lying? no matter I have done both) about with a fever that sometimes lasted about 5 hours. In my feverish state I had quite a few "thoughts" some of them were in Portuguese, which is unfortunate since I do not speak Portuguese. Some of them were about splitting the atom, I just need a particle accelerator which I can almost picture the building of, and I am there. Also, for some reason Marcel Proust put in an apperance, now you know you are feverish when Marcel Proust shows up, lucky for me a) he did not say anything and b) an 800 page biography of him awaits me on my to read list. Perhaps that will help me get to the bottom of his apperance. As I lay there and watced the floatsm of my thoughts drift past, a few more murderous thoughts did turn themselves towards perhaps killing the butcher/dentist that had put me in such a terrible situation. See, he had extracted a tooth about 8 months ago, and suddenly one day last week the "hole" was bothering me. Off I go to my regular dentist, and then to a root canal specialist only to be sent back to the bastard that started it all. Now, I do not like doctors, and by extenstion dentists. I feel they have a bit of a "god" complex, and being an atheist I do not care for it at all. I mean maybe there is some supreme being but I am pretty sure it is not some goofy white guy with glass in a white coat with his name sewn on the front in case he forgets it, and maybe this god does like to take really sharp instruments and shove them half way down people's throats all the while asking them questions that require more than just a grunt in response. I just wanted to say "look Scooter if you take that instrument of torture out of my mouth, I will be happy to engage you in conversation, until then just hurry the hell up because I can FEEL everything you are doing to me." The good news to all of this is simple, if I live, which is right now about a 50-50 proposition, I have managed to think of a few more interesting ideas to post about. Stay tuned.

Beyond

This little tale is a short peek into my so-called professional life. I often tell people that I see stuff that you could not make up because no one would believe it was true. I think this story falls into that category. Remember kids, names are changed to protect the foolish, and do not try this at home. Our story starts months ago when our anti-hero Frank allegedly commits a crime. Frank is convinced he is not guilty, and demands a trial before a jury of his peers. This is when our hero i.e. ME enters the story. I wasn't as convinced that Frank was not guilty, and was more than happen to allow him to move his case forward towards jury trial. I would not be the one handling it, so what did I care. Perhaps my boon companion Sneaky Pete would. Either way Frank changes his mind about the allure of a jury trial. Needless to say a chance to slough off my work on someone else has been denied, and it is all Frank's fault. So, I react with my usually calm demeanor and tell Frank's attorney to tell Frank to screw himself. Lots of wailing and gnashing of teeth later. Frank's attorney and I work out a settlement that requires Frank to go to a counseling center before entering his (now)guilty plea. Frank misses appointment one, causing my neck veins to bulge, but being a soft touch I allow Frank to try again. Now this is the part I could not make up. Frank was due in court today after making his appointment. Imagine my surprise when I found out that Frankie poo had missed his appointment a second time. As I contemplated bringing the pain to Frank and his world his attorney told me his "excuse", and it was a whopper.
It seems Frank had in fact committed another petty crime in another local jurisdiction, and been in jail for about the last two weeks. His crime was not anything that would warrant a two week jail sentence, so I was already starting to chuckle about Frank's lack of luck when the story gets much worse (for Frank that is). It seems that near the end of his sentence the cowboys in the jail he was serving his time checked Frank's life out. They found what they believed to be a warrant out for his arrest in a town near Nashville, TN. It seems a fellow with the same last name but with a slightly different first name Franck had a warrant. Being the brilliant lawmen they were, the police sent Frank away to this small town about 3 hours away to "sort it all out." Here is the good part, it seems the warrant was NOT for Frank after all but for someone else (duh no kidding DIFFERENT first name). Frank was released by the police of this small town when this mistake was cleared up. One small problem, Frank was, and still is it seems, 3 long hours from home with no money, no car, and not knowing anyone in town. His family has had to pass the hat around to send Frank bus fare home, and he had not made it back in time for his court appearance today, and had missed his second appointment. After wiping away the tears, and being shushed for the wild peals of my laughter ringing out in the court room. I graciously granted Frank's attorney's request for another reset date. Stating that a story like that is too wild to be a lie, but admonishing Frank's attorney that the only excuse I will accept for his next failure to appear for his court date and/or counseling appointment is that Frank has been abducted by aliens, and anally probed. I also requested that the results of the probe be attached to any document Frank's attorney would like to file on his behalf. This is a typical day in my life, too funny for words eh?

Winter

Winter is my favourite season. I like the cold (once I get used to it). I like to see the trees naked as it were stripped of their leaves and standing forlornly in the cold winter air. Winter give me hope. Hope that even though the streets are dark and folding out mysteriously one day they will be brighter and warmer. It is kind of a negative hope I suppose. Hope that winter is here so therefore spring is sure to follow. Besides we need to hold onto hope, who knows when it might be the last thing we have. There is a great beauty in desolation, you just have to look for it a little harder, and things that are harder to find are all the more beautiful for the effort you put forth in finding them. Of course winter can be a harsh mistress, mistakes made in winter have a tendency to hurt a little more. The cold will do that to you. It will make things sting a little more than usual. Pain felt in winter is some serious stuff. Studies prove that nice weather i.e. lovely spring days put people in a better mood. That rarely happens in winter. Winter is mature. A serious season for serious things to happen. Winter makes you walk a very thin line. Makes you wonder if you are right or not. Leaves you thinking it is a long, cold, lonely walk back to the car or the apartment. Winter makes you want to climb out of life so boring and take the time to make other people's heart your home. Gasping for air, and seeing your breathe. Winter is a delicate balance vulnerable, sad, delicate, and all knowing.

Grieve Spain

It appears my readings have lead me to the Spanish Civil War (don't ask, I really can't say how I got there either). Anyway, I have picked up a rather hefty tome written by a fellow named Hugh Thomas (1100 pages or so), seems to be the definitive work blah blah. Now, I was a history major, and a history graduate student so I got the pleasure of reading a lot of hefty tomes. The reason for this post is simple while reading this history I get to read a lot about the major actors of the Spanish Civil War. One in particular struck a chord. Seems there was this fellow named Miguel Primo de Rivera, a military chap who was a veteran of Spain's Rif Wars in Morocco. After that lovely experience he manages to "climb to the top of that greasy pole" and become dictator of Spain from 1923 to 1930. These were turbulent years in Spain, and Primo de Rivera did his best I suppose, but was unable to solve the problems that were to embroil Spain in Civil War six years later. The point is this; here is this man who led a major country during and extremely volitate time for 7 years, and he warrants about three paragraphs in Mr. Thomas' book. This is not an indictment of Mr. Thomas, he has a big story to tell, but merely a statement on being obscure. This guy a major player in world politics warrants three paragraphs. His life reduced to three paragraphs ending with he "died alone in a Paris hotel possibly of diabetes, no one knows for sure his exact cause of death." Presumably, this man had a family, people that loved him maybe a wife that bore him children, or maybe he didn't the history does say. Pretty sure the fellow had enemies, people that did not care what he died of just so long as he died. Once again, I can't be sure the history is silent. Then again isn't history generally silent as to the majority of us? I certainly will not be becoming a leader of men anytime soon, will not risk my life for King and Country, be decorated or elected to any sort of high office. History will not pause for breathe over my life, or for the majority of our lives. These sweeping histories bring "actors" onto the stage, and kill them off with impunity. Entire lives reduced to paragraphs (if the person is lucky, if not he might just get a sentence or a passing mention in a footnote). Even being reduced to a footnote of history or consigned to the dustbin of history is more than the great majority of us will ever achieve. She/He lived, breathed, felt things, tried their best, and died. Thus, we are written out of history.

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!!!!!!!!"