Uniform Antipathy

I do not go for uniforms, as a rule. I find them somewhat silly, packed with a bit of pretension and superiority, and most of the time they look flatly ridiculous. I make it a rule to not wear them, though when forced I will certainly strap on a ridiculous vest or a multi-colored scarf to play the part I'm asked to play. But I take little joy in it.

Last weekend I went against my aversion to uniforms and threw on a nifty number for a Big Gay Cruise, part of the Northern Exposure 6 Weekend of Wild Gay Debauchery and Fundraising. I have realized that the only time I am ok with putting on a uniform is when I find it hot, and when I think others might as well. So, I rounded up a kilt (black), put on a studded black belt, pulled out my "I'm Huge in Japan" black t-shirt, threw on dark grey socks and some black shoes. You may note the absence of underwear, for who am I to shirk hundreds of years of Scottish tradition?!? And did I say it was a Big Gay Cruise of Wild Gay Debauchery? Yes, so the underwear was left at home.

I trucked it out of the house, late since I had over-slept a bit. Knowing parking is outrageously bad down by the docks, I quickly grabbed a vacated parking spot about 5 blocks up the hill from the waterfront, just north of Pioneer Square in downtown Seattle. I knew it would be a bit of a walk, and I frankly felt a bit odd walking down the street in my decidedly hot outfit. Odd because I was certain the gays would like it, but the rest of the public may not be ready for the hotness.

Sure enough, at the second intersection I got to, while stopped by the little red hand and speeding traffic, some people appeared on the far side, looking at me while we all waited. Have you ever noticed that when you wear dark sunglasses and people can't see your eyes they have a much higher tendency to either look at you or lean into their friends, point and whisper about you? Well, I have noticed that, and I noticed them leaning into their friends, pointing and whispering. They were three teenagers, all decked, head to toe in Mariners regalia. Behind them were two more adults, in even deeper Mariner Drag.

As I walked across the intersection, head held high and hoping a stiff wind did not suddenly come up and expose my naughty bits to all of southern downtown, the teenagers walked by silently, either seeing a kindred spirit or wanting to wait until they were behind my back to make comments, I don't know. The adults were not so obliging. The man had a very odd look on his Mariners Baseball Cap shielded face, like he was either deeply incredulous or farting in his Mariners Baseball Pants, perhaps he was doing both. The woman was outright snickering, her Mariners Baseball Authentic Replica Jersey bouncing ever so slightly as her Mariners Baseball Official Tote was clutched slightly tighter.

As they passed, I looked over through my dark sunglasses and with a very slight smile said,

"Nice outfits."

Redundant

From our friends at the Gay Games. This cracked me up, I couldn't help but post it. For more pictures of the fabulous festivities visit Outsports.

Love

Haha! Amen Spok.

Calgon.... give me some grapes.

So I am a bit stressed. The concert previously posted penultimately is the source, and while all is moving ahead smoothly toward its execution, it is a stressful journey. I was sent this today though, and it has given me more than a moment of stress relief, as only a good absurd laugh can. Enjoy!

Did you hear about the duck that walked into a store and said, "Do you have any grapes?" The guy says no. Duck goes home, comes back the next day, says "Do you have any grapes?" Again, guy says no. Duck goes home. Comes back next day, and says "Do you have any grapes?" Again the guy says "NO." The duck goes home and comes back the next day and says, "Do you have any grapes?" The guy says, "NO, and if you ask me one more time I'm going to nail your goddam webbed feet to the floor!!!!". The duck goes home. The next day he comes back and says, "Do you have any nails?" The guy says "No." The duck says, "Do you have any grapes?"

Now that's funny.

Come one, come all!

In the fabulous PC picture manipulation and transfer process, it got a little blurry, it looks far better in real life :) Come hear the concert and I'll show you.

THANK GOD!!

I saw a bumper sticker yesterday that I can't get out of my head. It said;

THANK GOD!!
Your mother was pro-life!!

Interesting...

I didn't know she had wanted to abort me.

The Porcelain Odyssey

"If one's home is their kingdom, then we all know where the throne room is.

The throne room here has been an ongoing work in progress, with a new floor, molding, paint job, medicine cabinet, towels and decorative accessories. Today the Royal Water Vestibule, where The Teeth are brushed, the Hands are washed, and the Spit is spat was ripped from the wall, and the sounds of rejoicing t'wer heard upon the land. "

This is how I started this post a few days ago when the Vestibule of Satan and Hell Fire Project was first begun. I was happy then, full of high hopes..... so happy....

Now I am a pent up ball of frayed, frustrated nerves and sore muscles. There have been 5 trips to Home Depot (it is not just around the block either). Each trip I buy new things to try to make this all work, and each trip merely compounds my frustration and lowers my bank account. My eye started to switch today after, yet again, the feed hoses handed to me were the wrong size. Like in the movies, when the person is about to snap and take everyone out in a fit of telekinetic powers and pigs blood, and their eye, just one, twitches, proving that the unjust stress they have suffered has finally pushed them too far. Just like that. :|

But the end is near I think. The latest hose problem was merely that some brilliant person put the wrong hose back in the 1/2" - 3/4" compression slot, because one of them is the correct size. I new valves I have are lesbians too, so I need to get them a Double Headed Dildo Adapter (hey, talk to Home Depot about their product names, not me) so that they can couple up and make sweet fanny pack love to the wall pipe. After that, I believe we're home free. The light is at the end of the tunnel.

Let's just hope, as my esteemed clarinet professor used to say, the light is not the oncoming train.

Taking out the garbage

The last 24 hours have been, well... somewhat indescribable. But I will make an attempt at it.

In addition to teaching The Music to The Kids, I also do The Catering for The Rich People. I work for my good friend Steve the Caterer, who's quite good at The Catering and thus caterers for The Rich People here in Seattle. Two events were going on yesterday, one for the Nordstroms and one for Children's Hospital of Seattle. I worked the latter of the two, and the event was hosted at the home of Lenny Wilkens and his wife.

Knowing that few people read this blog, and that I know all of you who do, I think an explanation of who Lenny Wilkens is is in order, as I don’t expect you will know who he is. That makes me giddy, but that’s another story. Lenny Wilkens is a former pro basketball player, former coach of the Seattle Super Sonics, and former coach of the New York Nicks. He took both teams to the national championships where they won. He's won numerous awards and has been voted "Best This" and "Best That" over the years. Upon mentioning to some people that I have catered events at his house, they have nearly fallen out of their seats begging to know if would ever be going back and if I could get an autograph and that they would gladly sacrifice their first born child for it and they began drawing pentagrams on my floor to make deals with devil right then and there, blah blah blah blah....

I couldn't care less. Basketball is not something I’m interested in, in the slightest, nor the people who play it, how ever famed they may be. This guy is quiet, doesn't say much, seems perfectly nice, but is really just a regular man who's rolling in basketball cash. His wife is an obsessive compulsive borderline lunatic who's rolling in basketball cash with her husband. She follows us around her house cleaning with Windex each surface we touch, and we're not allowed to get water on the floor of the kitchen. No water on the floor of the kitchen. That's not sane. These are not people to worship and beg for autographs. They are just as crazy as the next person.

In any case, their house is huge, they have more money than they can spend, some people worship them, and they live quite the life. Now and again we serve them fancy food. And we do the same for many other filthy rich people in Seattle. I've been in homes with kitchens larger than my entire apartment, with cabinetry that is worth more than I will make in 3 years of work, and with art work and statuary that is worth more than I will make in 30 years. It is the most comically hideous crap you've even laid your eyes on too. For example, the trio of bronze jack rabbits at one woman's estate, where one is a normal huddled rabbit, one is "jumping" but looks like it's full on pooping (you have to look twice at its butt cause you're sure there's going to be little bronze rabbit poop falling out of it), and two that are fucking. Yes, fucking. And these sit on her lawn, and are only the hideous beginning.

Money offers them many things, like security, and trips to anywhere they wish to go, but it doesn't buy them good taste, civility, sanity, or perspective. If anything it seems to diminish all these things.

Now we skip ahead to today. My friend Andrew called and asked me to drive him to Kent to pick up some Mexican Amway Products for his Undocumented Boyfriend. I like Andrew and I don't get to see him much, so I agreed, despite the fact that Mexican Amway Products sounded more than a little scary, and Kent is definitely WAY more than a little scary. Despite this, off we went with the AC blasting as we are currently ensconced in a heat wave.

Kent. Kent is terrifying. Kent is the Northwest's version of a southern trailer park. In Kent the mullet is alive and well. In Kent large pickup trucks rule the roads. It's a flat flood plain, so there's nothing to look at, and for the most part it is one giant industrial park, which we drove right into the middle of to find the Mexican Amway Products. We stepped into the reception office so Andrew could place the order, and I sat to wait.

Next to me was Achmed, a north African immigrant who's order was soon announced over the PA and he got up quickly, striding from the asbestos ceilinged room to pick it up. A woman wearing a hot pink head wrap, an orange silk shawl and a green and blue flowered sarong type thing came in and sat in his place. When my eyes stopped bleeding I noticed that her hot pink head wrap was peppered with embroidered Calvin Klein logos. I did not know that Calvin Klein made a line of Muslim Head Wraps, but now I do. Very progressive of them, I thought, to be providing Muslim women everywhere with high Muslim fashion. Images of little Muslim women and children bent over sewing machines in south eash Asian sweat shops came to mind, but the irony was desturbing so I pushed them from my mind. To my right this entire time was a white woman with her three kids, two girls and a boy, ages ranging from about 6-8.

The girls were very cute little freckled kids, one blond and one brunette, with innocent large eyes, as yet untouched by the harsh realities of life, starkly unlike there mother’s. They wore unfortunate neon pink and green colored outfits, I believe Barbie was on the front of one. The little boy was about 8, blonde, and had eyes completely unlike his sisters. They were innocent still, but squashed, like his soul had been trampled on for a number of years at that point, and he had already realized the world was against him, and he was on his own. He had his mother's cell phone in his hand, and was telling her how many minutes had passed since they had arrived, every minute, on the minute, they were up to 17. Her commands to stop were ignored. When she got up to go to the bath room and took the girls with her, she handed him her purse to watch. He then began taking money out of the wallet, without shame, without self consciousness, with three of us looking on, Calvin Klein woman looking on in horror. On the coffee table in front of the family’s seats were three empty Mexican Amway No Sugar No Fat No Caffeine Strawberry Flavored Energy Drinks, and I had the vivid image of farmers of the past consuming their own crops for sustenance before they could be taken to the market for sale.

It was our turn to go pick up our Mexican Amway Products so Andrew and I made our way around the 400 lb woman coming in through the door, and drove around the corner to the loading bay. Andrew grabbed one box of sundry bath products and two boxes of Mexican Amway No Sugar No Fat No Caffeine Strawberry Flavored Energy Drinks, and we were off. When we got to the highway onramp back to Seattle, we were the only ones on it, despite heavy traffic on the road. Seems no one had reason to leave Kent that day, they had everything they needed right there.

In less than 24 hours I have moved from filthy rich to dirt poor, from upper class to working class, from security to the lack of it. But there was something vaguely similar to both places, both experiences. Both the presence of money and the lack off money had the conspicuous absence of good taste, civility, sanity, and perspective. From rich trash to white trash, these qualities seemed to be dispossessed in equal and disturbing quantities.

As I looked at both sets of people over last night and throughout this day, I couldn't help but imagine myself in their shoes, and was deeply disturbed by each option, rich and poor. Are those my two choices in life? Is that the future, if not the present I have to deal with? The main question that then came to my mind was this; is spiritually broken white trash a social and monetary inevitability, or a state of mind? Is self absorbed aloof rich trash a social and monetary inevitability, or a state of mind? Do the rich people sit around and think "my my my, but we are the MOST self absorbed asses with amounts of money starving people would die for!", or the white trash sit around and think "my my my, but we are the trashiest white trash that has ever lived, but I love me my Mexican Amway No Sugar No Fat No Caffeine Strawberry Flavored Energy Drinks, dented up '94 Ford Tempo and fanny pack!" No, but they still roll in their money, and drive their Ford Tempo.

There have been a number of occurrences lately in my life that are prodding me to take stock. A friend of mine is broke and being evicted, though his own mismanagement of his life. My roommate, at a faster rate than every before, is transforming our home into a white trash bastion of garbage, Eggo waffles, piles of old mail, dirty dishes and laundry. My car is still beat to hell, and my clothes are getting thread bare. Something needs to change. I don't want my life to ever degrade to the point that I'm getting evicted, I don't want my home to become an urban double-wide, and I don't want others too look in at my life and think "trash," rich or poor.

So I'm taking action. If the rich and poor trash lack good taste, civility, sanity, and perspective, then I will have them. I will clean my house and demand it stay that way. I will make enough money to have security, and then I will spend my hard earned money on good things, quality things, not because of what they prove to others but because of what they prove to me; that I am who I choose to be, and I refuse to be trash.

Praise the Gods!!!

I have found Religion.

Yes, that's right, I am a man of faith now, all ye who have been trying to convert me to your ways for so many many years can now end your toil, bathe your feet in the waters of success, and sit in glorious self righteous holy self satisfaction.

Sean Barker has found Zeus.

Well, Zeus and all his fabu friends. I've adopted Greek "Mythology" (for all time now to be called Greek REALITY people. Respect my beliefs. Do it.) as my faith of faiths. Ever since I was a kid I have loved reading the holy tales of Zeus, Hera, Aphrodite, Apollo, Artemis, Hephaestus (I blame him for my gayness, I read a book many years ago where he was this muscled, bearded, bearish God pounding away on some metal object on his anvil. Woof.) Athena, my my the list goes on and on of frikin' AWESOME Gods!! Why have only one?!?!? That's no party, and you have not partied until you've partied with Dionysus! That man's a FREAK!! WOOT!!

But seriously, I take my new faith very seriously, as all religious people should. I have set up an alter, I give offerings to my Gods so they will keep me safe and provide for a plentiful harvest and a fertile wife (I don't try very hard on the last one, but I read somewhere I was supposed to do it, so I obey. Kind of...). I read The Scriptures daily, basking in all the tales of the downfall of the Titians (GO ZEUS!! YOU ROCK!!), the divine parable of Cupid and Psyche, and the many and sundry sexual liaisons and rapes of and by the Gods and Heros. It's a cornucopia of blessings and faith inducing poetic prose. I'm filled with radiant happiness (and a good bit of fear, 'cause Zeus has a temper....)

You ask "how did you come to this blesséd holy revelation of spirituality and truth?", and well you should ask, my brothers and sisters. I had a dream. A vivid dream, one that resides with me even now and gives me a warm feeling, deep down, deep. Zeus came to me, in a deamlike vision. He was bold, handsome, strong, in a loosely draping toga which accentuated his pecs while only tantalizingly covering his Godly bits. He spoke to me, though it was all in Greek so I have no idea what he said, but it filled me with religious desire, cause who can resist a man with an accent? Then he took me. Yes, he made sweet Greek God love to me, and it was glorious. I think I may be carrying his child now, I expect it will spring from my head or perhaps I will vomit it out at some point, and our half- breed-demi-god-love-child will either save humanity from some evil, or will be that evil itself. One never can tell with these things, and that's half the fun!

I can hear some of you laughing out there, and I am offended. This is my belief!! This is what I hold true and holy, and what gives meaning to my life! I was lost before, but now I've found a wacky dysfunctional family of Gods and Goddesses to believe in, to give me strength and hope, and a reason to drink wine until I righteously puke my guts out. My beliefs are just as valid as yours, and I demand your respect! Or I'll fucking cut you.

Peace and love my brothers!! Death and an eternity in Hades for the rest of you!! (COOOOOL!!!, I get to damn people to Hades now!! Will the perks of religion never stop?!?!?)

Ubiquiosity

In the spirit of "language is ever evolving" and of "structuring interesting word usements", I propose this formulized communicable craftation; Ubiquiosity.

And it means this: The state in which things are no longer consciously perceived because of their omnipresence.

They say that the hearing centers in your brain block the various sounds that your body makes on constant basis, like your heart beating and often your breathing (other sounds that are regrettably sometimes subject to this censorship of the brain in some people may also include the vaporous emissions of a Mexican dinner, pulsatingly annoying laughs, and verbal idiocy.) The theory goes that if forced to listen to the constant beating of our own heart day in and day out we would be distracted (from the hunting), or driven slightly crazy, so the brain blocks the sound. This begs the question, is this internal censor is faulty in some people? It would account for some of their behavior. But I digress.

How much of the rest of the world we experience around us falls victim to a similar censorship? How many things slide past our consciousness only because out mind has become so accustomed to them, or has perhaps never experienced an alternative? Many things in life are so omnipresent that after awhile we stop paying attention to them, stop thinking about them. Often we stop realizing they even exist, that is if we ever realized their existence in the first place. That picture on the wall that you put up 6 years ago and have not looked at since, even though you walk past it every single day. There are no stars when you live in a city, so who looks for them in any given Metropolis? Who thinks about the night sky? It is so breathtaking in some places, though who living where there are starts marvel at them if they have never known anything else? There is also the fact that everywhere you go music is playing, good and bad. Everywhere. Listen sometime.

Others things are so deeply tied into our paradigm of what reality is that we can go a lifetime never really being truly conscious of their presence. Direction. Time. Our own consciousness. Cows.

Yes, cows. They're everywhere! Can you really imagine life without them at this point? How many products come from cows? So many things that we often don't even think of them as living creatures anymore, but only as inanimate automatons, if we think about them at all. What if the Cow was some exotic wild animal though, wondering the plains where no humans wanted to live? What if it was an animal that children and even adults dreamed of at night? Great mythic creatures with a holy white glow emanating from their bodies, or perhaps terrifying beasts with evil glowing eyes chasing as you flee in terror. Perhaps they tell you in the voice of your dead Great Aunt the secret family recipe for dog meat balls (this is of course assuming that dogs would take the place of cows. Pekinese makes for a-tasty-meata-balla I hear).

Let's also look at it this way; can you imagine a living creature that does not resemble, in any way whatsoever, another living creature or thing on this planet? Can you pull from your imagination something that does not already in some part exist? It is exceedingly difficult; we nearly always find a frame of reference from our reality around us. To create something from nothing, that is the definition of genius, and few can claim that title.

We do not live in a vacuum. We are inundated with experiences every second of our lives, with our only respite the few hours in the night when we fall deeply asleep. How much of the world around us, and in our own heads, do we take for granted? "Take for granted" usually brings up thoughts of "I should conserve on gas...", or "I should call my Mom....", but what about on a deeper level? What things are we so profoundly wrapped up in that we can actually no longer imagine a world without them? In addition, will we ever even be asked to imagine a world without them? Others are just as wrapped up in the ubiquiosity of reality as we are, and the questions never cross their minds, just as they may never cross our own.

So, just for fun, let's ask those questions, a bit in this blog and perhaps more through the rest of your day and week. Let's imagine, if we can, the world with or without a few things that are all around us, things that we take for granted now and could easily continue to take for granted for the rest of our lives. Bring all preconceived notions to the table, and put them out there for the world to see, and take a look at them yourself while they're there.

We’ll start easy. What if you could no longer hear? This one is fairly easy to get a taste of with the right ear plugs. But, does that really capture what it would be like to be UNABLE to hear? Even when we plug our ears our own breath and heart can be heard (despite our brains censor switch). To have no sense of hearing, to never hear the garbage truck lumber up, or the hum of electronics, the sound of music, the sound of our loved ones voices, what would that be like?

What if you couldn't see? Again, cover your eyes and it's easy enough to imagine. But that’s too easy. What if you had never been able to see? How would your world view (pardon the pun) be different? Can you even imagine how it would be different? Forget simple blindness for a moment, what if what you see now is entirely different than what other people see? Would there be any way of knowing? What if the color you see as "orange" is actually "puce" to my eyes? The names of the colors were told to us many years ago, we'd have no frame of reference to compare our perceptions of colors to. Or for a more interesting example, I imagine you’ve never though about your stereo vision, or what it would be like to not have it, but this story may change that. I love that the one guy asks the woman if she thinks she can imagine what having stereo vision is like, and she replies “of course!”, and then later has to recant when she actually experiences it. How often does reality turn out to be far different than we had imagined it would be?

What about religion? What would a world be like completely without it? Many of us live our personal lives without it, but we can’t actually escape it. It’s everywhere, and it shapes the way we all think about the world whether we a church going or not. We almost all have this generally self centered idea that somewhere out there someone or something is watching us, be it some god or maybe aliens, and they are interested in us, either because we are their dysfunctional children or because they desperately need anal cavities to probe. Many base their actions on this idea; that no matter what happens someone is watching out for us. But what if no one is? What if a cosmic father figure is merely a security blanket for the consciousness? Take away those watchers and our fate takes on a markedly different perspective, one of finite bounds as opposed to infinite. What if we’re completely on our own? Would anyone care if the human race were gone if there were no human race to care?

Our consciousness is our own, and no one else’s. Empathy allows us to imagine how someone else may think or feel, but we can never experience their mind for ourselves. We live with ourselves every moment of every day, with the occasional transcendental mediation or acid trip to take away our sense of self, we can feel isolated and overwhelmed by this at times. Do we realize that everyone else around us is dealing with similar, if not the same, emotions, thoughts, and issues? Does it cross our minds that other points of view do exist? And not "points of view" in the post-modern definition that is synonymous with "opinion", but equally valid personal views, each from different vantage points than our own. How often are we both right, yet we look at each other knowing the other is wrong? Can we, for a moment, imagine a reality where our thoughts and emotions could be shared, as readily as a hand shake or an ice cream cone? Can we imagine not having to take on faith the love someone feels for us, but actually be able to experience their feeling for ourselves? To be able to share with their soul how we feel as well?

While there are many things out there that can be chalked up as "that's just the way things are", say for example the sun rising and setting, the pull of gravity, and the inevitability of our own deaths, there are many other things that get that label erroneously. So many of the events and things that happen around us happen merely because someone made a choice, not because of fatalistic inevitability. It’s not "just the way things are", or fate, or divine intervention, but instead a decision or set of decisions was made and a result occurred. Cause and effect. Another saying, “it’s just human nature,” is equally as misleading. Human nature has been defined as a lot of things, but I was always under the impression that at the core of human nature is that we have control over our human nature. We choose, consciously. Sub-conscious be damned, we are conscious beings. But we are rarely asked to act like it.

How much of the Ubiquiosity we experience around us could be changed if we so desired it to be different? What if that silly phrase "that's just the way things are," could be said with relish, joy, and smile, instead of frustration, sadness, and abdication? As Rufus said, "Wouldn't it be a lovely headline, "Life is Beautiful", on the New York Times?” We are in control, we call the shots, we just need to open our eyes and our minds to the possibilities around us.

A Philosophy on Life

So I have been working on some long posts on the nature of congnition and the social ramifications of perseption. I know I know, too much fun for you to handle. I will attempt to keep them dry and free of life so as to keep your sides from splitting. As a pre-curser to these Posts of Excitement and Glee I am posting this, my Philosophy of Life. Some of you may have already read it, as I wrote it in 1997, but it's a fun little trifle and will lead into the next posts in an appropos manner. Enjoy!

A Philosophy on Life
as seen by the author, Sean Barker

What is the meaning of life? Many of the earth’s greatest minds have contemplated this question at one time or another, and many philosophies have emerged from their answers. For example: we are here to serve a “God” of some type before we enter a new plane of existence, or we are here only to make plastics for the Earth, since it cannot do it itself, and once it has enough it will kill us all. These two ideas are both well and good, but unfortunately they are wrong. Only I know the real meaning of life on Earth, and now I will share it with you.

Before we get into the nitty-gritty of the meaning of life, there are some basic principals that one must be aware of. First you must contemplate the way that one perceives the world around you. By this I mean your senses. We have five, by most people’s account, and they all report back to the brain where they are processed and interpreted. Everything around us is merely a manifestation of sensory input. This is an important idea in understanding the true meaning of life. The brain is the key to our interaction with the “real” world. Second one must understand that we are aware of only our own consciousness and of no one else’s. By this I mean that I know I am conscious, but I have no way of knowing that you are conscious. As of yet there seems to be no proof of mind reading, so we simply have to take it on faith that you too are conscious in the same way I am (if in fact you are indeed conscious at all!)

With these two ideas securely understood we can begin to explore the true Meaning of Life.

A few basic principals surround the meaning of life. One: I am the only real consciousness here. Two: my consciousness is being stimulated at all times with sensory information by a exceedingly advanced alien race. Three: the world we call Earth, the Solar System, the Milky Way, etc., does not really exist as we know it, but is sensory information being fed to me by the alien race and their supercomputers.

We will now explore each of these points in the meaning of life. Prepare thyself!

The first point in the meaning of life is a very important one to understand. This world and all of its inhabitants are sensory information only, without real substance and without real consciousness. This isn’t to say they aren’t “human” or “alive”, for they are in most every sense of the word. For all intents and purposes, people and all other life on Earth are “alive”, in about the way a character on TV is alive, except they stimulate all five senses instead of only two. But they are unconscious automatons here to create a more real world for my existence. They, and you, are run mainly by the supercomputers of the aliens. You do your “act” or “job” when I come in contact with you, and when my interaction with you is over and you pass out of my “sensory fields”, which we will discuss later, you cease to exist except in the computer’s storage bank. There you wait until the program needs you again.

The fact that you and all the people and animals around you are not real may be disheartening and even depressing, but don’t let it be. Life can still be worth while even though you are living a fantasy without any basis in truth or substance. The computers provide a background of amazing detail for each and every person, which of course makes everything more realistic for me. Just because you now know that you really don’t exist, don’t let that stop you from leading the full and rich life that the computers can create for you. You have every right to as a character on planet Earth.

Now we will get into the heart, the “meat and potatoes” if you will, of the meaning of life. My consciousness is at every moment being fed sensory information that is the basis for this “world”. Imagine the perfect virtual reality experience and that is about what my life amounts to. Why exactly they are doing this to me I really don’t know. Most probably it is an experiment of some kind. But it could be that I am merely the toy of some young alien child, in a shoebox under the bed, there for his/her/its, pleasure. I can’t say for sure because they haven’t communicated with me yet, nor do I expect them to. It would most surely contaminate the experiment, or fun.

As you may expect this was hard for me to accept for a time. Am I supposed to base my life on the idea that some alien race is controlling and directing every facet of my life, of my world, of my existence? I know, it sounds absurd, but I am absolutely certain that it’s true. There may not be any proof of their existence or their influence, but then again there is little proof that they are NOT real, and who can argue with that?? Now I have come to accept and even rejoice in this knowledge, and have even found a deep personal fulfillment in the fact that I am special and the center of this galaxy that has been created for me. It’s really quite a nice feeling!

Now let’s talk about the world and the sensory information. There are “sensory fields”, as I like to call them, that the world exists of. Each one corresponds to a sense and no one is more important than the other. My sight field consists of what I can see, my acoustic field consists of what I can hear, and so on and so forth. Anything outside of these fields really doesn’t exist. This means that when you step out of my line of sight the visual part of your program stops. It’s like watching a movie; what’s on the screen is what you get and what is off the screen doesn’t visually matter, and for that reason might as well not be there. In this particular case, it isn’t.

This world that the aliens have created for me is amazingly complete (as you well know!). It stimulates all five of my senses at once without a break, it conforms to all the laws of physics and nature, and it has a vast and complete history full of mystery and intrigue. It might as well be real, and to me at least it is. For if you will remember the first concept that we examined, only our senses determine what is real and what is not, and since my senses are being utterly controlled, this world becomes reality. I find it fascinating!

Many people may say, “But how can you diminish this world into something created just for you as your plaything or to entertain you?!?” I’m shocked by this view! I don’t find that I am diminishing anything. It’s merely the truth, take it or leave it. I’m sure that in some way the aliens that are experimenting on me, or the alien child that is gaining amusement from me, love me in some way or they would not have given me such a neat sensory experience. Plus I can’t put too much stock in what that type of person says, since they really don’t exist and are just programmed by the computers to say things like that.

One thing that I haven’t mentioned yet, and that I would like to touch upon now, is death. Death becomes much more complicated when you realize that you aren’t really alive in this world. I expect to live a long life in this world, unless the aliens decide to cut my program short for some reason. Once my program does end though, I expect I’ll wake up and meet my alien hosts. You may wonder how I can be alive when I’ve just lived an entire life and died, and to explain we must contemplate the concept of time. Time is again merely the stimulation of the senses in a progressive order. The faster you stimulate the senses the faster time, at least the time in this world, moves. It can be compared to watching a film in fast motion. Your time is moving at what you consider normal while time in the film has increased speed. It is logical that the aliens should want to speed up my time, since I’m sure they don’t want to sit around for eighty or ninety years to experience my life when they have fast forward. Once my life in this world ends hopefully they will let me start a new one in some other world. I would hope that the next world they star me in will be better than this one, but I expect that will depend on how I have acted in this world. But then who am I to ascribe my values to a superior alien race?? I look forward now to death. I see it not as an end, but as a continuation into a new world, and how can you fear that?

Now you have an idea as to the true meaning of life. You can now continue in your program knowing the truth and not deluding yourself with fantasy. Don’t be upset that you don’t really exist. You exist to me, and that’s all that really matters. You may think that I’m insane for believing what I believe, but that’s okay, I forgive you. I know it’s the truth, and that's all I need. And who knows, maybe your character is based on a real person, and somewhere, in the real world, you do exist. Hopefully you can take comfort, if not entirely base your make-believe life, on this hope.

I would like to leave you saying that I do not think less of you just because you do not really exist. I’m sure that the aliens wouldn’t want me to do that. I will continue to live my life, experiencing as many sensory stimulations as I can, and feeling a greater sense of peace in understanding the true Meaning of Life!

Fix It List

The World needs some fixin', we have a few things fucked up. In the eyes of the Author, here are the Top 10:

1. Religion
Needs to go. We need to stop directing our lives based on myth and superstition, it's causing more problems than it solves. As religion does fulfill a need in some people, they will require a replacement. I propose Chocolate.

2. Lack of Environmental Concern.
Not much point in fixing anything if we're underwater or have no more furry animals to pet. Save the bunnies!!!! Won't anyone think about the bunnies?!?!

3. Expansionist Models
On a finite planet we are operating on infinite principles. From urban sprawl to overpopulation, we need to curb our desire to overrun all that we surveil. While it is true that I sometimes like a man on me, I'd rather not have 35 million of them...

4. Cultural Priorities

• Britney Spears - out
  
• Rufus Wainwright - in

• WWJD? - out
• WW YOU D? - in

• Monetary Greed - out
• Responsible Living - in

• Ignorant Bliss - out
• Life Long Education - in

• Stream of Consciousness Writing - out
• Lists - in

5. Self-Serving Politics
Government has more power to right wrongs than any other institution. Why then does it seem to cause more problems than it fixes these days? For insight into this perhaps a re-reading of Problem #1 would enlighten....

6. Humanity, Get Over Thyself
We are small and insignificant in the eyes of the universe. There is no cosmic father figure watching over to bail us out. We are all that we have. Perhaps it's time to start treating each other accordingly. Have you kissed a human today?

7. Flying Cars
We were promised them years ago, and yet.... While your at it, make them garbage powered.

8. Over Population
Redundant with #3 maybe, but I thought it bore repeating. There are too many of us. The number is so huge we can't even truly comprehend it any more. BILLIONS of us.... too many. Florida can only handle just so many more old people.

9. Health
We all know what we should be doing to stay healthy, but there are too many forces working against us, including our own laziness. McDonald's needs to go the way of ignorant bliss, though they are perhaps in the end the same thing.

10 HIV
I want sex and love to be fun again, and no longer scary. I want to live a normal life once more, and I want my friends to be able to as well. This thing needs to go....

So there you go, you have your orders. Now CHARGE!!

Truth FTW

From the annals "truth is stranger than fiction" come two stories, related and remembered earlier this morning, for your wonderment and amusement.

For Head Injury; Rinse, and Repeat

At 4am this morning, I drove my good friend David (aka Sable O'dessa) to the airport. He was flying to Tennessee to attend the wedding of his good friend Stan Stanley's sister's wedding. Before we get to the good part of the story a short note must be made about the Stanley family. The Stanley family lives on Stanley road. Stan's real name is not Stan, it's Rodney, which is his grandfather's name. His middle name (which escapes my memory) is his father's name. To avoid possible confusion, they call him Stan. Stan Stanley. On Stanley Road. To add to the fun, his sister's name is Ley. Ley Stanley. Together they are Stan and Ley Stanley. On Stanley Road. Wow...

In any case, while Sable and I were driving to the airport he began to relate a story to me. He does the wigs and make-up for the 5th Avenue Theatre here in Seattle, and as it is The Theater you get some very interesting folks working there as well. Including a woman who sometimes helps with the wigs and make-up, we will call her Debbie to protect her anonymity. Debbie, Sable told, was in a car accident awhile back, in which she suffered a head injury, leaving her comatose in the hospital for some time. When she awoke, and here's the good part, she suddenly possessed the chemical formulas for a line of, wait for it........... shampoo and conditioners. Fully formed. In her head.

After finishing laughing my ass off and nearly driving off the road, Sable continued. Lest you think that only the claim was made that she posses this knowledge and no proof was ever offered, she produces her head injury hair care line and gives it to people. In the words of Sable O'dessa "Her dandruff shampoo is fucking AMAZING, Sean!!!" Seems that our friend Jonathan has tried all dandruff shampoos on the market, both over the counter and prescription, to no avail. Three days with Head Injury Hair Care Dandruff Collision Shampoo and his flakes are gone. Never to return. After hearing that I was speechless, and I still am.

"I See Dead Rock Stars...."

When I was living in Montana, I had a friend named Sarah. She was a fabulous large redheaded woman, who had not had sex in many years (much to her displeasure) and who epitimized the idea of a "gay man trapped in a woman's body". In fact there was, quite amazingly, at least one gay man stuck in her body.....

Seems that, as we were all told one night a number of years ago, when Queen lead singer Freddie Mercury bit the dust in November of 1991, he possesed Sarah's body for about 2-3 weeks. What they did during that time together I have no idea, I was too stunned and tickled at the time to ask. Nor do I have any idea why Freddie chose her, especially since she had never heard any of Queen's songs before that, though I suspect it has something to do with Fat Bottom Girls making the Rockin' World Go Round. But AFTER the possession, she suddenly possessed knowledge of all the lyrics of all the Queen songs. Fully formed. In her head. While certainly not as useful as a kick ass dandruff shampoo and hair care line, this is still useful knowledge to have when faced with, say, a Killer Queen Karaoke Showdown, or when trying to impress a room full of raging homosexuals. We faggots eat that shit up.

So there you go, a little quarter sized dollop of truth for you today, right in the palm of your hand; lather, rinse, and repeat if necessary. Revelation does exist in the modern world it seems, let that fact never be questioned again. Time have changed though, as you can see; fire, brimstone, commandments, and Seven-Headed Beasts are out, Earth turning hair care products and dead homosexual rockers are in. I am profoundly grateful to be living in this far more fabulous later time.

Signaling Myself

A profound revelation, perhaps from God Himself, was bestowed upon humble me this morning on the drive to my piano lesson. I may have wept a little when it dawned on me, though that could have been allergies, I'm not 100% certain...

People do not use their turn signal for other people, they use it for themselves.

Praise be for Enlightenment.

I am obsessive about driving. I enjoy it, for reasons many and sundry, and I dare say I'm fairly good at it. You may think otherwise to look at my car, which has a badly cracked windshield, large dents along one side, and a missing rear view mirror on the driver's side. These are all explained by 1) rock chips from the highway that became huge cracks after a sudden swing in temperature, 2) an old woman backing into the side of my car in a parking lot, 3) a drunk driver side-swiping my parked car one late night, and 4) my budget being insufficient to fix any of these things. None are attributable to my personal driving record, which is immaculate, like The Conception.

I also use my blinker, always. I use it to let that 18 wheeler roaring up behind me that I am merging onto the freeway in my under-powered car and I'd rather he didn't squash me. I use it to inform the rich old lady in her BMW that I am passing her because she is driving 15 miles per hour under the speed limit and we all have better things to do than look at her license plate surround that reads "God is my co-pilot". I employ my blinker to signal the Asian woman on her cell phone two lanes over that I am changing lanes and to please not suddenly absentmindedly swerve into the same lane and further damage my car. I'm a communicator, and I try to communicate with the other people on the road, so that they do not kill me.

But I fear I am alone in this..... As I was cut off this morning by a mini bus who signaled at the same moment as changing lanes, before being wedged in between it and a Pontiac Grand Prix that did the same, I realized that they were not signaling for me; they were signaling for themselves. As they clicked the turn signal lever while simultaneously turning the steering wheel, the thought almost certainly went through their heads "Wheeeeeee!! I'm tuuuurning!!! OOooooooohhh!! Ahhhhhh!!!".

As I watched more people on the road I saw further evidence to this fact. As one truck sat, unmoving, at a light, waiting for oncoming traffic to end, his blinker came on suddenly as he turned left onto a side street, while my right blinker had been on for some time as I tried to get into the other lane to pass him, all the while vexed and confused by his inability to move through the intersection, and infuriated by the people behind me who, instead of viewing my blinker and allowing me to get around, leapt at the opportunity to zip past me, perhaps thinking as they did "Something seems to be wrong with that poor man's tail light, it seems to be... blinking.....".

There were also people that turned or changed lanes without ever putting their blinker on at all. This I imagine is because they didn't see any point in using one. They already KNOW they're going to turn, why would they have to take the time to REMIND themselves that they're turning by flicking some cumbersome lever so many long inches from their outstretched hands? Such redundancy is a waste of valuable time, like having three rear view mirrors, and passenger side air bags.

My roommate calls it the "Seattle Signal", the turn and simultaneous signal. He was describing the two near misses he had last weekend from exactly that phenomenon, in which both times his signal was on well ahead of time and the other person's was not. They certainly knew they were about to turn directly in front of him, they'd known for ages now, so why on earth did he not realize their plans?? "Some people are so self-absorbed..." they may have thought as they gleefully spun the wheel.

Perhaps we do need reminders to ourselves of our own plans. I must admit to using post-it notes like they're going out of style. Perhaps I can employ them in my driving as well, to remind me that I'm going to stop soon, or that I am out of gas, or that I am turning into oncoming traffic. I may have something with those first two, but thankfully I don't need to waste my little sheets of yellow sticky paper for the last one; I have a convenient lever placed brilliantly within my reach to act as my reminder. Using this I can save my precious post-its to instead stick to my steering wheel as I turn and scrawl out "Wheeeeeeeeee!!".

Deity Release Program

I've just returned from seeing Julia Sweeney present most of her show, "Letting Go of God", here in Seattle. I've had my tickets for about 3 months now, ever since I heard that she and Ira Glass were going to be here to present the show on the radio. My excitement was prompted by having heard this excerpt of the show (type Godless America in to the search bar) some time back. I've listened to it a few times since, and could not buy my tickets to this live version fast enough.

The night began mostly as I expected, there isn't a lot of mystery as to how these things work. You walk through the doors, you hand your ticket over, they tell you were you're seated, you sit down, the show ensues, you go home. But after I had sat down I started looking around at the beautiful theater and the various people. I looked over my left shoulder and sitting in the next section over was my ex-boyfriend's ex-boyfriend, the one that he left for me (an act I did not request) and who has not acknowledged my existence since, even when we are standing face to face. I shook my head and chuckled a little bit and looked over to my right, and seated in the next section was my ex-boyfriend, who left the other guy for me, and who once put me and that act into the summation of "you're a constant reminder of biggest mistake I ever made." This was while we were still dating and laying in bed having just had sex. But I digress into old news.

The ex was with his new boyfriend, and they were both pointing up at me (or at the other ex, I actually have no idea), and waiving. I waved back, and sunk into my seat, stomach sinking in tandem. I do not talk to my ex anymore, though he tries to contact me from time to time, because I have decided that I don't want to. Partially because I don't see the point in talking to someone who caused me such intense pain, and partially because I worry if confronted with his person I may harm him. I was suddenly very uncomfortable, but very happy to have a good number of rows between us all, and the darkness of the theater to hide in as the show began.

The show was profound. I knew it would be good from the part that I had heard, but to have a much longer version presented was truly amazing. From what we were told the show was presented in L.A. to a crowd of about 80-100 people at a time, a small theater. This is a 2,800 seat theater, and I swear Julia was slightly taken aback at first by the size of the response from the audience. Her timing was quickly adjusted to keep her words from being drowned out by the laughter, and I think it says a lot that a show about denying religion and god was filled with laughter.

After the show Ira Glass and Julia Sweeney had a little chat on stage for us all. A Jewish atheist on one side, and a Catholic pseudo agnostic who still sometimes goes to masses on the other, both with opinions, and those opinions being aired on stage. My impression of those opinions can be summed up simply as "this is a topic who's time has come, we need to all talk like this more often," but that is merely what I took away from what I saw. The more visceral fact was that I was sitting between the worst event in my life, an event that continues to cause me problems and will probably continue to for some time, and I was watching an event that, while perhaps "life altering" is much too far, as my life was put on the godless track long ago, "life affirming" is definitely a phrase I would use. Sitting between my past I was staring at the future, staring at something I could believe in while releasing and rejecting that thing that had shaken my beliefs to the core.

At both the intermission and after the show, I avoided the ex's, who were all grouped up together with their respective dates, since they are all friends now. They were looking for me, I even saw one point at me from the balcony over the lobby as I walked up the stairs pretending I didn't know exactly where they were. I have no doubt that they would have hugged and hi-ed me (all except the one to whom I do not exist), the standard "how are you??" would be asked, and I would be expected to respond. After the show, and all the wonderful things said on that stage (things that ironically got me in quite a bit of trouble for saying myself in those bad years) I had no desire to ruin the night by doing something rash. So I left the theater by a side door, and walked out into a godless rain, happy in the knowledge that no "greater force" was prompting me to "turn the other cheek", or "love thy enemy as yourself", but that I could turn my back on that past and look contently into a much nicer future.

"It's horrifying...."

I had an experience yesterday that I can't shake.

I was driving home from Beaver Lake, which is north of Issaquah, which is east of Seattle, where I was playing for a music contest. The Issaquah area is growing faster than any other place near here, with new housing developments going in faster than people can physically move into them. California style housing developments, where lines of "homes" take up every available inch, small patches of lawn in front and back of each complex are the only thing standing for a yard. Rows and rows of track housing stretch up side hills, clear cut and leveled off months before. I'm not a big fan of that kind of development. One time while in California, I was standing on the top of a hill looking down at these developments and had the visceral feeling that they were all scabs on the land, some sort of growth covering up healthy ground underneath. It was disturbing.

As I was trying to get back to the freeway I was told "Left to I-90 West" by a sign I had never seen before, though I'd been on that road a number of times. So I turned as it told me to, thinking, "They must have built a new on-ramp." I was in a small ravine at that point, on a wide new road that soon began to rise up into a clearing. The first thing I saw was a huge parking structure, called the "Issaquah Highlands Park and Ride." It was about five levels high and stood there, a monstrous metal and concrete box surrounded by more paved parking lots. The thought passed my mind that that seemed like overkill for this area, which seemed sparsely populated at best. I was tired, the brand new 4 lane urban highway I was on should have given away what I was about to see.

I drove up the road another 100 yards, nearing its peak, and I suddenly had an unobstructed view all around me. I was top of a small hill, surrounded by machine flattened land, land that fell off behind, in front and to the right of me, and rose up through more hills to the left. This area certainly used to be all pine trees; you could see where the clear cutting had stopped at various clumps of dense trees. Farther in the distance all around were beautiful green hills and mountains, the foothills of the Cascades.

It was as stunningly beautiful place, except that is was not. Track housing had been started up the hill to the left, all the other land was green grass covered flattened lots, prepped for building, to the right some digging had already begun. A shopping center/mini mall was already built and running, and wide roads connected everything. I soon dropped down the hill in front of me, down to the freeway and back to Seattle.

I'm sure you've all seen the third Matrix installment, “Revolutions” (if you haven't you should, it's pretty entertaining, though in no way ground breaking like the first movie). There is a scene near the end where Neo and Trinity send their hover craft flying in a steep arch up through the cloud cover, up away from the black wasteland that is Earth, and they suddenly break through the violent clouds, into the bright sunshine, where they hover at the top of their arch, Trinity whispers in awe, "it's beautiful....," before they plunge back into the black. I had the same feeling yesterday, only exactly the opposite. I rose up out of beautiful countryside, up into horrifying human sprawl, into land that was once spectacularly beautiful, but was now defiled. The curve of the road was a perfect arch, man made to resemble the path of some flying projectile. I felt like I had entered some terrible fantasy land, poked my head up above the clouds, and 30 seconds later descended back down.

From my view on top of that hill in California a number of years ago I had the feeling that if I just reached down I could scrape off the human scab that was creeping up over the land, expose the earth again which would soon heal itself. I sometimes feel that we are a plague on this earth, eating it up one acre at a time, blissfully jaunting to the local mini-mall hub in our giant SUV’s, uncaring about the destruction that we wreak as we go. It’s going to come back to bite us in the ass though I fear, sooner or later, and I won’t be able to say we don’t deserve everything we get.

Sign of the Times

In post-modern times less became more and more became less. An interesting thought, one I ascribe to whole heartedly on topics such as perfume in elevators, commuting time, bad sex and televised sports. It's all very existential and lovely, but wears on the psyche after a bit as people begin to take it too far. So today in the current-after-post-modern-pre-future-follow-up times we are definitely back to more is more and less is less, which I also support on topics such as beach time, ingenious friends, good sex, and Gross National Income. It's more linear and easier to make your case for having that extra doughnut or that extra war. It works for everybody.

Last Monday's Retail Therapy Extravaganza falls firmly under the "more is more" category, and so today I went with more. After some deeply rewarding iTunes CD shopping I again hit the lovely Bed Bath and Beyond (holy hand grenade but that place is the greatest) and then began to wander the Sub-Urban-Shopping-Hub, the S.U.S.H., also known as The Mall. The modern S.U.S.H. is also strictly following the concept of "more is more", as this one spans about four to five city blocks worth of space, has stunning architecture and every product from feather roach clips (yes they do still sell these *shudder*) to heart shaped dog beds to 72" plasma TV's. I do not care to own any of these things as they all seem a bit vulgar and in bad taste, but the books at Borders are fantastic, the port from World Market is very tasty, and the frames from Bombay are quite dapper.

My last stop was Best Buy, the best current-after-post-modern-pre-future-follow-up times place for all one's computer and electronic needs. My needs consisted of photo paper on which to print pictures for all these glorious new frames, but I like to smell the electronics a bit too. As I walked up to the door, a new VW Beetle confidently whizzed up onto the wide curb just to the left of the entry way doors, the fading daylight illuminating the shiny black and white paint job and the curiously brash orange oval on the side door emblazoned with "Geek Squad".

Out stepped one Geek, which I think hardly constitutes a Squad, but I have to assume his fellow Squadron Geeks must have arrived earlier and had taken all the parking spots. He was wearing a white polo shirt and black slacks, he had a cell phone attached to his belt and a shnazzy Blue Tooth wireless headset firmly hugging one ear. His hair was shortish brown and a bit spiky, stylish enough to look clean cut, but defiantly unkempt enough to be edgy. He was almost certainly in his mid twenties with sideburns, a chin goatee, and just a tiny bit of a belly, one that said "I write code, I don't go to the gym," but that youth was still keeping in check.

He strode to the doorway and a swagger in his step and nearly arrogant confidence. And he was quite frankly kind of hot.

I literally laughed out loud at the little "woof" that unwillingly leapt to my lips. But there he was, in all his techy glory, a hot little Geek Squad geek. I thought, "wow, the nerds have made it...", which I am somewhat happy about as I have quite a large bit of nerd in me as well. I play online video games and have been known to say "That's so cool!" about somewhat ridiculous things and with a bit too much enthusiasm. That part of me certainly identifies with geekdom.

After all the more more more of the evening, he was a refreshing sight I must say. The geeks fly in the face of the current-after-post-modern-pre-future-follow-up times. They are more for their lessness. They are less when they attempt more. They are an existential challenge to the bloated greed of today. They may own a 42" LCD screen, but they have it in their studio apartment. And the Geek Squadron drives in new Beetles, the anti-SUV. They are a harbinger of changing times I think, when cars are again going to get small, tasteful color schemes will arise and nuance will win out over blustery exaggeration.

I've been feeling for awhile now that there is a change in the air, a shifting of direction. Perhaps in that feeling I am projecting, but I took today's Hot Geek Sighting to be another sign. Times I think they are a changin', and so far the direction looks kind of hot in a headset.

Retail Therapy

So I have not been feeling well lately. No, not a cold or any such thing. Some recent events have had me down. To name a few, but only a few; a vast amount of work over the past two weeks, mostly revolving around unthankful kids and their even more unthankful parents, the fact that more work is looming without an end in sight, the Superbowl (not the fact that the Seahawks lost, but that the Superbowl EXISTS), stupid men (perhaps redundant, I know...), and to top it off earlier today I made the mistake of listening to some of the NSA wire tapping hearings. I was struck by two things very quickly; Senators are a vastly stupid group of people, and Alberto Gonzales is very smart. If only his powers were used for good and not evil....

I was, for lack of a better word, depressed. And agitated. And snippy. This lasted through my lessons with my students. I have also been bothered by what I had observed lately as the obvious and pervasive apathy that so many of my students, and other students I was working with, had for the music they were making. Where any of them actually ENJOYING they music that they were making? Where those transcendent sounds of Brahms moving any part of their souls?? I didn't feel as though they were, and so today I told them all as much. They looked at me like I was a mad man speaking some strange and silly language. This did not make me feel any better, in fact quite the contrary.

Also I have a flat tire. Well, to clarify, it is not completely flat, but that's only because I fill it back up with air every day. I have not had time to take it to get fixed, so I go to my car each day hoping it's not completely flat on the ground and it will get me to the gas station one more time. It is annoying, like only car problems can be annoying. This has not helped my mood.

So tonight it was obvious that I needed to take things into my own hands, and I did. I called my band director friend and told him I would not be attending our community band rehearsal tonight because I had a growing head ache. I did not tell him that it was an existential head ache, but I didn't figure the distinction was relevant. It was time for therapy of the highest and most American of all therapies.

I have some cash flow right now from all the work of the past few weeks. It's fucking nice. It's REALLY fucking nice, 'cause it don't happen very often. I came home and paid all my bills. I love doing this, because I sometimes cannot pay them all and it's stressful. To sit down and pay EVERY LAST ONE of them, and still look at my bank account and say "HOLY SHIT!!", in a GOOD way!, is very very nice.

My next step proved to be my crowning achievement in this self administered therapy treatment. I called my friend David, aka Sable Odessa, and made him go shopping with me. Shopping is fun period. Shopping with a drag queen is a non stop riotous jaunt of hilarity, I highly recommend picking one or two up before your next outing to Macy's. You never knew that kitchen cleaning supplies could be so tawdry or that so many scathingly witty comments could be hurled at window mannequins and their oh so tragic hair.

This is what I bought;
At Bed Bath and Beyond
1) New towels for the bathroom, one for me and one for my roommate, because I'm that nice of a guy and because it will look better if they match.
2) Picture frames to put pictures up around the house that make me happy.
3) A very large and decadent candy bar, which I savored as I walked to the Gap, spiting my diet and workout gleefully with each and every delicious bite.

At The Gap
1) Practical jeans. They were "straight fit", which seems exclusionary and I don't approve, but they fit great despite the name. False advertising if you ask me. Perhaps I will sue.
2) Hot jeans. Ones that make my ass look great. Ones that will make my ass look even better after 2 more months of working out. Ass Pants. Ass Pants ON SALE. I rest my case Mr. Gonzales.

I tried to find more to buy, but then I remembered that I'm going in tomorrow to buy two new tires for my car, thus solving the fact that it has not driven very well for the past two years with two pairs of mismatched tires on it, and that one of the tires that is about to be replaced has a leak in it (see above). At this point I felt satiated for the night knowing I would spend more the next day, and would STILL have money left in my account! Ahhhhhhhh....

But just when I thought the night couldn't get any better, it did. I hopped online to play some heroin- I mean World of Warcraft, and found that my wonderful Hawai'i boys were already online. They have had house guests and have not been around much at all, and I have missed them. We didn't get to play long, but it was enough, I still have a smile on my face and it will stay with me all through the night.

I think after getting new shoes on my car tomorrow I will look over the bank account, add up the damage, see what's left over and treat myself to a massage. That should get me through the next couple of months until my bank account has recovered, the world has become tedious once more, and another session of therapy will again be needed.

January 20th, 1961

It had snowed the night before the poet stepped slowly to the stage,
the reflection of cold sun bright white over marbled lawns.
Infant words of dedication newly written were gripped in his hands,
still unfamiliar within the voice and hardly known to the heart.
In the harsh glare of the sun and snow the words began to falter,
and the attempt was soon abandoned for more familiar and hallowed ground.
An older verse known without the need for sight now obscured
was as a gift given outright from deeper within than memory.
With ease and command won over a generation of distinction,
old words were made new again.

I listened to the recounting of that day forty five years ago,
the radio half heard as I drifted through thoughts of rain.
Implication of skill and memory beyond the superhuman suffused
the account evoking modern age heroes slaying fell beasts with words.
Brilliant qualities surely did waft through the crisp air in profusion,
but they merely masqueraded for one virtue poised far above the rest.
It was love moved his memory when old eyes could no longer see,
memory etched and exalted making beloved words fall free.
Love for words once written remembered,
love for an art a life time devoted.

Heroic is a word often cheaply bestowed today,
along with love bandied about like childrens' dispensable toys.
In reality one leads to the other, intertwined in their meaning
with depth beyond describing words, beyond poetry and song.
Perhaps we too could recite on those things that we love most dearly;
the shape of a face, the turn of a tune, the moon and luminous eyes.
All become clear again when moved by deep devotion,
or when the cool sun in our eyes makes poets of us all.

Spreading Taint

For all you spreaders of taint out there, first click here, then choose the video clip titled "Level of Taint". You will not regret it.