Exodus: Naturellement...

Our immediate decision to acquire shares of the wave's power came from our dissatisfaction with the primacy of nature.  She, as nature is commonly thought of, had been our surrogate mother.  She had wired us genetically, like all of her children, to take care of our needs.  We were able to change our clothing if necessary, though it was through quite a slow wardrobe change, taking millions of years.  We were able to find provision for our basic needs, given she had made the supplies available.  The biggest bummer was that she had given us life, only to kill us off in the end.  We saw her as the chief force of guaranteeing that the existence of life was only a minor blip in the history of the chaotic universe.  This was a troublesome realization. 

As far as we could tell (we did not have microscopes), there had never been any guarantee that she was there to protect us in any way.  So we did the only thing we could do.  We decided to make our own wardrobe decisions.  We decided to try and provide for ourselves.  We took power away from her, and while she still holds a great deal of that power, we still intend to take more.  We are, after all, still dying.  Our wager in this is that some way, somehow we will escape predetermined death.  Over the millions of years since we declared our independence, we have occasionally looked back into nature, and wondered if we made the right choice all along.

Consider the example of this investment banker:  A resident of Cincinnati, he has a high paying job, lives in a nice home that backs up to a nature preserve, and can afford to shop at Whole Foods.  Yet he's not happy.  He's sitting in his breakfast nook, drinking his fair trade coffee and looking out the window into the preserve thinking, "Gosh, what I wouldn't give just to be free from all of this.  Gosh, the Bengals are going to blow this year.  My son is turning out to be a real asshole, and I just don't want any of this anymore.  I wish I was a park ranger..." 

We all wish we were park rangers by the time we fully mature.  Every single one of us.  Yet how many of us actually return?  From ancient cave paintings depicting a longing to be reunited with nature, to the experiences of our contemporary authors and artists, the remorse regarding our disconnect with nature and our inability to return is evident.  H.D. Thoreau who depicts this longing quite well, wanted to reconnect with nature so badly he abandoned all shame to play "camp out" in his friend's back yard.  Thoreau's book, "camp out" is a thoughtful read, until you realize he was in the back yard procuring free dinners throughout his experience, thus proving my point.  We continue to walk away from its demand to govern us, yet all the while we walk with our heads looking backward, with tears in our eyes. 

Do you remember that investment banker I brought up?  He died of ass cancer one year after retiring from his job, and his son bought a strip club with his inheritance.  How appropriate.  Now waiting around forever for a wardrobe change doesn't look so bad, does it?  So go the many costs of championing the wave.  Until next time... I'm going to go make myself a sandwich.

"As we degenerate, the contrast between us and our house is more evident.  We are as much strangers in nature, as we are aliens from God.  We do not understand the notes of birds.  The fox and the deer run away from us.  We do not know the uses of more than a few plants, as corn and the apple, the potato and the vine.  Is not the landscape, every glimpse of which hath a grandeur, a face of him?  Yet this may show us what discord is between man and nature, for you cannot freely admire a noble landscape, if laborers are digging in the field hard by.  The poet finds something ridiculous in his delight, until he is out of the sight of men." - Ralph Waldo Emerson

Leonard Cohen (reciting his poetry) and Philip Glass (playing the score), two guys you should definitely get to know while your still on the mortal coil, put our stakes into perspective quite well:

Genesis: In the Beginning...

*It's been over a month, I know.  What is my excuse?  Well, you wouldn't believe the maintenance this thing takes to keep it running.  It started out being that I just had to install a new part to give us all a smoother ride.  Alas, my lack of sense caught up with me when I tried using the Chinese side of the installation instructions.  Pipes burst, alarms went off...  It was wet, really wet down here.  And I don't like being wet.  Its like eating pancakes.  Five minutes into what you thought was a great idea, you realize you'd rather not have done it in the first place.  Everyone would rather be dry than wet, except for Michael Phelps and dogs; also sea creatures.  But I've finally fixed everything back here in the bowels of the blog.  The Wizard of Oz can now get back to his shamming.  Hmmm hmm hmm, ohhhh Dorothy!!!*

In the beginning of the wave humanity did not exist.  Simple as that.  There you have it.  Well, go on...

All we know is that at some point on the ride from big bangs to sabre-toothed fangs, *check, check* humans emerged.  Like everything surrounding us we were a product of motion in the wave; nature and nurture, if you need more tangible concepts.  But unlike the other wave byproducts, we accomplished the unthinkable.  We hijacked the wave itself.

Consider the instance in which humans gained the ability to determine the progression of the great wave:  Our ancestor, the beast-human, sits in a field over a foreign pile of bones.  It wonders what it has found and where it came from.  It picks up a bone to examine, and a curious notion enters its brain.  It uses the force of the bone to break the others into shards, forming many sharp objects for further examination and use.  The first drop of blood has been added to the wave.

What gave our ancestor this notion?  That, I think, is a most fascinating question.  If the beast had known that a mere action of curiosity would ignite a chain of such incredible events, would the revelation have blown its mind out the back of its skull?  In our present state, we as a species know that the wave is still far from our complete control, but we can plainly see that the velocity of our progress will continue to shorten the gap between the possible and impossible of our abilities.  What a queer existence to behold: That we would have the capacities and the keys to ride and guide the wave of all existence.

On planet Earth at least, the wave is now blood red.  There are many things outside of our control that would render this little trend non-existent in a second.  And while the wave would surely continue without us just fine, it is wise for us to consider the inherent chaos of the wave, and if our presence in it provides a unique opportunity for all life.  We have the ability to give life a chance in the deluge of the wave.  We have snorkels.  This is the foundation for our case in the right to determine its path:  As far as we know, it is ourselves and not mother nature that have the only ability to sustain permanence of existence.  We alone have proven capable of bending the wave on this planet to such a trend.  Our ancestor, the beast with the bone in hand, must have been so weary of the chaos surrounding it.  It had cried out to God for solace in its misery, and had only heard the faint mysteries of the wind.  Control was the only solace it found that day, and it alone is the great experiment our species has been tasked to carry out.

"Out upon nature, in upon himself, back through the mists that shroud the past, forward into the darkness that overhangs the future...  Beneath things, he seeks the law; he would know how the globe was forged and the stars were hung, and trace to their origins the springs of life. And, then, as the man develops his nobler nature, there arises the desire higher yet—the passion of passions, the hope of hopes—the desire that he, even he, may somehow aid in making life better and brighter, in destroying want and sin, sorrow and shame... Into higher, grander spheres desire mounts and beckons...  Lo! the pulses of the man throb with the yearnings of the god—he would aid in the process of the suns!" - Henry George

While this is our path in life, it must be remembered that humanity has done all that it can to ruin any chance for established equilibrium.  This should not be so striking, if one understands that we are children of the wave.  Yet some believe the wave itself as a child of a higher power, one that favors equilibrium, and that is what divides right from wrong in our small minds.  Without God, everything is lawful, just as our mother wave has taught us.  But, if we are in fact disinclined to this conclusion on the premise of whatever belief or argument, then it is our responsibility as wave changers to understand what has gone before us in the form of change, lest we repeat mishaps of the past.  The more power we have, the higher the stakes.  This time around, we may lose our snorkels.

Before we continue, it would be good to put things into perspective, for though we have great mastery over the wave, we are eons away from being in any form of full control.  We are even further away from being able to afford any irresponsibility of its use.  Ladies and Gentlemen, Mr. Carl Sagan!:

Après Moi, 2.0

Flanners and I have been having some talks, and I think I am ready to begin part two of this adventure.  I have spent two weeks trying to best organize a "kick off" piece for what will likely become a very long, long winded series of my writings.  The subject at hand will likely continue to be analyzed for the duration of this blog, depending on when I finally get sick of it and want to start my second subject blog, "Staffordshire Terriers and You".  But what is the subject at hand?  Well, that's what I have been trying to answer for two weeks now.  Lets see if I can pull it off.

Moore's Law states that when.....  dammit.

Alright.  How about a focus on some imagery.  We, and I am using the royal "We", are standing on the precipice of great changes to our human race (Platitude, platitude, sit tight, it gets better, maybe).   Picture a group of human beings standing on some geographical vantage point.  Amongst others I consider myself, as well as you, the reader, in this group of people.  Presented before us is a sloping plane of water rapidly rising and heading our way.  It isn't a lethal threat so much as it is an omen that nothing in our world will remain the same; a realization that we fight tirelessly in our daily lives to ignore.

It is true that we have always lived in the presence of this great wave of change, and likewise the flood that accompanies it.  But never before in our existence have we experienced or been faced with the rapidity and voracity of the changes before us.  Furthermore, we who stand here are all being afforded an opportunity that has never been available to such a large group of individuals.  We, like all of humanity, have taken part in creating this flood of change.  But never before have so many people been given a chance to actually see it coming, to pick and guess at its body, and to prophecy what is to come.  The builders of the pyramids could not see the effects they would have on the world, much like the butterfly whose wings flutter into existence the birth-winds of a hurricane.

These writings will be a small piece of that picking, guessing, and prophesying.  Prophesying is a word that makes people feel a little weird.  An encounter with this word leaves one with simultaneous feelings of excitement and distrust, likened to feelings when one hears a religious perspective.  To this, I say that all this future talk IS a religious perspective of sorts.  Look at the chaos in our universe!  There is no way to be certain that any of this will exist tomorrow.  Likewise, there is no surety in the continuity of the wave of change in its direction, speed, or existence.  It would be nice if it all stopped; I could finally feel slightly optimistic about my 401k.  But there is no sign as of yet that it will or even can be stopped.  So until something halts this flood, I will prophecy about this religion of what is to come.  You will play the part of the crowd, and I will be stinky ol' John the Baptist. hmmm.... I wonder....

I bet John the Baptist was gettin' all fresh in the woods with heavy odor, and when he was speaking to a group of people, someone was all like "ew, John the Baptist.  You smell like hell.  Take a bath once in a while!"  And then John the Baptist is all like "eureka!!!".

Ahem, where was I?

It is important to note the impending change as being comprised of both a wave and a flood.  The curvature of the wave signifies the exponential growth of the changes we are experiencing.  Technological advancement follows this curvature of change and is best explained by Moore's Law, which I attempted to mention earlier. While social and cultural changes don't follow Moore's law to a tee, we can look back and realize that the change in these arenas that has occurred over the last 100 years has incredibly dwarfed progress in the 1000 years before that.  Social and cultural change is as well increasing exponentially.  One could call this all progress, but I would say that depends on whether you prefer being wet or not.  The flood shows us that change itself is likely to be permanent.  Water, unless frozen does not stand still.  Unless evaporated, water remains.  As long as humans exist, and we neither freeze to death or nuke the entire planet, the change stays.  Revolutions are eternal, if you will.  The relationship between the two signifies that the height and curvature of the wave combined with the force of the flood variably determine our future of change.  With the outlook of things as they are now, the rate of change is likely to reach the speed of a fired bullet sooner than we may expect.  Here is a good illustration: http://picasaweb.google.com/107875569835796136230/ApresMoiLeDeluge#5495872831598686898  (it's actually a terrible illustration, but I like it.  Notice I'm throwing up in the picture?  Hah, yeah that's great!)

With this outlook you can expect to see in the future missives on everything you can imagine in our human world, as long as it is changing.  This rules out charleston chew, which has never changed its recipe, nor does it have the capacity to undergo physical or chemical changes.  See for yourself, it's scary.  I think you get the picture, and I will be delighted to see you return for a peek or two.  Just don't bring charleston chew.

Everything That Rises Must Converge

I had a nightmare last night.  In my dream, I was kidnapped, blindfolded, and tied down (ooh, kinky).  The kidnapper took the blindfold off, and I found myself face to face with a person in a terrible clown mask holding a pitchfork, in some boiler room, I think.  I started to see if I could talk my way out of it.

"What do you what from me?  Why did you kidnap me?"
"I wanted to talk, and thought this would be the best way to get you to listen."
"OK calm down, ahh, wh.. what do you have to tell me?"
"I want to talk to you about your blog."
"Oh man, I knew this was going to happen!  Look, I'm sorry about the last entry.  I agree, its not my best work.  I tried changing it, but still, I didn't feel good about it.  What was I supposed to do?  I haven't been in that position before; everything else was pure gold.  I just kinda froze after writing that turd.  I mean, I don't disagree with my position, I'm just better than that.  I'M TELLING YOU, I'M ABOVE IT.  OH PLEASE GIVE ME ONE MORE CHANCE AND I'LL..."
"SHUT UP!!!"
"ok"
.........
"Your blog is good, but you need to focus.  Get back to your theme."
"What theme?"
"I'm getting really tired..."
"AHHH MY ASS!!!"
"I'm not touching your ass!"
"oh i guess it was my imagination"
"You were writing this all for a reason, and I think its time you did some soul searching if these shenanigans are to continue.  You have, besides myself, only two readers left.  It's getting dismal."
"Who...who are you?"

The clown mask came off, and I found myself staring into the face of none other than Flannery O'Connor.  I was really confused now.  "O'Connor???  Why are YOU in my dream?"  She said, "Because I am your guardian angel."  That's when I woke up screaming.  After pulling myself together, I think I remembered what she was getting at.  I had to laugh a little though.  To think a Catholic would actually be my guardian angel.  Preposterous!

It's been three months since I started this online venture.  Already I have managed to offend women, Hades, the City of Chicago, little leagues, the City of Birmingham, vegetarians, baristas, botanists, the average American patriot, and now Catholics.  Not bad, not bad.  My topics have ranged from the social to the personal, from gastronomical euphoria to the politics of little league.  It has been a good three months for me; I've been able to air my mental laundry, practice my humor, and continue to use my poor understanding of punctuation¿  But you, my reader, may be feeling a little dizzy.  Let's be honest, this is pure chaos.  A wiser Ice Cube once said, "You better check yo self before you wreck yo self.  Cos I'm bad for your health, I come real stealth.  Droppin bombs on ya moms, fuck car alarms..." you get the point.

This blog was more or less intended to be an attempt to express and understand the societal wave of change that is knocking on the door of the human world.  I also might have made some allusions to the nature of this blog, itself being a flotsam constructed from an ugly shipwreck.  Well, maybe its time the flotsam went somewhere out of all this debris, maybe toward that island off in the distance.  It would be much easier to chronicle and understand the Deluge if we could get into some dry clothes, don't you think?  I do.  Join me.

P.S. - Holiday postings by historical (and fictional) figures aren't going anywhere.



Peace be with you.

Dammit, Did I Miss Flag Day Again?

Dear American Flag,

Another year has passed, and I have missed your birthday....... again.  They say you were 233 years old on June 14th, and I didn't even have the common decency to bake you that red velvet cake I know you love.  I am such an ass.

June 14th was a Monday.  I woke up that afternoon feeling appreciative of something, but I could not put my finger on what, exactly, I was appreciative of.  So, I began the search with my wife who I thanked for her steadfast love and kindness.  It didn't feel right.  It was definitely not that I appreciated.  I thought about calling my parents, then quickly realized that would be an error in judgment.  After all, they needed no thanks for all the ass wiping, conflict resolution, parent-teacher conferences, wrecked vehicles, and angst that I put them through, right?  Right!  I even tried thanking the woman who made my burrito that day for such a delicious treat.  But deep down inside, I felt nothing but contempt (she really skimped on my corn salsa).  As I was driving home and accepting defeat, I caught a glimpse of a giant red, white, and blue in the air.  Something grand stirred in my soul, and I thought with surety, that the flag above was by far the silliest thing I've ever seen.  It was twice as long as usual, looked more like a giant airborne hallway rug.  What a dumb flag!  Ohhh.... indigestion.

And so the day would pass as all the years before it, with me forgetting to celebrate flag day.  I know what you're thinking.  I am pretty ungrateful.  So many sacrifices have been made for me that go unthanked.  Just to think where I would be if all those people who couldn't pay the price for college, or, lets be honest, American citizenship, hadn't taken all those bullets overseas, the ones that were aimed at me.  If it weren't for the pile of British, Native American, African, Libyan, Mexican, Confederate, Spanish, German, Italian, Japanese, Korean, Chinese, Vietnamese, Cambodian, Iranian, Guatemalan, Grenadian, Iraqi, Somalian, and Afghanistani flesh at my feet (damn, you're only 233 years old?), well, no way I could stand this high.

I'd be mad about all of the dead you have claimed over, but what Ke$ha did on SNL

( http://www.hulu.com/watch/143257/saturday-night-live-keha-tik-tok ) has made me laugh quite heartily.  Now I realize why, exactly, I am so appreciative.  You entertain the hell out of me!  The most embarrassing and obstinate of humanity wave you about as their security blanket.  People actually get passionate about whether it is alright to burn you (it is).  Best of all, that one time you and Glenn Beck were caught on tape in the back of that van.... well, you were there.  How could I help but laugh at such a sad, sad spectacle.

So thanks for being what you are and all that.  I'm sure I'll remember next year.  Seems to me some other patriotic holiday is coming soon.  Hmm.  I'm stumped.  The only thing I can come up with is that day of mourning event on July 4th that marks the turning of the tide in the WNA (War of Northern Aggression).  Yeah, I'm going to have to think about this one....

P.S. - last weeks blog was the beginning of adding relevant music to my posts, a practice I plan to continue.  Hope you're enjoying it.

Quote of the week:

If we were wise, we would learn the elegant simplicity of finding the abundance in violent changes and learn the lessons of grateful adaptation. By naming a volcano a disaster, we rob it of its ability to teach. By seeing those in its reach as victims, we blind ourselves to the grace of evolution which is an inextricable part of humanity’s development. - David Martin, whose awesome blog can be found here: http://www.invertedalchemy.blogspot.com/

A Love Affair

I feel like I often ask too much of my reader, especially when I ask them to try and experience my madness.  It won't stop though, nope.  Below, you can find a link to some music that I feel reflects my message very well.  If you would please, either before after or during reading this post, listen to the song below.  Hopefully, you will be able to further appreciate what I am trying to express here.  I already do, thanks friend.

Lets begin, shall we?

Love affairs, as I am learning, have no regard for your life plans.  They scoff at them, making you feel ashamed for such pithy delusions.  They make you feel small and impotent (at least mine do) and eventually force you to face your life's circumstances.  Funny... this poor treatment is why anyone allows an affair to happen in the first place.  One wants a change, even with all of the personal destruction it includes.  And that is exactly why one loves an affair.  There is such beauty in the fall and submission of a human being to something so completely impossible to control.

I have a good friend in Birmingham who wanted to discuss my return to Alabama.  This place means different things to him than it does to me, so naturally he was curious as to why I like it down here so much.  I gave him some "this and that" about it being far away from anything resembling Chicago, and how I felt it was a good constructive space to figure out my next steps (as I'm sure I've already expressed in previous postings).  It started to nag on me that I had said all of that.  Though true, it wasn't THE truth.  As the conversation moved on, the desire to change my response grew stronger, until I had to interrupt.  Out of nowhere, I blurted out that the real reason I liked Alabama so much is, (are you ready?) the foliage.  I'll let that statement hang in the air for a minute.  The foliage...

What does that mean?  I can assure you it is not based in a scientific appreciation for the foliage; I don't give two shits about photosynthesis!  So, what is it?  To best explain, maybe some personal history will help.

I would like to recall my 20-25 phase in life.  I was tired of failing and disappointing people.  My solution was to give a damn about something that would in turn light a fire under my ass, to put it eloquently, and that is exactly what I did.  I got passionate about helping others, got two degrees in the subject, and when I was done, I had nothing waiting for me on the other side.  Looking back, it was foolish to think that I would have, no matter what may have been different.  So, in that defeat I came here, still having not learned my lesson.  This lesson I speak of was that all along I had only been interested in helping myself; mostly, to help me live with myself.  It's not very fun, my wife can attest to the mess.

Now how did I learn this lesson?

I came down here looking for a lot of answers, and the first and most important one came to me only days after I arrived.  Something about the woods here is intoxicating.  You can find a path in any neighborhood, it seems, and 100 feet in you feel totally separated from civilization.  At night, when the dark turns everything into mysterious shadows, insects take to the trees and play really good music.  The best of all of these is that when the wind picks up and moves the surrounding greenery, it forces one to remember that it is all very much alive.  This constant reminder, my friends, is the biggest blessing I have received in a long while.  There is something out here way bigger than myself.  And in the end, I have to agree that this whole life, in all its sorrows and wonder, is not about me.

As I continue to struggle to grasp this revelation, I am constantly enveloped by the foliage that speaks to me.  In Alabama, if you have a heart that listens, then the trees themselves will be your prophets.  All I want to do in return is to love them back, and to further explore the life surrounding us all.  How can I possibly do anything else?  It demands my worship, and I give it freely.  This place has become even dearer to my heart.

I was not looking for this love affair to occur, to draw me away from my self focus and bring me to new frontiers of understanding.  It has shown me where I have erred, and has been most gracious in doing so.  I think I will continue to listen.  Though I likely will someday, I hope that I never leave this place.  There is not a lot of opportunity in Alabama for a person of my interests, but unlike everywhere else I have lived, it surrounds me with loving arms.  It whispers in my ear, "you should learn to play the banjo".  Love affairs are funny indeed.

When Christ was asked to silence his followers, he said that if they kept quiet, that the very stones would cry out.  In the absence of everyone else, in the absence of myself, I hear the trees.

I Prefer My Coffee Brewed by Opressed College Grads

Its June, and you've just graduated from college; most likely with your BA (bad choice, you'll see).  You've  moved home "temporarily", and before you can catch up with your old acquaintances from childhood, its job hunting time!  You may not have graduated from an Ivy League institution, but hey, your school was in the top 25 for best universities in the third tier.  Nothing is going to hold YOU back.  All you have to do is shake that magic eight ball that is your destiny.  You give it a SHHHHAAAAKE!  *ask again later*  What?!?  You are a successful college grad.  You know you have something to offer, mostly spunk and a senior paper on Aristotle, but dammit, your practice of Aristotelian philosophies would really streamline that fortune 500 company you got your eye on.  You prepare to shake the ball again, this time with the ferocity of a human who demands the very best.  SHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAKE!!! *barista* ....... shit.

What happened? 

The world changed, missy/sport.  You see, your parents, like their parents before them, believed that you would benefit from a four year degree in a non-technical field.  It worked for them to some extent.  Start at an entry level position, work your way up to mid management (after all, this is the real world, the fun is over), then save money for your kids college (you won't forget to have children, will you?  You deserve to suffer like your parents did, and, well, don't deprive them of that joy.)  This was what your parents envisioned for you, and hoped that with this age tested, mother approved model of survival, they could finally escape to Boca to enjoy that time share.  Well at least you've repaid their bad advice with a dream crusher.  Take pride in the look on your father's face as he re-converts that world-class weights room into your "hang zone".  Bummer, bro.

It won't do you much good to steam over your parents' advice forever (although the steam really helps to make those lattes quite delicious!).  After all, who saw this curve ball coming?  You were born in America's second hay day.  With Ronald Reagan and God at the helm, nothing could go wrong in this country (Iran-Contra *cough, cough*, Sodom-Gomorrah *COUGH! OWW MY LUNG!!!*).  Who knew you could end up like this.  Hey, hey, you might want to take a break from reading, I think I hear some guy yelling over there about his cappuchino.

Things have changed indeed.  That's a vague statement, isn't it?  I'll clarify.  Odds are that by age 25 you will have comparable debt to your parents, and you'll STILL be living with them!!!  Even worse, you're finding out that the real wiz kids of this generation are in the tech industry, not the philosophy industry.  That alone has changed the face of "cool" and "sexy" as we know it.  Decades ago, you couldn't find a person who didn't equate these terms with red sports cars, dickheads, and yeah, mostly dickheads and half starved women.  What is cool and sexy these days?  Well, still all that, but more so, dammit, I'm such a good contrarian that I even outsmart myself sometimes.

I'll fix this.  K, I'm going to need you to close your eyes and imagine a stage with a black back drop.  Still with me?  Super.  It's 2010, millennium trois, part deux.  Base is bumpin' bumpin' bumpin'!  The crowd emits a squeal of excitement as a malnourished figure in blue jeans and a black mock-neck comes onto the stage with a, what the hell, is that a piece of glass?  Not only a piece of glass, this thing does the unthinkable.  It switches lights!  It even allows you to connect to other light switchers to interact with their switching lights.  Jules Verne never conjured up such a terribly cool device with such a terribly sexy creator and model.  Times have changed indeed.  Body by Auschwitz?  Nope, body by Jobs!  I guess if your parents had really loved you, then instead of saving for college they should have given you a busted-ass mother board and some rubber bands and told you to fix it.  That's what the loving parents did.

So now what?  You know all those second degree burns at the job are going to build on your rage until you can no longer force yourself to enter the building.  Suicide?  Don't be an idiot!  I can't believe you would suggest such a thing.  Oh, it worked for Foxconn, you say?  Well did you ever stop to think that Starbucks hired you precisely because you are angsty.  Get an internship for experience?  Ahhh, you're killing me!  Seriously, that was funny.  Maybe you thought "hmm hmm hmm.  Well, Time Magazine says that way more people have their bachelor's than in Mom and Dad's day.  Maybe I'll go for a post graduate degree to level the playing field.  hmm hmm yes yes."  Fool.  Only those who didn't learn their lesson the first time go back for a Masters.  Odds are you'll be back at your same job in 2 years in a state with lower pay.  Don't ask how I come up with these opinions, I just do.  Wise-acres.

After all of my berating you for your naivete, perhaps its time I give you some words of encouragement or guidance..........

No, I think not.  Don't get so mad!  After all, I'm in the same boat.  Even worse, sometimes I think about getting my PhD (shudder).

OK, well maybe a little hint.  Stop thinking about your certain future without money; it's not going to make you happy anyways.  And if you want to save the world, well, your neighborhood is the best and most appropriate place to start.  Now get out there and be somebody, you champion.

This weeks pleasant, or should I say pheasant (heh heh) picture is brought to you by Chris Jordan.  This guy is an awesome photographer who is changing the way the world is introduced to our many problems.  This particular photo is one of many bird skeletons photographed on Midway island, the plastic remains from inside their stomachs were left completely unaltered, and come from birds scavenging or food amongst nearby trash heaps in the ocean.  The exhibit, along with the rest of Chris Jordan's work,  can be found here:  http://www.chrisjordan.com/gallery/epu/

Sermon on the Bun

Much has happened over the past couple of weeks and I have been neglecting my baby.  Despite this, I have a bunch o' topics I want to cover in the future- Oil spill, political ads, my summer reading list, crabs (not crabs, but maybe a treatise on generational repetitions).  But my dear bravers of the Deluge, there are more pressing matters to speak of at this moment.

My friends, I have just had what many would call a "religious" awakening, and I wish to write you of this new-found joy so that you may become my followers in this journey to paradise.  OH DON'T GO RUNNING AWAY, I JUST WANT TO TALK ABOUT A BURGER!  Now you've ruined the surprise.

It was last Thursday to be exact, and my wife and brother and I were off to dinner.  The idea was to go to Saw's BBQ in Homewood, but because of "Auburn Engineering", as my Dad would say, the roads down here tend to, well, it seems as if they tied a piece of chalk to a jack rabbits ass to plan the roads.  It being Auburn University, that may not be too outlandish of a statement.

So, I got lost.  No, I don't have a GPS.  It's amazing what people will buy these days in exchange for their free will.  While I was trying to get my bearings, I spotted an unassuming looking restaurant to my left, called HAMBURGER HEAVEN.  I asked the fam if they would like to try this HAMBURGER HEAVEN, and we all agreed to give it a shot.

I will say that for a long time in my journey I was unaware what was happening to me.  I was blind and angry at a substandard university's graduates who had left me no alternative.  When I got to the counter, the fact that the man at the register looked like a preacher didn't even occur to me at the time.  I was a little discouraged by the picture of Paula Deen at the register with their hamburger, still no clue.  As ignorant as I once was, only fate could bring me to such realization, such enlightenment.

Biting into my hamburger, it was as if the hand of God had reached down from the heavens and slapped my momma down (southern term, don't get confused).  As the commingling of ingredients hit my taste buds, my pupils dilated and my eyelids sagged.  It was what it had said in its name: HEAVEN.

Just look at the buttery halo!!! I do not lie!!!   I ate that sucker in 60 seconds.  Some of you might wonder why I wouldn't stop to savor it.  Well dumb dumb, it's like how tweakers say a shot of heroin in their veins lets them experience eternity.  It was just 60 seconds on this cheap planet, this mortal coil.  It was an eternity with the universe, all through this bovine beauty.

I left HAMBURGER HEAVEN dazed, three quarters tard.  But this is not the end of my story, oh-ho-no!  As I went to work that night, all I could think about was returning the next day, for such an experience does not leave you a free human being (some of you are laughing right now, and its beacuse I sold my free will for a meat sandwich, and for such cynicism and blasphemy, you will be sentenced to an eternity in suffering.  In hell, they don't char grill their burgers, they microwave them.  Oh, and they're also vegan friendly.  Who's laughing now, you wangs!).  All night I drooled and drooled.  I also had a substandard breakfast to stave of my hunger.  I felt like a whore.  It was my lowest moment.  But HEAVEN would be calling soon.

As dinner time arrived, I was actually traveling the road to Damascus when a flash of light knocked my off my ass.  I saw THE burger in the sky, and it spoke to me, saying "John-Pierce of Fairhope, Alabama.  Why do you resist me?"  I cried a little, and at some point I realized I was driving in my car, and I could see HAMBURGER HEAVEN in the distance.  The sky turned lavender with the rays of the sun turning blood red.  I saw a row of cows bowing before the restaurant, I'm sorry, the temple.  They we're chanting something like "MOOOOOOO!  MOOOOOOO!".  I might not be 100% on that one, but I think that's what they said.  As I approached the temple, I glided across the floor where I was greeted at the counter by my Burger Bodhisattva.  I picked up the Grail in my hands, and I partook of its splendor.  At that moment, a revelation was bestowed upon me, and it was this truth:  I will never be a vegetarian.

Below you can see a "lustier" version of my message.  Children, cover your eyes!

Thank you for your time, and I'm glad I could share with you this important discovery.  Now for some announcements:

Love is a snowmobile racing across the tundra and then suddenly it flips over, pinning you underneath. At night, the ice weasels come.- Matt Groening

So you read this far, one more thing.  My buddy just launched a website for studying, teaching, volunteering, and working overseas.  Do visit his site, and tell anyone about it who might be interested.  I'd put up a photo of my friend for all the single ladies who like a man who makes money, but he looks like a child pornographer.  I'll just post the website here:  http://www.gooverseas.com/
Go visit!

Orpheus of Birmingham

Here I am in Birmingham Alabama.  Why am I here?  Don't ask such complex questions, for starters.

For a lot of people I know, this place would not be their cup of tea.  I also imagine that for a lot of people who know me, they wouldn't expect me to like it here much either.  Everything here kind of goes against my personality.  People here are often set in their ways and change seldom rears its beautiful head.  You can blame that on reconstruction.  After experiencing that, who would like any new idea?  Though I am originally from this state of place and mind, I am obviously of different life experience and perspective.  I get impatient at strangers who want to talk all day to me.  I dress different than most white men down here, and I don't refrain from cussing around women.  I also find the politics down here to be slightly more juvenile than they were in Illinois (hard to imagine, but true).  The worst of it is that the air down here actually parts my hair, I mean it actually makes it look on purpose most of the time.  I cant stand that!  But in spite of all of these things, I really like it down here.  I really do.  Let me give you a little info on this fine town.

The city of Birmingham has a lot of faces.  The face of the civil rights movement is seen in its downtown environment.  Literally the only reason to be in this part of town is to visit the civil rights museum, and maybe to speculate at the co-mingling of tall buildings, abandoned buildings, and under-developed land (Henry George help us).  It takes all of five minutes to realize the only white people down here are either headed to a business meeting, or lost tourists.  Where did they all go, you say?  Well that can be seen by anyone on highway 280 during evening rush hour.  This strip of prominence is classic white man's land.  The further east you drive to get home on this road likely correlates with your declining desire to pay taxes.  I myself actually live close to downtown on 280 with those too wealthy to care.  I moved here for 4 reasons: the area is a small community of 3 "village centers" that I thought my wife would like to explore, its just down the street from the zoo and botanical gardens, other than the golf course (I hate golf courses, worst thing to come out of Scotland) nature here seems to expand unfettered, and there is a killer whiskey bar nearby.  

Trendy five points for me carries the face of its patron saint, Courtney Cox, so I don't often associate with the area.  Unless of course this involves a trip to the blue monkey, a bar with sleazy lounges, generous martinis, and extra olives.  The rest of the city is a convoluted mess of roads interspersed with small town growth and shady forests.  The one thing I have left out here though is the one face that speaks for the city as a whole.  Martin Luther Ki.  Yeah right.  Go to Selma for that one.

The city if Birmingham is bisected by a long ridge running east-west.  The ridge only has one hole in it in fact, and that's the hole white people had to blast out of it to escape to the south.  In the middle of this ridge, perched as the master of the city, stands a 57 foot statue of the god Vulcan.  Why?  Well you're about to find out.  The god of the christian city of Birmingham, Vulcan, is a monument to the rapid growth of the steel industry that gave birth to Birmingham at the end of the 19th century.  Before then, Birmingham was just a smattering of small towns connected by interstate highways.  The city dedicates its existence to the steel industry established here, which a had an effect on the city similar to sticking a hose in the mouth of a squid.  I say squid here because the steel industry, while in its hay day, also covered everything in black soot.  Ah yes!  Fresh black soot!!!

Nowadays, the city has winded down since the decline of the steel industry in the 1970's.  There's no more soot, thank God, but good old Vulcan still looms over the city, reminding many what they would like it to be once again: a cash cow.  However, much of the opportunity has gone to Birmingham's ugly sister Atlanta (ugly because she was the burn victim of arson when she was a child).  Atlanta got the big airport.  Atlanta got the Olympics.  Atlanta got the Ying-Yang Twins, and the list goes on and on.  All the while, Birmingham has acted hamstrung over the decades concerning the skeletons in their closet and what to do about them.

Lets be honest.  Blacks and whites down here don't agree on anything, save Jesus.  It's not the overt racism of Birmingham's past, nor is it really all about the covert racism so prominent in cities like Chicago.  It really all boils down to the fact that neither group likes how the other behaves.  It's more of a cultural issue, really, than anything else.  And before fingers start flying, lets get something straight.  The intolerance is fueled by both sides in this matter.  It is true that the whites have most of the money in Birmingham, but the blacks hold the political power, and have done so for some time. The whites want Birmingham to be the city of old, with unbridled (untaxed) economic growth, while blacks want their piece of the pie (taxes).  Amidst all the wealth and beauty, no one feels like they have enough, and most people are used to murmuring comments concerning the behavior of the other color in public.  All Vulcan does is serve as a bad reminder, and a poor example of prosperity.  Who wants their role model to be some guy who stands around and admires his shaft all day anyways?

I say we throw Vulcan over the side, and into the deluge.  Leave him to his fate.  But in turn we need someone to replace him.  Let's keep it Greek, but lets not make him a god.  How about just a good role model?  Greek, mortal, role model, dammit J.P., who could possibly fit such a bill?!?!

A month ago I was leaving church with my brother, and while driving home we were arguing this very issue of racial relations in Birmingham.  It was your classic debate over these issues, and to my shame I will admit that I might have quoted Gandhi.  It was heated.  As the conversation turned into an argument, something caught both of our eyes at the approaching intersection.  Both of us stared in silence as a black man struggled to move his dead car out of the way of traffic.  The thought crossed my mind to do something, but I was in the left lane and w... ok, I'm a bastard.  Happy?  But I was looking to see if he was going to be all right when a black SUV stopped behind him, and out came a white man and his three kids, ready to help this man move his car to safety.  Given the conversation we were having, we were speechless over what we saw for quite some time.  I got a little emotional as well (It was manly, damn you).

When Odysseus left whatever island he left where his men were turned into pigs, he was warned about the harpies he would come across on his journey.  When he and his men finally encountered them, great efforts of reason were attempted by the men to keep themselves from the influence of their music.  But this did not stop their temptation, and they gave in to the music of the harpies, drifting ever closer to meeting the fate of so many people before them.  Then a sound came from the opposite direction, playing an even more beautiful tune.  This music, played by Orpheus, was what saved them from their doom.  Orpheus had realized that debating the pros and cons over the struggle against the harpies was of no use.  Human emotion acts on such a faster level than human reasoning.  When consensus is sought, well, no one lives long enough to achieve true consensus.  Only a different tune would work at this moment; an action that was more desirable than the temptation they wrestled with.  Influence is a powerful thing.

A statue of Orpheus would serve as a reminder of this.  Not a god or monster, Orpheus serves to us the idea that racism can be resisted.  There really is no use debating who is wrong in the issue.  The only thing that will save humanity from racism is a different tune, one of good examples that encourage us to improve our behavior by improving the lot of others in life.  I was blessed to see what happened on the road that day, and I hope that this story will somehow become a part of why I moved to Birmingham.

"We live in a universe not of clocks but of clouds" - Jonah Lehrer, Wired Magazine

The full article, "Breaking Things Down to Particles Blinds Scientists to Big Picture", can be found here:  http://tinyurl.com/27usx3q

The Left Fielder

It's April....no, May. April's too wet. That's what she said.

It's May, a perfect 79 degrees Fahrenheit at the old ball park of Anytown USA, with not a cloud in the sky. Today is the day that the little league fans have been waiting for with anticipation all year: The good ol' crosstown rivalry between the Yankees (in blue) and the Reds (well, lets not be redundant). The Yankees, by far the crowd favorite (parents of the Reds live across town and prefer making meth, bail, and more children than necessary to finding a ride to the affluent side of town to watch their kids lose and get gawked at by the other parents) take the field. As the five foot scrappers in blue make their way out to their positions, the crowd lets out many excited cheers.

This town has got something to be proud of in these kids, these heroes of America. The first baseman is reliable, with exceptional hand eye coordination and a foot that won't leave the bag on a stretch. The second baseman is quite lovable, a little goofy, but he knows how to be a team player. Shortstop is the position of the most handsome 9 year old to ever play the game. He's gonna break a lot of hearts someday (not to mention a lot of hy.... I'll keep it PG). Third base is played by the bad boy, who won't hesitate to bust a kid in the mouth with his glove if necessary. The pitcher does have a problem with hookers, but the crowd loves him just the same. Cathcer is played by an immigrant boy, whom the team cherishes as a wonderful example of the American can-do spirit. In right field is ol' gangly boy. Already standing at 5'4", nothing gets past him. In center field the contemplative one takes a firm stand of reliance and solitude. Did I mention he's also never dropped a ball? The odds of winning the pennant this year are likely, as this team has everything going for it, and all of them are exceptional at bat. That is, except for the F*&king left fielder.

Way out in left field, where no one ever looks, especialy if a ball is hit that way, stands the one weakness in the team. Stunted at 4'5", he's a sickly looking boy with brown teeth, bottlecap glasses, limp arms, and an affinity for facing the back gate of the field and picking away at his wedgie. Poorly coordinated and with a terrible work ethic, this boy was placed out in left for a reason: These nine year-olds seldom hit the ball that far. His parents, at the suggestion of their friends who thought he needed to make friends, signed him up for this. To make an excuse for the coach who chose him, no one knew this kid would be so bad. I mean he's real bad. Can't even field a grounder without falling over bad. God, he sucks.

The team tries their best to make up for their weakness by shoving him in the back corner and moving the center fielder over to compensate. But still, every now and then someone is going to hit the ball right at him. You can literally count how many times the ball was hit his way by the number of team errors posted after each game. To make things worse, he has no social skills. During the times the team sits in the dugout, he wanders off to talk to the opponents in the middle of the game. The coach is even beginning to get suspicious about his wandering off to talk with the other team. Did the other coaches plant a spy in his team. I'll bet they did. Oh no! He's talking to the left fielder of the Reds right now. This kid is a double for sure, nothing else explains how bad he is. The worst thing is, there's no way to get rid of him. This isn't like Nam, where you can send him into a tunnel where Charlie is waiting, telling him its already been cleared for explosives.

Way out there in left field, he stands tired and depressed. The pitcher's mom picked him up for the game, and he squints to see if either of his parents made it and are sitting in the stands. Probably not. The sun is high and getting into his glasses. It burns. He's sweating and uncomfortable, wishing he was home with his book, or visiting his grandparents. He knows good and well what his other teammates think of him. Its not like they try to hide it. When he tries to make friends with the only people who might not judge him, the other team, the coach yells at him and makes him run laps after the game. "Why am I out here?" he asks the sky. "Why can't I be doing something that makes me happy? Why don't I have any friends?"

As he ponders these complexities of life and hoping the victory hot dog at the end of the game doesn't make him sick again, he hears a loud *CRACK* behind him. He turns around just in time to see the ball soar sky high his way. The crowd lets out a cry of anguish. He tries to track the ball, but the sun catches his glasses and he's blinded. He trips on something and lands on his knees, no longer able to follow the ball. He closes his eyes and wishes "please just this once", as he reaches his open glove as far as he can above his head. He hears a *THWAP*. His hand closes around something firm. He looks. It's the ball. A girlish scream of ecstasy is emitted by the coach. The crowd follows.

Its the top of the 5th (as I recall they don't play the full 9 until later in life), and his catch has just saved the team from the Reds hitting a grand slam. They've won the game, no need to bat again. USA! USA! USA! How in the hell did he catch that ball?

The left fielder stands alone in the field, bewildered at the turn of events. He's now a hero. The team wants to take him up on their shoulders and later feed him a bunch of gross ass hot dogs. But he's just standing there staring at the ball in his glove, way out in left field. He thinks about how they've all treated him, and how they'll likely treat him again after a couple more practices reassure it was just a fluke. He knows that he's about to receive one hour of the emotion and inclusion he has yearned for his whole life. But after that it will be gone forever. Is it worth it to be hero for a day, only to be placed at the bottom again? Won't it just hurt more to have appreciation and lose it again, than to have never had it at all? There's a lot of deep questions this kid is asking himself. He looks back at the fence. There's a small gate at the back, and he could easily leave the field and walk home to his sweet isolation. He begins to take his left hand to his glove to grab the ball and throw it back, but he stops himself. "Should I even throw it back?", he wonders. He looks at the ball.

Should he even throw it back?
 

Here's to the kings and queens of summer.

Shoot Gandhi - Hitler, when approached by Lord Halifax in 1937, who wished to seek his advice on the matter of India's protest to British Rule.

An End to Wind

DISCLAIMER: Being a person who has moved frequently, I have always characterized geographical locations not by their true nature, but purely by my own existential experiences. I imagine these experiences can be replicated in any place, given the proper life perspective of the person at that time, so this doesn't mean my judgment is one of consensus in the least, nor should it. With this understanding, it will be easier for you to write off everything you read in the next 5 minutes. Ahem...

Chicago, you are officially 235 pounds lighter.

It been a long time coming that I would write this goodbye letter to you. I have known of my leaving for the past two months, planning it for the past year, and yet it took me awhile to find the right words to say. Lets start with you.

You, Chicago, are a city with no comparison. Your stunning architecture and cultural history are only outmatched by your food (and kung-fu treachery). Millions have flocked to your promise, and while you have turned away many, multitudes have found solace at your teat. You are truly a city with a rough past, incredible milestones in human achievement, and a rough future.

For me, I will always look back on the past and think fondly of you. A certain picture with my Dad in Grant Park when I was two will always symbolize a simpler time for me, and perhaps for much of the world to come. Upon returning from my year abroad, I was riddled with uncertainty concerning the modernity surrounding me. You were the city that gave me desires to rekindle my love for the United States. Most of the women I have loved have been involved with you in some way, and have painted their personalities into your winds, your waves, and your noise. My time living inside of you on both occasions signifies much inner development and growth. You were the place I decided that I could live my life with someone forever, the place I began to realize how much harder it is to change another person than it is to change ones' self, and the place where I enjoyed being hung over the most. And if it weren't for all of this, then I would write you off in a new york minute.

Chicago, now I know when it comes to peoples' problems with you, the line stretches to Springfield. All the complaining about the corruption, segregation, poverty, and presence of that ghastly red blemish of a building in the skyline (my personal pet peeve) can make you resistant to listen. But I implore you to hear me out, to listen to my measure of you, and where I have found you wanting.

Now I am not a perfect person, by individual nor community standards. When it comes to life's lessons, I learn the hard way, and I prefer it that way. Maybe in this, Chicago, we have much in common. Returning to you to spend two more years of my life was a no-brainer at the time. I was still very excited with the offers and opportunities you had. I felt called to learn about social justice more deeply, and in your setting, I felt that I would benefit greatly. Sadly I was mistaken.

See, you as a city have been characterized by your windiness. The tourists thinks it means not to visit in the winter season (September-June). The locals, too dense to leave in the winter, believe the meaning to be indicative of the time honored political behavior of the city. But I believe there is more. I sat for two years in a very old and very pretty building, across from a Bentley dealership, in the richest zip code in the U.S. of A. In that building, I sat for hours, listening, lets be honest, sometimes listening to what people my senior had to say about this situation "out there" and how to change it. When I wasn't in this building, I was in another building further downtown with people even more my senior, scheming and paying lip-service to an organizational zeitgeist. I would follow in public displays of advocacy and protest, all the time watching and looking to learn from these experiences. Occasionally, I would have a meal, maybe a little ripple, with a friend affiliated with Chicago's social justice movements, and every time exhaustion, frustration, and a growing sense of apathy led the conversation. I watched as white liberals, in efforts to stifle corporate growth, stifled black liberals instead. I watched lost people speak as if they had ever actually had an answer in their life (myself included). I watched a surprisingly visible wind engulf the city in its fleeting hope, its torrential capriciousness, its malice and pain.

Chicago, if anything can be said of you, its that you can make a fool out of the wisest of all of us. The promise of change is there, then gone with the wind. The promise of an enjoyable life is there; gone, with the wind. Again and again what seems achievable is only a mirage, and one slowly begins to understand why so many are so attracted to your siren call, and dashed onto your rocks. Again, many love you Chicago and will never consider leaving you, which for those kind of people is a fitting fate (not talking about everyone, simmer). But I'm not here to hate. I am just as foolish and lost. But the only difference now is that I know differently, and I've decided to search elsewhere for an answer.

With this, I must take my leave. I am likely to be back time and again, and though much good comes from your existence, the evil and death of dreams was choking me. Even though I feel my destiny in leaving will be much like that of Roland the Gunslinger, this is my path. As I end my words to you, let me give you a glimmer of hope about returning to the center of my heart: I will always love you more than Ft. Collins, CO. Not saying much, but that's the best I can do for now. Until next time, mon ami.



Richard, I'd like to agree, in that the existence of God is not probable. But why, exactly, if there is no God, and human and universal chaos run the show, do I have a single reason to stop worrying?

If there is no God, then everything is lawful - Ivan Fyodorovich Karamazov

An Open Letter to Humanity on the Meaning of Easter, by Charon (the FERRYman).

Dear world,

You know who I am, and I'm damned sure(heh heh)that I'll know all of you eventually. I gotta say though, that eventuality isn't really a positive. I've been around quite awhile, and one thing that I can tell certainly about all you overworlders is that your manners are getting progressively worse. It used to be quite a contemplative thing for you people to die, and that usually meant that you'd be respectful and shut up for most of the ride. But somehow its changed into this "I'm dead, now I guess I can do whatever I want", and you've been coming down here acting like you own the place. I'll tell you this, being dead ain't no pleasure cruise. This river stinks. Like shit!

I think it all started with Hercules, when he got away with bending me over my own stern (don't laugh) on his way to have words with Hades. Then there was that Jesus character. First time he came to me he had nothin', not even a lousy coin. When I asked him just how he was gonna pay, he told me my reward would be in heaven. Now I'm no pushover, but I believed him, especially if it meant taking him across would get me outta here. The next day I was beginning to regret my decision when he just happened to show up again and ask me for a ride back over. I asked him about that payment from last time and he just shrugged his shoulders and walked, WALKED across the river! What a specimen of human "holier than thou" that guy was (more on him later). I thought it wouldn't get any worse with you all until Peter the Great showed up. Lit my beard on fire and kicked me in the ass that one did. Bertrand Russell? Flipped his shit and flipped my boat in the process. But the worst by far was that no good lousy Rodney Dangerfield. I could hear him from a mile away, and as soon as he made it down here, he goes "Hey hey hey, who are you? You look more miserable than a chinaman in a crypt" (which I've seen and I can tell you this is not the case. That's pretty miserable looking). I said, no sir I'm Charon the Ferryman and I provide the service of crossing this river into the underworld, for a nominal fee of course. The fat bozo says "Fairyman eh, where I come from they call you people lady-boys! Heh, you got a drink on this sinkhole?". So now I've got to go around making sure everyone understands that I'm a ferry man, not a fairy man. It just keeps getting worse. I get no respect!

I mean I really can't stand you people. And if it weren't for your deaths providing the only attainable meaning my life, I'd do away with this whole agreement altogether. What, do you think I even need coins? Where am I going to spend them, huh!?! On my paid holiday in Boca?!?! I don't know if you noticed, but my body is literally fused to the ship. There is no leaving. Even if there was, have you met my boss? He gets cantankerous enough when you ask for a smoke break, and you should see what he does to the people down here who try to unionize. I don't even know who got this idea that all I like is coins, as if I were some miserable Jewish stereotype. Actually, my mother was second cousins to Abraham, and my father was Armenian, but were getting off topic. Alls I'm saying is that flowers would be nice every once in a while, maybe even a thank you card, one with a audio message maybe?

Back to the whole "your dying providing me with a job part". This is what I wanted to talk about in the first place. SO sorry i took an opportunity to get MY opinion out about life, and you had to read it. Where was I? You see, back to this Jesus fella, he started something that is really going screw things up for me. This is a perfect example of you humans and the insensitivity towards those you don't see every day. Think about this: what will happen if what Jesus did on Easter actually comes about to occur to everyone? Happiness? Fulfillment? For you, not so much you, but you ma'am, yes for you. Not for me though. Do you have any idea what having everyone cross this river back to overworld, then most of them back again, only to end the occurrence of human death is going to do to me!!!!! Think of all the infrastructure preparation alone, only to have it come crashing down. And its not like I can build a snack stand down here to provide any retirement cushion. All I've got down here is rocks!!! And shit!!!

To think some of you actually pray for this outcome. It enough to make me bust a rivet! And as if it couldn't get worse, scientists are planning to one up ol' river skipper by eliminating death within' the next hundred years. Hundred years! That's like a nap for me. You really need to start thinking about what you want as an end goal for life. I know I've though about it plenty, and as much as I hate shouldering you sacks of gas, I need a job!!! Is it worth what you want to put me out of work and meaning. I'd be forced to become a nihilist. I might even get daring enough to sail down the river in search for something else. Not a better alternative when you remember that I live in Greece, where you know your close to civilization when the air smells of meat closets. As bad as this already is, please don't doom me to such a fate.

What did I ever do to you to deserve such an outcome? Never did I make you swim. I even would make a couple of unnecessary turns in my route to prolong the trip for those who were really sad about having died. I guess I couldn't ask you to stop trying to live forever, could I? Death isn't so bad. Its actually quite beautiful in some ways, and for those who long for permanence, well this is as permanent as it gets. All I'm asking is you consider it. Don't leave me here all by myself in the dark. I need you.

-Charon

P.S.- by the way, thanks for naming a moon after me, especially one that revolves around an non-planet. You people really are the worst.

Who Christens a Shipwreck?

Ummm, I'm kinda nervous about this whole blog thing, but Mom says I shouldn't be because I'm a good writer. Welp, here goes.
*or*
If you are a LIBERAL PROGRESSIVE, then you can LEAVE this blog IMMEDIATELY!!!
*or*
Omigosh could you imagine what would happen if Orlando Bloom was to be the new Batman? Stop my beating heart!

I know what you're thinking: 'Bout time that J.P. Smith started his first blog and let us really know what he thin...... That's not what you were thinking?
.......
dammit.
...........
ah, dammit.

Well what were you thinking? I'd sure like to know, now that my ego has been teased like a pubescent boy at a lyrical dance recital. You know what? Save it. If I was in the listenin' business, the I would've bought a telephone. Yeah. Wouldn't have made much sense to have started this blog if I was in the listenin' business. Since you're already here, you might as well stay. Let's see if we can assemble a flotsam and swim on out of this mess. This is my blog (applause).

What do you want to know about this doomed voyage? Let's consider the sham title. Après Moi, le Déluge. Is it pretentious enough? I knew you'd love it. I used this a the title, not because I identify with Louis XV (though he is a snappy dresser), but because I think what he was implying way back in the 17whenevers also applies to our current state of affairs around the world. For tea party enthusiasts, or tea baggers, it's Après Obama, Thé Deluge. For environmentalists, it's Après le Déluge, Que? QUE?!? For the scientists at CERN, it's Après l'accélérateur de particule travaille enfin, obtenons-nous un parti de mousse (yes, they did)? You get the point, right? Things are changing fast, and it seems that Bob Dylan wrote his iconic song too early. Now someone has got to arise to the challenge of ringing the town bell after some ass hat already cried wolf, or after the British had already come, surprisingly with pleasant intentions, mostly wanted to catch up, eat decent food, and now I'm lost. CONCERNED READER: But J.P., doesn't your title's foreboding message and ominous red wave allude to negative feelings about coming changes? Slow down, Missy (Only women would have the patience to read all this air). You're getting way ahead of me here.

So in a nutshell, this will be my first public venture into my take on social issues (J.P., you've been anything but private). In hoping that I don't make any enemies (J.P., you've assuredly done that by now), my message will be laced with my charming and delectable plain speak (I give up). Three things I will promise you:
1. I will do my very best to not waste your time, though this is probably what you were looking to do in the first place.
2. No black jokes.
3. If after all my attempts to be interesting I fail, at least scroll to the bottom of my post for inspirational and insightful picture and quote that I will be adding to each of my weekly failures in public notoriety.

Welcome on the maiden voyage of this journey into death, life, and more platitudes. Please check back every so often. I really do appreciate your involvement. INQUISITIVE BUSYBODY: But wait, J.P. There's so much more you haven't told us! Like, why did you choose a Times New Roman font for your layout? Mister, now you're being pushy (there's a man reading my blog?!?!?!).


Above: Graphic concept of London's 2012 Olympic Tower. The architect of the project says the tower is meant to be giant rendering of London's Heathrow Airport

Quote of the week: “The true measure of a man is how he treats someone who can do him absolutely no good.” -Samuel Johnson