Consider this...deeply...

I know I am only one of a few who think that social media on electronic devices signal the end of life, as we know it.  I know I am only one of a few who argue that while Facebook says they will have a billion users by the end of this year, how many of those are truly unique, individual, legitimate users?  Arguably half, if not less than that.  I know I am only one of a few who think that interpersonal skills are now relegated to your ability to decipher text messages or tweets.  I know I now sound like my parents did when I was young and the Commodore 64 came out.

I don’t think the internet and all it encompasses should go the way of the “beta machine”.  I just think that like everything else in our society, conscientious moderation could go a very long way in keeping our conversations, involvement, and desire to genuinely connect to another human being, as a staple of our way of life.  Fracking for natural gas sounds like a good idea, but let’s deeply consider the long-term consequences.  Facebook sounds like a good idea, but let’s deeply consider…

While home visiting my family for the holidays, I asked my nephew how school was going, what was he learning, and generally how was life as a second grader.  He mentioned learning cursive in class and having a not so terribly good time in doing so.  I laughed and wondered out loud what was the point of learning to write in a manner, which seems as archaic now as hieroglyphics?  When was the last time you actually wrote something, let alone in cursive?  I don’t blame social media entirely for this, but if it is still being taught in school, where does it stop being used in life?  Do we no longer have to fill things out by hand?  I loved that he was being taught the curves and swoops of a “Q”, the loops and dangles of a cursive “Z”, but then I realized he would quickly forget all of that, because he is growing up in a world where he will never actually write a letter. 

I left the house ready to tackle the track and breathe in some of this beautiful winter air we are having.  I walked for about 45 minutes around the track, passing parents and toddlers, elderly folk out for a stroll, dogs running with tongues tangling and tails wagging, and the sun beating down gloriously on all of us.  I finished my walk, drove to a coffee shop with hopes of getting some work done.  Inside it was filled with people deep in computers, writing, reading, and listening, some folks talking.  Not a place to sit.  I got my coffee and went outside where I sat at the only available table.  It was too warm out, so I drove home.  I got home and went to wash my hands.  I saw on my face a rather sizeable chunk of toothpaste dried and caked onto my chin.  Now I don’t blame Facebook for the toothpaste being there, but I have to wonder how I could have been engaged in the world and had at minimum 50 people walk within feet of me and not one of them gave the subtle “you have something on your chin” signal. 

Great ideas and bandwagon enthusiasm isn’t always a good thing.  Just considering it all…deeply.

Happy Fucking New Year

I went to bed at 10 p.m. on New Year’s Eve, suffering from a miserable sinus infection.  I awoke in the New Year at 7:30 a.m. feeling rested, but not necessarily better in the head (that’s a whole year long series of blogs in and of itself).  But determined to start 2012 on the right foot, I eased out of bed and began a morning of forced smiling and humming, cleaning and arranging, sipping coffee and skipping around.  Choosing to acknowledge the pain in my head and then moving along choosing to ignore it.

I decided late in the morning to get out, go for a nice long walk to enjoy the unusually warm day, catch up on a podcast, and perhaps help move along the clogged up headspace.

As I rounded the corner to the final stretch of my couple mile stroll, I noticed a man about 50 yards ahead of me sort of stutter stepping his way along, right hand on his bum as though he fell and was nursing a bruise.  The man was either recovering from a night he won’t soon remember or sadly a person who chooses to celebrate every hour of every day, New Year’s Day no special exception.

I kept my distance slowing my pace down as to avoid any unnecessary confrontation or awkward conversation.  My ears hadn’t quite cleared from the plane ride back west, so not only was the podcast being absorbed through tin can ears, my desire to have a conversation with anyone hadn’t been on my mind.  The walk, while refreshing for the fat that has seemed to find its way around my midsection, didn’t do a heck of a lot for my pounding head.

The gentleman started crossing the four-lane street ahead of the green man giving his permission.  I looked in both directions, hoping to not only have to talk to anyone, but also that everyone was paying attention so that I didn’t have to provide Discovery Channel medical assistance to this man dangerously crossing the road.  He was fine, people were paying attention and halfway across the road, the little green man appeared making everything all right.

I started to cross the street myself, now perhaps 10 feet from this gentleman.  I have resumed my clipped pace, hoping another loss of ten calories would encourage my nose to lose some of its infected snotty weight as well.  And in those final 20 steps or so of crossing the road, passing him, entering the final stretch home, I witnessed the following:

As the sun beamed bright, the traffic was lighter than normal, more people in my periphery out and about walking, I see this gentleman 10 feet to my northwest put his hand down the back of his pants, continuing to shuffle across the road, pull his hand out and in one graceful flick of the wrist a pile of shit landed on the sidewalk.

He shit in his own hand.  And with a grace and ease of practice, flicked said shit out of his way and dangerously close to my path home.

Hello 2012.  You could have waited a day.  Shitting in my general direction already?  Challenge accepted.

Etiguette for Blogging or My Relationship History

I made a discovery last night in the carpool lane.  My feelings on blog etiquette are frighteningly close to my participation in relationships.  Coincidence or merely late night ramblings of the mind after a long day’s work? 

I read my fair share of blogs, but find myself still attached to form and journalistic approach.  Blogs, as is the case with mine, can often be rambling without a clear progression or even sometimes thought.  I like the beginning, middle and end philosophy on writing.  Perhaps because my attention span is nearing that of a small gnat who just happily landed on the rim of a soda can and is enjoying the sweet nectar of caffeine.  Imagine the ocean of joy that gnat is experiencing.  I digress.

Blogs should have an introduction; something clever to suggest to the reader that what is still to come is going to be worth your time.  Stick around and you’ll get something out of this.  A bit like a pick-up line, only less pointed.  A teaser if you will.  No more than a couple of sentences long, perhaps the length of a solid paragraph.  Any more than that, then you get the sense the writer is still fumbling with how to transition into the meaning of the story.

And so should or have my relationships begun this way.  Something clever, short, a bit quirky yet charming, something enough to keep you around wanting more.  But not long enough so that you see I am just awkward and fumbling with how to transition into the meaning of my attention.

Once the formal introduction has been made, off the blog goes, as well as the relationship, into the argument stage.  Or what I like to call the “period in which I say something you inevitably will use to punish me with later”.  It’s the politician curse where you never really say anything definitive or clear, for fear that someone will ask you to stand by your words.  Flip-flopping I believe.  This phase can last a good period of time or fizzle out quickly, depending upon the power of the previous introduction.  If founded in something universal and connective, this “argument” phase can last through many variations on theme.  In the blog, upwards of five to eight solid paragraphs.  In relationships, well five to eight months. 

After the argument, we reach the end.  As a writer, one always hopes that by this point you have nothing left to do except casually thank the reader for sticking around this long and hope that one person “got it”.  Perhaps this end can be used to quickly summarize, make one final stand or point, but it is the end and there is no reason to linger, otherwise we would still be in the argument phase. 

As with blogging, relationship endings are eerily similar.  Not much left to say.  Thank you?  Perhaps a bit to callous, but given the circumstances of it being the end, summarizing probably won’t get you much more than a heavy sigh or a face smack. 

A beginning, middle and end. “It’s been real, it’s been fun, but it hasn’t been real fun.” (Actual quote from the end of one of my relationships, said by her to me with a handshake.)

Carmageddon-ship

As I sit here sipping coffee, on this unusually quiet Saturday morning, I am impressed at how well my often times angry city has handled the closure of the singularly most important thoroughfare through Los Angeles.  Sure, there was a whole lot of bitching and moaning leading up to this weekend, but here we are and by all accounts Sigalert has let us know that “Carmeggadon” just didn’t happen.  Which gives me a renewed sense of hope about the citizens of this city and moreover, this country.

Since our last election, the news cycle has centered around ousting Obama, repealing health care, making the tax cuts permanent and generally disregarding the vast majority of citizens as people who are the lifeblood of this country.  See, if you don’t have wealth, you have no power.  And with no power, you are an unheard voice in the country’s conversation.  Our country was founded upon principles and ideals that went against the European thinking, we wanted to be different, wanted more freedoms.  And yet, by creating so much freedom and lack of responsibility, what has happened is that we have bred a whole generation of citizen’s who have no understanding of their very important daily role in keeping our country afloat.

Many Europeans still have a class system.  This system is designed so that you have no delusion of grandeur that stops you from simply actively participating.  In other words, not everyone is going to be a scientist, or a high paid athlete, not everyone is going to college.  So the system is set up to make sure that everyone has equal parts of a chance to have a life and actively contribute to society.  Because when everyone is actively participating, you have a thriving economy, a just social system supporting the needs of the frail, elderly, and young, a system that polices itself, and a political system that stands on the periphery and answers directly to the people.  Sounds like I just made that up, doesn’t it? 

It’s very confusing what it means to be a good citizen in our country.  Citizen simply means a legal resident of a state or country.  It doesn’t entail much more than that.  And yet, it is the collective citizenship that makes a country succeed.  There are smarter and much more eloquent people who have written on this subject in the past decade, trying to figure out what is going wrong with our culture.  Is it technology?  Is it shear numbers?  Is it domination, world power, complacency in light of no drive or fear?  The questions are endless, the answers are few. 

The requirements of being a citizen in our country are shockingly few.  Pay taxes, show up for jury duty and abide by the laws.  Although a simple search will reveal a list of absolutely absurd laws still on the books (in Los Angeles it is illegal to bathe two children at the same time in a tub).  Other than the above requirements, I struggle to find the meaning behind what it is to be a good citizen. 

And yet, as I sit here today thankful that my city didn’t self-implode because a road got closed for a couple of days, I wonder if we have just lost sight of the fact that being a good citizen simply means you believe in the greater good for all and that sometimes when asked nicely, sacrificing isn’t all that difficult.  We need a little more revenue, so if you have a fuck ton of money, maybe you could sacrifice a bit of that to help out.  We have a shitty politician making decisions for themselves instead of their constituents, maybe we can take an hour to show up to the voting booth and make sure they don’t come back.  We have people starving and homeless, maybe we can donate a bit of food or clothing to help them stay warm and get healthy.  We have streets that need repaired, maybe we can ask our city council to stop making ridiculous sums of money to be a public servant and get that pothole fixed.

To be a good citizen, you have to understand the most important thing you can contribute is your voice.  Let nobody speak for you, because if we stop believing that we have the right to free speech, our silent voices will lead us nowhere.

Angrified

I was recently told that my writings tend to take on the tone of anger.  And while anger certainly defines what I feel, it isn’t necessarily a word I choose to describe what motivates me to write.  I would lean towards passionate, confused, saddened, and beaten.  Sometimes inspired, engaged, excited.  Whatever the word, whatever the subject, it all comes from the same place.

I sometimes feel afraid of this world.  The environment, the people, the way we have been conditioned to move.  I look at the world often times on the outside of collective consciousness and wonder why there isn’t more chaos.  I move through the day often times feeling saddened about the lack of contact and genuine connection.  I see a world some day’s that is teetering on the edge of collapse, because we simply have given over to much power to unnamed, no-faced people.

And then those moments of true joy and beauty.  A mother with her child, both with smiles that haven’t ceased since the day of birth.  A young couple, hand in hand, walking the aisles of the grocery store planning their next candlelit dinner.  A smile from a stranger or a thank you for holding open a door.

Each list is extensive and if happiness is truly a choice we have to make, then I suppose I tend to choose something else.  Perhaps what comes out and how you respond to what you read is as equally important as the intention.  Perhaps this tender bubble in which I live is made up of the same mechanisms you have and we just don’t know how to successfully come together.

But the point I try to make with each writing is that complacency, simple-mindedness, status quo are the very problems that run rampant through our culture.  And it is these problems that will ultimately bring down another empire.  And that makes me angry.  Because we have a voice.  Because we have a choice.  And we consistently avoid using either.  And I am confused as to why.

And while it may seem that I am angry or that I have strict rules about how I believe the world should be, what it really is, is that inside I do choose happiness and if only I could make sure that each one of us is allowed to experience the same.  But that’s impossible.  And impossibilities make me angry.

Complacency

I finally watched “Food Inc.” last night, having said to many a person over the past year that I had already seen it.  And in some ways I had already seen it because I have been studying and following this subject matter for many years.  And while this movie is both disgustingly honest in its reporting and inspiring in what can be changed and should be required viewing by all, it still seems as though most of the people in this country just don’t give a shit about this subject matter.

We have become a nation of fat, lazy, uninspired, uneducated, dangerously selfish, catered to persons.  Not everyone.  That is a rash judgment founded in nothing.  But a lot of people.  The movie didn’t necessarily teach me anything new, because I am interested in learning about where my food comes from, I am interested in learning about how money once again becomes the root of all decision making, regardless of the potential threat to human life.  What the movie did do however is spark in me an interest to understand the nature of complacency, how it came to be, and why no matter how many affordable alternatives are presented, people just don’t want to change.

One need only type in a simple search term and millions of results come up talking about the epidemic of diabetes in this country in our youth.  A trend that didn’t exist 50 years ago.  A staggering number of children have Type 2 diabetes, which doesn’t ever go away.  And it is directly attributed to the food they consume.  And the food they consume is directly attributed to what the parents feed them.

Nobody wants to blame the parents and parents are quite good about making excuses.  I was motivated to write this morning based on what one parent interviewed in the movie had to say about fast food.  She spoke of the cost, $11 to feed a family of four on the go with food that will fill them up versus going to the store and buying vegetables when they cost more.  You’ve heard this argument, fast food is easier, it is cheaper, and it fills you up.  But it fills you up with shit and gunk and fat and before you know it, hello diabetes and insulin shots.

This isn’t about blaming the producers of fast food.  They found a business model that works.  This is truly about blaming the parent.  It is their fault.  For being lazy and not being interested in what is the most important job they have, which is to raise a healthy child.  If you can’t afford to feed your child food that their body needs, you shouldn’t have children in the first place.  Forget religion; forget keeping the family name going.  You should be punished and held accountable for what you have done.

McDonald’s will change their menus so quickly if people stopped going there.  They would have to; otherwise they wouldn’t be in business.  Wal-Mart changed to non-GMO dairy products because their customers demanded it.  Consumers, parents, we all have the power to make change.  Even I want your child to be healthy and happy and I don’t even particularly like kids. 

You can afford to feed your family healthier food on $11 a meal.  You just have to take the time to do so.  Even if you are working three jobs to make ends meet, your responsibility as a parent is to those children.  Stop being complacent and get off your lazy asses and go to a grocery store, read a label, make a meal.  At the end of the day, it costs so much more to eat fast food than you realize because that cost is your child’s life.  What’s more important?  You have to decide.

F*&CKIN RAPTURE...Ahhhh......

Well.  It’s the day after and I’m still here.  And so are you.  Does that make me right and you wrong?  No, makes you a fucking idiot if you didn’t think today would come.  This rapture nonsense really has to make you wonder about the mental state of a lot of people.  Particularly people with hefty bank accounts.  If money can’t buy you happiness, can it at least buy you some common sense?

I don’t subscribe to any particular religious belief as is clearly evidenced by my free use of the word fuck.  Which by the way, not only means intercourse but also to treat someone unfairly or harshly or as a noun is someone who is annoying or contemptible, which is precisely why I chose to use it as part of my description.  If you, regardless of what religion you have stamped on your ticket to heaven, believe that one crazy old dude somewhere in the Midwest has intimate knowledge of the end of the world, then you are a fuck.  In my humble opinion.

I don’t begrudge anyone his or her personal beliefs in these matters, perhaps someone does know better than me.  At the same time, I can’t sit idly by and not question the sanity of these beliefs.  We don’t have to agree, but we do have to live on this planet together.  And in doing so, we have to conform to the idea that the collective conscious is what keeps order.  Saying that you “think” the world might end isn’t a solid foundation and yet, and YET, people still bought into this rapture nonsense.

What is it that certain individuals are lacking in their lives that they would sacrifice life savings to an individual who is clearly bat shit crazy?  I saw a newscast last evening where a woman said she felt terrible for those people who lost money to this guy.  I laughed, at her stupidity and at the person who lost the money in the first place.  Not because I am horrible, but because it is indicative of the kind of society we are currently living in, absolutely no responsibility on the back end for destructive decision-making.

I’m still here.  Enjoying a cup of coffee on this lovely if overcast southern California morning.  And you are still here too.  And so is the guy who made a fortune telling us the world was going to end last night.  But when asked at what time, he said in interview after interview, he just wasn’t sure.  One thing I am sure of, he’s a fuck.  And not the intercourse kind.