May 7,
May 12,
May 13,
May 14,
May 16,
May 18,
May 24,
May 25
Perhaps I'm getting a little morbid in my old age. Maybe I ask that question to myself everyday--to no avail, regardless. But anyway ...
I got a piece of paper in the mail today, or, at least, several pieces of paper. They say that I've been accepted to the University of Washington. I have mixed feelings about this. It's a slightly bitter victory when you can't win by playing fairly, so instead you play by the (unfair) rules to try to maximize your advantage. Because of a set of illogical parameters, I will be a "Husky" come late June. Someone else won't because I'm there.
It makes me wonder about scarcity of resources and such, maybe because I?m in a class (Econ 100) where I?m supposed to be thinking about those things. But--regardless of my skepticism, for the first time in a spell I feel the downhill inertia. I've found a logical home--it's here in Seattle, getting in-state tuition, paid for by the (dumbass, broke-dick) military, skating through days on a low-budget existence, wearing the same clothes every day--ones that I've trucked around with me and beaten up for up to five years running.
I read the newspaper every day, slowly, crossing out all adverbs and most adjectives--burn the journalists, I say, that tell me how I should think rather than just telling me what happened.
I spend days and weeks sifting through information, finding connections between line-items that may or may not be related, then deciphering their relationship to MDMA and Smirnoff "Raspberry Twists." Mix in a Styrofoam container full of "yummy" teriyaki and you?ve damn well got a straight-and-narrow existence on your hands. Read a book or two, manifest yourself as a peppy youngsta? in his ideal youth--shit, thar' some fuckin' college material right there.
Look at the happy post-adolescents sitting on the itchy, superbly-mown, green-green grass on campus. I push my internal fast-forward button and chuckle with irony when I see myself reading about communication theory on those same lawns while some other punk with a camera walks down those same sidewalks, sees me, and says the same thing, feeding his internal dialogue the same way I do.
Keep feeding the frenzy.
Well. I've been scraping my brain to find things to think about, but damn skippy there's just too much information out there sometimes.
Gee, I get to struggle with trying to determine the value of dreams, the value of economics (those capitalist pigs who, damnit, are logically correct in their bastardization of the earth and its inhabitants), the value of news (dear daddy Rumsfeld, oh my God), all the while pretending to care about the value of unemployment and the Mont-frickin'-gomery GI Bill.
But I'll start with the $10,000 worth of 15 minutes I had this morning. So-long story short... I was a dummy, messed up my unemployment insurance earning because my dumbass didn't know how much money I was making while I worked for this school newspaper, right. I'm choosing not to editorialize on the viciousness and decrepit state of that horrendous and poorly designed crap paper for now-that is a different story. But anyway, I get in trouble for filling some paperwork out incorrectly, and some cats decided I was frauding the government. Of all the times that I've actually frauded the government, this one was actually not intentional. I was just lazy. But anyway, so I get this other piece of paper that says I owe $2,000 in overpayments, plus I don't get any more money from the Man for the next six months. Ouch. So, I appeal, because I think that just because I'm stupid and lazy doesn't mean I shouldn't get any more money. This turns into a shenanigan, with postponed phone calls from judges and the like, while all the time I keep getting mail from my fan club, the unemployment agency, in the form of three to five letters per week telling me that despite being denied benefits for reason of fraud, I am also being denied benefits because of a "glitch" in the system that prevented my full-time student status from being recorded.
Where was I?
Oh, yeah, anyway, so the $2 thousand plus the half year absence totals to about $10 grand of lost money. Do I float about and wonder if it's actually mine or not, in that taxpayers have paid for it and all, and that the money I made while in the Navy was paid to me for being a pain in the ass anyway? Unanswerable questions this evening, let me tell you.
But.
I talked to the judge finally this morning for a whopping 15 minutes, most of which he was mumbling into a freakin' tape recorded statistics about the case and what exhibits showed what. And in the final moments... "I'll send you my written decision by mail. Good luck with your schooling, and take care. Bye."
And that was that. The largest financial conversation of my life so far, and I put the motherfucker on hold for five of the minutes while I was trying to figure out when winter quarter started. As if I knew! (January 5th, by the way.)
So this beheading thing... posted on the web? the same way I post things on the web? I don't know what to think about it. I will just pray that his soul finds peace.
Hmmm... ah, and my dear friends on the USS Abraham Lincoln are almost ready to start sea trials again. What a bitter, bitter place that ship is. They will miss the entire summer out on the water doing god knows what, in the name of protecting the US and its citizenry. I applaud the efforts of the crew who don't know any better, or those on board doing their jobs for college and family, for training or to see the world. But if I knew who the ones were who are shady, most likely the ones who make the decisions to destroy or waste, I would burn my words in their thoughts till death came slowly. Moral truth is not my place to judge, so I suppose when I say "destroy or waste," those words are simply placeholders for ideas which cannot be communicated 'cept in Heav'n or in Hell.
We did "inversions" today in Yoga, which meant being upside down. Boy did my countenance get rosy.
So East met West today at some random Grill in downtown Kirkland. In the Red Corner, we've got one set of values, and in the Blue Corner, another. Add a few rounded edges in between, a number of Tall Chairs and a few Short Ones, mix in Beer and Seafood, and we gots us a ShinDig. Did I mention that our old Bartender was there?
So some of us would like to talk about puking and not remembering some time that passed us by. Some of us would like to talk about getting married. Some of us used to live in Portland. And several people took the opportunity to ask "how do you know each other?"
Some of us work together, some of us don't work together. (Where was I going with this?)
So I had a dream last night that I joined the Russian army. No shit. I'd make this stuff up if I was that creative. Bones to me. Anyway, a friend and I had joined this army because the were defending Spain but not using any weapons that would get us or anyone else hurt, as opposed to the weapons the US, our home country, were using. So we were avoiding some American draft or something. It made total sense at the time, believe me.
So my buddy, he was taking helicopter flying lessons, and I remember being in his helicopter and being scared because we were in a line of helicopters in the sky, and they were all very close to each other. So we touch down, very close to a chain link fence. In fact, the spinning propellers come about four inches away from the fence. Next thing I know, some people in front of me think they're swift and are going to try to squeeze between the props and the fence. I watch two or three people run at that tiny crevice and get chewed up. Weird.
So it's fun meeting new people. It's a good chance to observe how other human beings live, how they think, what they believe the future holds on an individual and group level. Stuff like that. Sometimes, though, I feel like we're all talking to ourselves. Or maybe that we're transmitting information that doesn't quite get to the point of what we're talking about. Sometimes I wish I could have a person translate their words into what they mean to them, and then speak my language to me about what they mean--to them. Or something like that. Then "information" could become "knowledge." Or, from another school of thought, "data" could become "information." I often feel like I'm swimming in jello trying to understand the point--the point dammit!--of all this ruckus. All the while wondering if I am making any sense either. All of that gibberish I talk about aesthetics and anthromorphosizing (if it's not a word, make it one) and tent caterpillers. (I stopped using Microsoft Word because I got tired of it correcting my spelling errors.)
Errors! As if "spelling" had "errors." As if communication had some concrete front legs to stand on anyway. As if as if as if.
So I had sandwiches and coffee out on the grass park beyond the construction workers this afternoon. Lovely, sunny day. Good time to talk about economics and the "unfairness" of the market system. Minimum wage, anyone? Government subsidies on American-produced wine? It's all bad. Bring me back to ole' equilibrium, what the freakin' market will bear. Then call me a neo-Conservative, like that OxyCotin (sp?) guy, but without the tie or the radio show.
My feet hurt. Played a soccer game yesterday-the most popular game in the world, right?- btw, the Iraqis qualified for the World Cup yesterday. Good on 'em. So anyway, playing on dirt hurts my arches. And this chic, she kicked ass, gave me a couple good elbows to the sternum. By the time I recovered in order to kick her, something distracted me. Don't remember what. Maybe cloud formations. We lost 2-0. Not blaming anyone here. (cough cough, the goalie). Not like I did shit up front on offense anyway. Kept kicking the freakin' ball out of bounds. Stupid dirt pits in the fields. Grass, people. Medicinal grass.
Walked around Green Lake. Took pictures. Geese and ducks and stuff. Random, shaved dogs, usually very small, pulling dudes on their skateboards, panting. Well-behaved bitches. No snarling there. And a few poodles. And some of those dogs with the lumpy, fleshy faces. I used to sell calendars at a mall in Michigan with those dogs on them. Someday I'm sure I'll understand.
I had a dream last night that I was in a line for cafeteria food, I guess at some high school. There were three lines, moving at different speeds, depending on priviledge. The fastest moving line was the one with the guys who looked like fraternity brothers--they were pushing people in like cattle.
Next scene: I had my tray, and the lunch lady asked what I wanted. I looked through the steamed glass barrier and saw chocolate chip pancakes. I said - "chocolate chip pancakes." She picked some tongs up, picked up the food I'd pointed and at said, "that's meat." End of dream.
So I went on a road trip today, to the Golder Gardens--some beach-type deal in Ballard. Jumped a fence or two, walked along the railroad tracks, ate lunch on a log, saw two chubby girls, most likely age 16 or so, sporting bikinis and playing volleyball amongst themselves. Pink and paisly, they were. There were boats on the water. There were little kids who had dug a little waterhole and were playing in it. Very domestic.
An old friend of mine is getting married next weekend. I have photos of her from way back in the day. My how we've all changed since then. But, at least we all still love to dance.
Man, what a riot. I had to go through some of my old military records today, looking for measles vaccination records. I laughed when I found a part of my old psyche eval. "I, JO2 Ryan Hicks, promise not to hurt anyone else or myself ... " And so on it went. That's when they thought I was going crazy. I told the shipboard psychologist some strange things that day, I don't remember exactly what, but he ended up deciding I had a "schizoid" personality type. Good for fuckin' me. But, at least I managed through the next year or so, because the Man is now paying for my education. Which is what I needed the vaccination information for. Whew, there's a circle for you.
A random and fairly deep conversation came up today; something about war and death and stuff, things like that. And it ended more on a question than an answer, about whether it would be better to die or live through humiliation and torture. My thoughts are that it depends on the circumstances rather highly, but if there had to be a concrete answer for a concrete situation, I'd say it might be better to die. People hold on so strongly to life, at least in the cultures I've seen, that they take for granted its necessary arbitrariness. If people prepared for death upon learning of its occurence, they might have things more in order for when it happened. Families would be prepared at all times, under all circumstances to lose anyone or possible everyone. If love was the central bond in relationships, love would live on in the form of memory, which can be greatly more powerful than life itself. A handful of good memories can outlive generations of people, and do more good than humanly possible in a single existence.
The Mariners still suck. 12-22. Sheesh. I'm not even a native Washingtonian and I'm feeling the burn from those crackerjacks. Pood Edgar is playing his ass of, but bones to him for his effort. Then the basketball playoffs are boring. Those people are just too damn big. Raise the hoops, America. Raise the hoops.
So--all is quiet. I think I hear water in the distance. Nevermind, that's just traffic.
The center of attention
dressed in black, dressed in black,
smokes cigarettes by candlelight,
square hips, straight back
Leather boots and bare knees
focused stare, honest gaze
talks, and with right hand grabs your left wrist
discusses dancing while the music plays
Good times and lots of fun,
she just turned twenty-one.
Much of today was about thinking about what living space means. I can "rent" an apartment, "buy" a house, "own" land, etc ... But already I get stuck in part of those definitions. I think the most encompassing part of all of that lingo is that yes, I'd like to have somewhere I can come back to. I'd like to have somewhere I consider safe. But beyond that I run into trouble. I fight with myself about "ownership" all of the time -- it's a recurring theme. What does it mean when I "own" something? That someone else can't take it away? That, if I move my main place of residence I have a right to take it with me? That I can sell it to someone else so they can then "own" it? Hmmm... I wonder.
I guess I am constantly reviewing the possibility in my mind that I might have to move quickly to somewhere else. Everything I "own" might become null and void in case of fire, flood, or abduction. My most cherished items are my photographs. Other than those, I could leave most everything else behind. Every morning I remind myself that I should think of each day as a zero on the financial scale. All of my savings don't count. All of the material value of the things I've purchased become nothing. Each morning I try to remember to respect that the values of objects are in what I do with them, not how they look or whether I necessarily still own them the next moment. If I have any clothes that I would be upset if they got dirty, ripped, or lost, I throw them away. If I own anything breakable that would cause me to be upset if I break it, I give it away. For all of the musical equipment I've ever spent money on, the value of that money is in the time I've spent playing my music and the skills I've learned during that time, not that they themselves actually exist.
But that system of thinking is tough to translate to the idea of living space. My only stipulation might be, I'd like to live where I work (uh-huh, don't see that as being much of a factor any time soon), and I'd like to live where I spend most of my time functioning (ie, school).
I walked around a few houses and a condo today. $250,000. $350,000. $650,000! I have doubts whether I'll earn that much money in my entire lifetime, let alone exchange that kind of cash for living space anyway.
Went to a pizza joint, Wallingford Pizza House, today, situated somewhere between when I was at Target in Northgate and when I was back home again. They had these four gentlemen singing Croatian and other music, sort of like barbershop quartet style, and it was some of the best live music I've heard in some time. Whatever it was, be it vocal and body resonances or just plain practice, these four men sang together in some of the most inspiring harmonies I've ever heard. Whether it was "Duke of Earl" or some of the old Croatian love ballads, the sound of thier voices hit a nice resonance over really good pizza and a "Red Menace."
Too bad for the poor bastard waiter. It was a small joint, looked like only two people working, plus the cooks, and the place was full -- standing room only. Evidently the red sauce for the pasta needed to be "retrieved," so one of the diners at our table was left hungry and yes, waiting patiently for his strawberry lemonade.
So I got the measles shot; therefore letting me register for classes. Well, problem. All of the classes in the communications field are closed. And I can't take business classes until I get Econ 200 done. And the photography classes are closed. Ummm, lady, can I get into COM 359. ummm ... nope, sorry, full. #5 on waiting list. She'll call if enough people drop. Ummmm... mister, how do I get it. Ummm... well, I won't tell you the code, but you're welcome to come on first day of class. This seems like a lot of effort for me, in my self-proclaimed not-giving-a-shit mode about formalized education anyway. I figure it's all downhill from here. Pass the damn classes, get the damn degree. Become a lawyer.
I am definitely still struggling with this college idea. As if life weren't education enough, I'm supposed to need someone else to tell me how to, oh, say, write, and oh, say, type, and oh, say, express myself properly, and oh, say, learn how to use a computer. I was looking for classes to take just for fun because I can't take any I "need" to. Nothing looked like fun. Like I want to sit in a classroom and listen to someone talk for hours and hours about something, granted, I may find interesting, but feel no desire nor need to be "graded" and compared to other people on. And the end result is I'm supposed to be a better human being for trading my time and money for the experience of institutionalized learning. Hmmm...
I'm definitely excited about trying out for a position on the "Daily" staff. I'd like to have some people put me in my place, for real.
So I'm taking Econ 200 online through the community college this next semester instead of waking up at AssCrack:30 and busing my way to school. It's $400 cheaper and I get the same credit. I am supposed to be going to school to learn to do stuff like that. Cost/benefit analysis, right ... Maybe I should just try to get a bunch of interternships or some shit. So long as they don't make me cut my hair. Fuck them.
They're offering a course about the literative value of the music of Tupac this summer. Count me in.
I must say, Fantasia is amazing. I got the shivers listening to her sing on this past evening's rendition of American Idol. It feels like her voice is going to explode through the microphone, causing massive, hyper-expensive speakers to melt and ruining Fox's satellite feed. Count me a loser, but unless she starts singing GodAwful R and B, I'll buy her CD.
So, apparantly Bush and Rumsfeld signed off on that whole torture bit. I don't know what news agency to trust anymore, if any. But, it gives me something to think about. I have to wonder who these people are that make these decisions that ultimately result in such consequences. I know that's a vague statment, but I can solidify it much more. Who is a person who truly believes in any sort of stratification between things. Living, dead, animate, inanimate, with "feelings," without them. All are equal in terms of objectification; all things have a "name," become that "name," and are therefore equal in having the property of having a "name." I don't need to believe in any superior being to recognize, on the most basic, elemental level, that nothing is too much different than anything else. These are the things I think about when I hear about a judgement by one person that affects any other. Competition is different that judgement.
I'm squeamish anymore, also, about the death penalty. I believe that people who are a danger to others should not be around others, but I don't believe any person can judge to expunge any other person's existance. I don't believe that is a decision any human can make, unless it is a fair competition for life between people or groups over some disagreement about the scarcity of resources.
Gay people are getting married in Massachusetts. Good for them.
Tomorrow there is supposed to be a gasoline boycott. Good luck on that.
I have a headache from watching too much "Law and Order." Makes me want to be a lawyer or a cop.
Well, it was a long weekend, lots of late nights sitting up thinking about stuff, but I don't quite feel like I have the capacity to tackle some of it yet. It is coming. Remind me to talk about bike rides.
But also ...
Of all of the wierd, bastard things to shove me through paradigm shifts quickly and succinctly, this economics stuff has got me tied up. I haven't had a set of ideas change how I view daily behaviors this much since I read about a certain set of madness when I was 16 (that's another story).
But anyway, so suddenly a lot of things that have pissed me off forever suddenly make a whole lot more sense. And what do you know, suddenly I'm not so pissed off. And it's all wrapped into this idea of "scarcity of resources." So, basically the deal is that everyone wants everything. But since we live in a limited environment (ie, the Earth), there are physical limits to how much of anything there can be. So those of us on this spinning globule get to compete for what is there.
And I guess, as simple as that sounds, that was the idea that I had been missing before. We are competing. For real. No joke. Our lives and livlihoods depend on it. How well we compete as individuals and/or groups determines the outcome of our no-holds-barred get-the-freakin'-resources tango. But I emphasize - RESOURCES DO NOT EQUAL HAPPINESS. They *may* have a direct reflection on the results of EndGame (ie, death), but there is no direct correlation unless you believe that god comes in an expensive box of CrackerJacks.
So -- "competition," I am realizing slowly, has nothing at all, and I mean absolutely *nothing* at all, to do with "fairness." It was a sad day when I realized that people aren't really equal. My best example is height. Tallness is not a fairness issue. It is a true physical limitation. Just like, unfortunately as it may be, things like, oh, ethnicity, whether your mother was healthy when she bore you, how big your feet are, or your total, true brain capacity. Sorry cats. We're *not* equal. So how, I'm wondering, are things supposed to be fair? Why bother trying. For real. Instead of getting SpaceMadness about inequality of opportunity of ECONOMICS, why woudn't there be a push for greater equality of opportunity of ATTITUDE. As in -- some people are lucky, others are talented, some are spiritual, others are pure science -- but we's all alike in death. There's some economics for ya. The great equalizer. The big, fat, flat-line zero.
So, the study of economics is a pure science (in my current opinion). It's based on a serious of pretty standard truths, and can be mish-mushed equally well with any culture. In my heart, I can't even find a problem with Wal-Mart right now. That twisted set of corporate swine who are taking over the FreeWorld -- they're just being good economists. Want to make Wal-Mart go away? Stop fucking shopping there. I'm starting to feel ill watching news broadcasts. Want to make stupid-ass news broadcasts quit? I'm getting just as sick of "liberal" (ie, most) news stations as any other. They're all a pack of liars on network TV. Sorry, that's what they're paid for. Want them to go away, Ryan? Stop watching the news. Everybody's all up in arms about all these corporate fraud cases. Just stop buying shit you don't need. And if you *do* need it, and *can't* afford it, you're just plumb fucked. The competition is not fair. Sorry.
However, on a separate note, if there is a financial or situational problem you, as an individual come across, perhaps even life-threatening, there should be a system where the community, be in neighborhood, city, state, nation, or world, that can support you *if they find you worth that support.* Though that may sound harsh, it would be a great equalizer. Those who needed help would get help from those who wanted to help. Those who choose to be uninvolved can live inhumane, isolated lives. But make it a choice, somehow.
So it's getting late in the evening. The Mariners won yesterday. Didn't catch the score (was there a game?) this evening. Too busy restringing guitars. But, my smart self didn't look in the plastic bag to see what I was buying as I was buying it, so I managed to pick out two sets of six-strings instead of a set for a six and a set for a twelve. So one guitar has some very sad open spaces, eagerly awaiting the opportunity to be strung out.
It's a reoccurring theme, but seriously, technology and the pace of life right now just slays me. So I've been insistently checking up on these class possibilities for this summer at UW, dig, without much hope of getting anything, being as all of the classes have been marked "closed" for the past month or so. But - but but but - this morning I log on; my daily technological routine; and be-damned there was a spot open for some MadCap class involving the "social scientific approach to communication theory" SomeSuchShit. COM 381 or thereabout. And I got in. Five clicks of a few different buttons and voila, my summer academic schedule changed significantly. What kind of a twisted world is this!? I have no better (or perhaps worse, or whatever) qualifications for taking these classes than some other numnuts. Why in the BeJeezus do things work this way!? I am baffled. What sort of lottery existence are we eeking out, when there is a distinct possibility that that one slot opening up, and that there I was, happily unemployed, enjoying a breakfast of skim milk and Quaker Oat Squares; there I was to snatch it up! It could change the rest of my life. SohnBeech, I could meet my future ex-wife in that class!
So a hole finally ripped in the right knee of my jeans yesterday. Very sad occassion, it was. I've been wearing these suckers nearly every day for the last five freakin' years. They've done more pharmaceuticals than I have. They've been with me through the dirt, the muck, the parties, the evil days aboard the evil ship (check out the link to the Lincoln), and all of the other days in between. I take these jeans off for yoga, weddings, and during rare visits to bars or clubs that otherwise might not like my unkempt and homelesslike virtuosity. I thoroughly plan on patching them.
Hmm... well, there was more to be said, but my computer feels like the battery is boiling. Better chill it out. Damn technology.