Dispatches from Nowhere 02.23.06

Communication irritates me.

More to the point, if you are going to call me an asshole, call me one for the right reasons.

I want clarity in my discussions. I worry that I have not made my self clear enough, and not clearly articulating my point of view, the questions was trying to ask get lost. I don't like not knowing. I question everything I write, these dispatches, fiction, poetry, to the term papers I turn in. Everything goes through the same process.

The only way I can continue to grow is to constantly question and reevaluate my positions. I admit freely when I am wrong. I accept responsibility for the things I have said. It is the adult thing to do.

I read a comment by Michelle Malkin recently where she defended her "pull no punches" position of not adding disclaimers to everything she writes. I don't know how I feel about that. I understand her position; I just don’t know that I agree with it. I want clarity over controversy. I want any controversial statement that I make to be understood on its own merits, not because someone has misinterpreted my position and the resulting backlash has become a new problem.

I am not afraid of controversy. I would just rather that it not overwhelm rational discussion.

Enough. My contrition is complete.

I heard on the news this morning that there is a push by some Internet companies to provide "Lexus lanes" to sites that pay for the service. If you are unfamiliar with the idea, I’ll summarize. For those sites that paid the fee, their content would be served first; it would always load, and load quickly. The rest of poor schlebs would be left in the cold.

One of the great things about the Internet is that it levels the playing field. Anyone, from a large multi-national corporation to a one dude sitting around in his pajamas, will have their content served equally and prejudice. It is truly "free" (as in freedom, not free beer). All content is served neutrally, as it should be. If these companies have their way, this will be a thing of the past.

I know what the argument is. They are not removing access to content, just changing how it is served and how people access it. But that is sort of the point. Here is a scenario, the next great innovator, the next Google, comes along and because of the pay for content access policy of the internet providers, they fail because no one ever finds them. They are never first on any search engine, no matter how many hits they get. The system, as it is currently running, is almost purely based on merit. Those sites that provide the correct content and have the most hits rise to the top. There are ways to game the system, but in the long run, they almost always fail.

There is some talk of the government getting involved to regulate the providers, to keep them from adopting this model. I don't know that I like that idea either. (I know. I'm never satisfied.) More regulation invariably leads to confusion and poor service. If the quotes I heard this morning were right, it would take only five of the major providers to adopt the “Lexus Lane” concept to destroy the “free” Internet. Is there anywhere else that we are all equal left?

What can be done? What I would like to see is a breaking of the broadband monopolies. Much like they have in Europe where broadband is closer to ubiquitous and less expensive. I would like to see competition and a free market allowed to decide what we, as consumers would like.

I’ve been called a dreamer before. This would not be the first time.

A final thought.

When you are on your cell phone, remember that unless you are in your car or a private room, people can hear you. It is not polite to call your boyfriend a “lying fucker” where other people can hear you. Some things should remain private.

Dispatched from Nowhere 02.21.06

Some days are better than others.

Creativity, as a mistress, is a fickle bitch. She dances in when she feels like it, dallies with me a while and then leaves me cold and alone. Somewhere in “On Writing” Stephen King said that creativity is about 5 percent inspiration and 95 percent hard work. I don't recall the exact quote. I've been hearing the same adage for years, usually sounding more like “10 percent inspiration 90 percent perspiration" or some other thing.

What I like is when the perspiration doesn’t feel like work. It just feels good. I like it when the music or words just flow from my fingers. They might not always be the right ones, but I can always (and do) edit. Sometimes, I can barely keep up with what is going on in my brain. Other times, it feels like pulling teeth to write a decent sentence.

This is not unusual. We all feel like this. Creation is hard work. That is what makes it rewarding.

Anyway.

There is an interesting interview on Salon with the author of the book "Eye for an Eye". They discuss "honor" or "revenge" based base societies and how they dealt with justice i.e. "an Eye for and Eye". They discuss how God is in the Old Testament and St Paul’s advice about your enemies ("If your enemy is thirsty, give him a drink").

You know the drill. If some one hates you, kill them with kindness. Not only are you a better person for it, but it frustrates the hell out of them. To quote the author of the book "Forgiveness itself is a hostile move that says, "You don't matter enough for me to go whack you."" Really, the feed your enemy stuff is the same stuff my mom told me as a kid. I don't think I ever managed to achieve that ideal state of mind. It was always a lot more immediately satisfying to just hit the bastard. That might just be me.

Anyway, back to the discussion at hand.

The author of the book brings up an interesting point about victims rights groups.

In the article he said:

"People like to dismiss these victim's rights groups as a bunch of crazed, vengeful, red state lunatics. I think they could be on to some deep moral sense that the wronged party has been undervalued in our fastidious concern not to undervalue the dignity of the wrongdoer. I think we may be in a zero-sum game here. Any anxious dignity you might confer on the wrongdoer is subtracted from the victim. Unless you find a way of making that up, victims and their kin will feel forgotten or undervalued. They're not getting the price right."


His argument is that only after setting a fair compensation for loss can there be peace.

What an interesting idea.

I have read a lot more about Islam in the news than I have in a while. There have been the protests (some peaceful, mostly violent) over the Muhammad cartoons and, more recently, over the decision to allow an Arab country (specifically The United Arab Emirates) take over management of the ports in New York and New Jersey, Baltimore, Philadelphia, New Orleans and Miami. For once, I agree with the talking heads and the politicians. This is a bad idea. I don’t think that control of those ports should be out sourced. Some things need to stay home. Manufacture of missile components, fighter jets, anything relating to national security. You know, the little things.


So, how do we feel about "revenge"? We cried for it after Pearl Harbor. How do we feel about Japan now? Do we still hate them for Pearl Harbor? Did they "pay" for their attack? Do we feel that Hiroshima and Nagasaki made us even? How do we feel about “justice”? We cried for justice and revenge after 9/11. How do we feel about the Arab world? Has enough time passed for them to achieve the same position Japan has now? Macarthur was rebuilding Japan for seven years after the war. Just a thought.

Port and border control is about national security. Should we be out sourcing port management to a foreign company who interests may not coincide with our own? I am inclined to think not.

I’m sure there is someone that disagrees with me. However, you can’t have national security by allowing items and access to be controlled by a foreign party. I don’t care what the president’s puppets say.

Edit. 02.23.06

Because there may have been some confusion regarding my position, I will now clarify.

When I found out that port management had been outsourced to a European country, my response was and is the same. Any issue and/ or item relating to National Security should not be outsourced, regardless of the nationality (African, Arab, Chinese, European, Japanese, insert nationality here) of the contract recipient.

Dispatches from Nowhere 02.17.06

Nothing here is mine.

I don’t possess anything. Rather, my possessions own me. Big deal. This isn’t news. We all end up being owned by our possessions. But to what end? Do we need that garbage we accumulate? Does this stuff become the means by which we define ourselves?

I’ve been attempting to clean my house for a while now. Each time I start cleaning, I become more ruthless in what I throw away. Catalogs and newspapers are the first to go. The next items to go are articles I wanted to read and school papers from years ago. I have stacks of magazines that I want to read and books piled up everywhere that are calling my name. I won’t even start on the state of my desk. For a guy that is reasonably fastidious about where he eats, how he dresses and his personal hygiene, my house looks like a bomb hit it.

At work, I periodically clean and organize my desk to restore sanity to my workspace. I am constantly organizing my laptop hard drive to be able to find the stuff I store on it. Recently, I started going through my bookshelves to get rid of those books I am unlikely to read again. I have made a first pass through the pile of old school papers and catalogs that cram the space next to my desk. I threw out most of the stack of magazines that was threatening to collapse and crush anything in its path. It is a slow process, but one that is allowing me to reclaim some of my space, even if I am just going to fill it up again with new things.

So why is it that I cannot manage to organize my house? I admit to being a slob. I hate the process of cleaning. It is hard, dirty work and it rarely qualifies as fun. I’d rather read a book, write, play guitar, play with the kids, or do anything other than clean. I don’t know why I hold on to these things. It is just stuff that clutters up my house.

There is some level of pain involved in cleaning and straightening. Maybe I am a packrat and letting go of these things is tantamount to cutting myself free of the safety bindings and stepping on the tight rope.

The interesting thing is that once I have cleaned and organized and put my house in order, I always feel better about it. It is satisfying. Once I have finally convinced myself to let go of those things that are holding me back, I clean and it is glorious. The rooms are swept and vacuumed, the books are on their shelves, the counters are clean and the trash is bagged and outside the house.

And it lasts a while. Then, slowly, the books start to pile up again, the dust starts to cover the surfaces and the desk clutter takes over. Once again, I find myself having to clean the same rooms over. I deal with the same piles of crap. Except, this is new crap. It is mixed with the old crap that survived the last purge.

Nothing here is mine. All this crap is temporary, so why do I continue to hold on to it? Why can’t I let it go and find release?


I know, at this point you are wondering why you are still reading this. More to the point, you are saying “There is more to life than stuff. Just throw it out and move on. Quit whining.”

I see your point. After all, they are just things. I can let them go, right?

Maybe I’m not really talking about my house.

The old adage, "Truth hurts" is often accurate. It is usually the truth that we don't want to hear, that we need to hear the most.

Yeah. Nothing here is mine. Keep telling your self that. One day, it might even be true.

Dispatches from Nowhere 02.15.06

Baby, I’m sorry. I know I’m late and I missed Valentines Day. I was working.

I know. I say that all the time. But it’s true. No, I’m not writing somewhere else. I wouldn’t go behind your back like that. I respect you too much to treat you that way.

So what was I doing if I wasn’t writing somewhere else? I was working for the Spotsylvania sheriffs office. I was helping bust a prostitution ring.

Give me some sugar baby. Yeah, that’s right.

Let’s get to work.

So what is love?

I know. How typical of a question can you ask on Valentine's Day?

I should be up here ranting about the commercialization of love and the way the particular holiday is used by card, chocolate and confections manufacturers, lingerie boutiques, and every other business as a way of boosting the bottom line in the otherwise slow month of February.

You know what though? I can't be bitter about this exercise in commercial overdrive that claims to celebrate the affairs of the heart. I have lost all my "indy" cred. I have a steady date.

So, what is love?

Remember that initial infatuation that you felt when you first met? That warm fuzzy feeling wherein you can't think about anything other than that person and how nice they smell and how soft their lips are. New relationships have “The Glow". You know what I am talking about. The other person can do no wrong, you never fight, you never fart, all the little quirks are endearing instead of irritating and you fuck like monkeys on meth.

Well, maybe not meth. But you still have wild animal sex.

That lasts for, what?

Three weeks?

Three months?

Somewhere along the journey you realize that you might have let one slip and those quirky little habits that you found endearing are really annoying. You have your first fight and your first bout of makeup sex. You find out that he likes eggs in the morning and you are really just want coffee and a bagel.

So you move from infatuation to “I like this person a lot” and you spend more time together. You stay in for dinner, go out to meet each other’s friends, maybe take in a play or a concert. You go for long walks on the beach and talk about your hopes, your dreams and begin to open up emotionally a little bit just to see if the other person is there with you. If you are still in college, you hold each other’s hair and try and avoid the splash back of the thunder-chunder. Then you have wild monkey sex.

You spend more time together and fight some more. This is normal. You are encroaching on each other’s boundaries. Like all boundaries, there is war when they need to be readjusted. So you fight and adjust and you fight and adjust. Then you meet the family.

Could anything be more terrifying? A new set of parent to judge you and you have to live up to their expectations, of which you have no idea what they are? That just isn’t fair. You feel nervous. You can’t eat. You keep asking yourself “what happens if they don’t like me?” Don’t worry about it. They will love you. You are charming and lovely.

The parents do love you and now you are shopping for sweaters together and you wonder why you were ever worried about parents at all. It is way more trouble to find a sweater that fits and goes with the awesome jeans you just got on sale.

Then it hits you. Your stomach drops and the floor feels wobbly under your feet. It feels sort of like a semi-truck crashing at full speed into one of these gravel-braking pits you occasionally see on the side of the road. It is the realization that you might have feelings that could, very possibly, be classified as love.

Maybe.

OH GOD. What do you do now?

You don’t want to be the first one that says it. You don’t want to make everything all weird. What is they don’t feel the same way? You like the wild monkey sex and would miss it if it went away. Then, one day, it just happens.

I know. You didn’t mean to. It just sort of slipped out. You meant to say “Could you pass the orange juice?” and it came out “I love you”.

It took ten whole minutes to clean up the orange juice.

Is that love?

Is it the realization that you don’t want this person to go away? Do you find that when you think about the future, this person is there? Well, Nine years in and I still feel this way. I wonder how I got lucky enough to have some that supports me and helps me clean up the orange juice, and the cereal, and the toys and and and the list goes on.

It is not all a bed of roses. Sometimes, I don’t feel the warm fuzzy feelings that people seem to associate with love. Sometimes it feels more like a hanging out with my very best friend than a "relationship". Sometimes we fight. Sometimes we have those little moments of "The Glow" that remind us of why it is that we first got together. We still have wild monkey sex. Maybe not as often as we might like, but sometimes it happens.

For me, it boils down to this: I can’t imagine a future with out her next to me. I don’t know that it gets any simpler than that.than that.

Dispatches from Nowhere 02.10.06

The next hallmark holiday is upon us.

I have a love/hate relationship with Valentine’s Day. It gives me an excuse to buy all sort of stuff for my sweetie. On the other hand, it gives me an excuse to buy all sorts of stuff for my sweetie.

I'm really bad with this. I know she doesn't really care about the "stuff" aspect of the holiday, which makes it harder for me.

Why?

Because I have to work that much harder to do something cool for her. I have to spend lots of money and time finding just the right gift and dinner package. Because how else will she know that I love her? After all, it is about how much I spent that proves the size of my penis extent of my love.

You know what? Screw that. I don’t need to buy anything to prove my love to her. She knows that I love her by my actions. I don’t have to buy into the advertising, the crass commercialism that has been perpetrated upon the American male. I can choose to go the high road and Jewelry stores assault me on the radio. “Buy this crap cut and horrible clarity diamond for your loved one. She won’t be happy unless you do! Remember you only have three hundred and sixty four days until next Valentine’s Day to get her that new tennis bracelet!”

It is time to chuck all of it. The TV commercials, and Radio spots, the print marketing, the lingerie ads, the cheesy dinner package commercials. Everything. Well, all of it excluding the lingerie marketing. Because really, who doesn’t love lingerie ads?

…
..
.

Wow, those crickets sound good tonight.

Ladies, here is a “secret”. I know they market lingerie to you, but let us be honest with one another. (We can be honest here, right? Pull up a chair and get comfortable. Have a cup of coffee. We’ll talk.) Here is the deal. We only sort of buy it for you. I know, this is shocking, right? Really, it is a present for us. We only think we are kidding you. We have bought the marketing, hook, like and sinker. It is a testament to your intestinal fortitude that you put up with our ham-handed attempts at “romance”.

We buy the “stuff” because we don’t always know how to tell you how much you mean to us. We keep finding new ways for men to avoid telling those people that are important to them “You are important to me.” It is easier to say “Have this gift that signifies “I love you” because I can’t say it and the marketing leads me to believe that if I buy you these things the heavens will open, angels will sing, champagne will rain down, velvet ropes will lift, and you will have wild monkey sex with me.”

Behold the power of marketing.

I could be wrong. Maybe you find it endearing that we are so flustered about what, if anything, to buy you this holiday. Maybe we both relish the idea of a “romantic” night. Maybe we both like the idea of another “day” to give gifts to your sweetie. I know I caved in and bought at least one gift for her. I think she may even know what it is. That is ok. It is geeky and cool she will love it. It is my special present for her. It is not about how expensive it was or how many people I had to kill to get "it" for her. I know this. It has to be special. Not unique, per say. Just special. It has to show that I listen to her, that I know what she likes.

Of course, that is not all I bought her.

I am a guy after all.

Dispatches from Nowhere 02.07.06

Apparently, it's been done to death by people other than me, but I can't help myself. It is like watching a train wreck. It is sort of the shock and awe of my little world. Today, I am speaking of cosmetic surgery and the odd things we do to ourselves in the name of beauty.

I read something the other day that more and more teens are getting plastic surgery as graduation presents from high school. I'm not knocking the necessity of cosmetic surgery and think that there are legitimate advances to be made in that arena. I have a cousin that just turned 18 that had surgery to correct a malformed breast. I can understand that. It makes sense. Anal bleaching does not.

I know. It seems like an extreme example, but is it really? I don't think so. I think it is indicative of the extents we (as a culture) will go to achieve some transient standard of "Beauty". I mean really, how does having a brighter, shinier, anus make you any more attractive? I mean, unless you are a porn star.

I am a bit more put off by the idea that more and more teens are embracing surgery as a way to correct a supposed "defect" in who they are. Maybe it is just me, I don't like the homogeneity of noses jobs, breast implants, face lifts, botox, and the myriad of other surgeries and procedures designed to "perfect" the human animal. As I have stated, there are some legitimate uses of cosmetic surgery, the woman in France that received a partial face transplant for instance, but achieving "perfection" (however you define that) just does not strike me as one of them.

So why am I railing against cosmetic surgery? It is common. It has legitimate uses. And hey! It is on TV! It must be ok, right?

I disagree with the idea that there is one perfect, ideal body. I disagree that there is one perfect shape and size of breast, one perfectly symmetrical vagina, one perfect penis, one perfect nose, the perfect six pack chest. It is all lies. All of those things are beautiful, but each of those things is different for different people. Individuality is what makes each one of us beautiful. It is your individual appearance that is beautiful, not some surgeon’s approximation of “beauty”. You know this. I'm not saying anything your mom didn't tell you. If she did not tell you, maybe you should tell her.

There are legitimate uses for cosmetic surgery. I will say it over and over again, because it bears repeating. My concern is for those that view these surgeries as a way of making themselves feel better, not as a decoration of the physical (like a tattoo or piercing) but as a way of fixing themselves to meet some changing standard. It is not enough now that you have the perfect clothing, but now you have to have the perfect nose?

You might ask why I'm sticking with cosmetic surgery and not discussiong more common body modifications. I’m not talking about tattoos or piercings, not because those body modifications have become more mainstream, but rather because those modifications usually tend toward expressing individuality of the human wearing them. While it may be common to have a tattoo, usually no two are alike.

We push so many conflicting ideals today, not just for girls, but boys as well. Imagine that you are a teen now, how do you keep up? For that matter, as a parent, how do you impress the importance of inner beauty and self sufficiency on your children? How do you compete with the relentless onslaught? Another question for another day I suppose.

Dispatches from Nowhere 02.02.06

On Salon there is an article about a book called "VoiceMale: What Husbands Really Think About Their Marriages, Their Wives, Sex, Housework, and Commitment".

I love titles like this. It screams "LOOK AT ME! I SAY SEX IN THE TITLE! I AM HIP AND EDGY! I WILL HELP YOU UNDERSTAND MEN!11!!eleventy one!! ". I know they are sensationalized with the express intent of capturing the eye of a prospective reader, but they still crack me up. Anyway, back to the point.

For those of you not playing the home game, I have an abiding interest in this topic. More to the point, I have an interest in perceived male/female gender roles and stereotypes. I admit that my interests are not purely academic and will admit my bias up front. I despise the stereotype that men are unfaithful, incompetent, self centered children. While I might characterize our overriding societal impulse as being just that, I think that, for the most part, men have gotten a bad rap. Even in my own extended family - I consistently hear how men are lazy and (in not so many words) useless for more than manual labor. Combine this with the implicit “Women are better/smarter/etc than men” attitude, jokes, and statements and I call bullshit. Even if it is meant as a joke, I think it is time to call bullshit.

I know, it is not just men that get a bad rap, women are unfairly judged too.

Maybe I spend too much time with the women I work with. Nary a one of them has many positive things to say about their husbands. (In the interests of full disclosure, one of them is currently undergoing a divorce, the majority of the rest are Indian (As in the sub-continent, not Native American.) and the remaining few are not married.) I wonder how many of their complaints are actual dissatisfaction vs. cultural expectations. But that is a whole different discussion.

Still, after reading the article, the book seems like it might be an interesting read. Of course, this assumes that the book is not a worthless piece of crap designed to cash in by exploiting the (perceived) growing gender divide. I'm not cynical or anything. Not me.

Speaking of books I picked up The War against Boys in the last month or so. I have not had a chance to read it yet, so it has been added to the stack of books "to be read" that sits next to my bed. In that same stack are my Bon Apetite and Gourmet magazines, the three most recent issues of the Historian Journal (of which I have read certain articles out of each), Embracing Defeat, and a small stack of novels. The stack is not quite to the side of my mattress yet. I guess that means I can always add more books to the pile. I’m sure I’ll have time to read them eventually.

It must be the book lover in me. I try to avoid bookstores because I always find something I want to read. It is rare that I leave a bookstore with out something new to add to the stack. Occasionally, I remove a book. It happens. I read Anansi Boys recently. I finished the December issue of Bon Appetite. I put the Moorcock books (Elric and Gloriana) on the shelf until this summer. I haven't bought the new GRR Martin, Stephen King, or Robert Jordan Books. I keep telling myself that I am trying to edit the stack down some before I add more. It has nothing to do with the fact that I was threatened with much pain if I bought anything for myself with Valentines Day coming up.

Yeah.

So, because the stack is shrinking, I obviously need to add more to it. What do you recommend?

(You know, aside from obscure history texts detailing the extent of Japanese/ German relations during WWII. EVERYONE needs more of those.)

Dispatches from Nowhere 02.01.06

I know. I'm late. Let us not talk about it.

Anyway.

Do you eat Bagels?

I do.

How do you take yours? Do you take it toasted with butter? Are you the sort that wants it plain with peanut butter? Perhaps you only eat your bagel as a breakfast sandwich with sausage or eggs (toasted or not)? Maybe you are a purist and you subscribe to the classic combination of cream cheese and lox?

What I am driving at is that the bagel, while wonderful in its Carb-tastic goodness, is a delivery medium. I don't know anyone that just eats them plain. I mean, in a pinch, when you are hungry and you don't have other condiments, it might be acceptable to eat the bagel in its unadorned state.

I do stress the might in that statement.

I don't know why I feel this way about our friend the bagel. I love all sorts of breads, crusty French loaves, steamed Chinese buns, Soda breads, simple whites to a more complex pumpernickel. Not to mention sourdough. (Sourdough is a whole different discussion.) Maybe it is the construction of the item in question. Simple dough is formed around a hole. Then it is boiled and if necessary, topped. Finally, all bagels are baked. If done correctly, this technique imparts a crusty outside and a dense, chewy inside.

I can (and do) eat most of those breads unadorned, naked as it were. But a bagel? It requires ... stuff. I am partial to a schmear, maybe some lox if I am feeling so inclined. I have been known to dally with flavored spreads. You know the ones I am talking about. The whipped and flavored cream cheeses. I have seen you eyeing them as they sit unassumingly on the shelf. They call with a siren song. Theirs is a taste of the forbidden - like carrot cake soup. I have been known to experiment with different flavors, different mix ins as it were. Yet, after each midnight indiscretion, I always come back to the schmear. Nothing else is quite the same. The delivery medium might change - some days you want a sun dried tomato, other days you want an everything, but in the end, I always return. It is the flavor I want, that I need.

I know that not every one enjoys the pumpernickel or sharper flavors of onion, garlic, even sesame that are the mainstays of the bagel world. Some of you might prefer the more exotic tastes of cinnamon raisin swirl, cinnamon sugar, chocolate chip, maybe cranberry, or even the holy grail of sweetness - The Wild Blueberry.

Even the sweeter, sugared bagels cry out for something more, that something extra to help send the experience into orbit. Jams, jellies, or preserves would not be remiss in this situation. You might end up licking your fingers when you finish, but as with most good things, that is not a bad sign. It is a sign of satisfaction.

Enough of that. The entire discussion is making me hungry. Now, I wonder where I can find a bagel shop?