Tuesday, February 24, 2009
The Weight
We all walk around with an invisible weight. We smile at each other, go about our days and draw no attention to the little bird on our shoulder that is pecking at our jugular vein. We are all waiting on the proverbial shoe to drop. Some of us are waiting on a fucking boot. We are all waiting to loose our jobs, our relationships, our health. We wait because we know that it is coming like a fast train out of hell. To say that our lives are fragile is to indulge in the understatement of the year. The tiniest little germ will fuck us up. A minute of bad timing and BOOM you are crushed by a tractor trailer. In fact, even if you are the healthiest mother fucker alive, you can die. Flo Jo died of a fucking heart attack! I will never be as healthy as her...EVER! I don't really want this blog entry to be another death rant, because LORD knows I have enough of them...see my collected works. However, whoever said that we all live quiet lives of desperation was fucking right. We label people assholes to the left and right of us, and maybe more than a few are...but the truth is life will make you an asshole or at least seem like one. Weight...there is no escaping it. To live on this planet at this time is to take on weight. Gravity is a constant pressure pushing you down until you collapse under the pressure. Of course some of our weight is imaginary. If we loose our jobs, the sun will still come up in the morning. If our partners leave us the sun will still come in the morning. Even if we die, the fucking sun comes up in the morning. I just hate the fact that we are aware on some level of the weight leveled by all human beings and we choose to ignore our community pain. How quick the old bird finger pops up when someone breaks traffic manners. How quick are we to judge those who do not follow our particular slice of life. Republicans are hate mongers, Democrats are out of touch with reality, why do we have to label ourselves. Why can't we all just be human beings diagnosed with the terminal illness of life? Why don't we look at each other and go, "that mother fucker is going to die, give him a fucking break". I know life is messy. It is impossible to wrap things up in a neat little blog entry. I just wish we had the common courteousy to acknowledge and respect someone for their humanity. I am afraid the truth is that we secretly like to be ugly. We are more animal that we ever had the courage to acknowledge.
Monday, February 23, 2009
The Wreck of The Endless Summer
The legend lives on from the Chattooga on down
Of the big lake they call Lake Lanier'ee
The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead.
When the Bass Fisherman of June they come Early.
With a load of beer n bread,whiskey and hotdogs 24 or more.
Than the "The Endless Summer" weighed empty
That good ship and true was a bone to be chewed
When the hicks of June they came early
The ship was the pride of the Chestatee side
Coming back from some beach party an hot son.
As the big cruisers go it was bigger than most
With a girl crew and the Captain well seasoned.
Concluding some terms with a couple of tequila worms.
When they left fully loaded for Lanier land
And later that night when the ships bell rang
Could it be the tequila buzz they'd been feeling.
The wind in the wires made a tattletale sound
And a beer bottle broke over the railing
And every girl knew, as the Captain did, too,
T'was the Bitch of a Hangover come stealing.
The dawn came late and the breakfast had to wait
When the bitch of a hangover came slashing
When afternoon came it was a throbbin headache pain
In the face of a Hurricane and Bacardi dry heavin
When supper time came the old nausea came on deck
Saying fellows it's too rough to feed ya
At 7PM a main player caved in
She said girls it's been a bitch to know ya.
The Captain wired in he had bottled water coming in
As the good ship and crew was in peril
And later that night when his lights went out of sight
Came the wreck of the "Endless Summer".
Does anyone know where the love of God goes
When the dry heaves turn the minutes to hours
The searchers all say they'd have made Chattahoochee Bay
If they'd fifteen more miles behind her.
They might have spit up or they might have vomitized
They may have broke deep and drank more water
And all that remains is the mess and the names
Of the girls and the guys and the daughters.
Lake Oconee rolls, Sinclair sings
In the ruins of her mixed drink shore mansions.
Old Hartwell steams like a young man's dreams,
The islands and bays are for Bass Bastards.
And farther below Lake West Point
Takes in what Lake Lanier can send her
And the Pontoon boats go as the mariners all know
With the hicks of June remembered.
In a musty old Walgreen's in Gainesville they prayed
In the aisle of stomach discomfort.
Their heads they chimed,, 'til it throbbed 6 times
For each one on the "Endless Summer".
The legend lives on from the Chestatee on down
Of the big lake they call Lake Lanier'ee
Lanier, they say, never gives up her dead
When the hicks of June come early.
Of the big lake they call Lake Lanier'ee
The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead.
When the Bass Fisherman of June they come Early.
With a load of beer n bread,whiskey and hotdogs 24 or more.
Than the "The Endless Summer" weighed empty
That good ship and true was a bone to be chewed
When the hicks of June they came early
The ship was the pride of the Chestatee side
Coming back from some beach party an hot son.
As the big cruisers go it was bigger than most
With a girl crew and the Captain well seasoned.
Concluding some terms with a couple of tequila worms.
When they left fully loaded for Lanier land
And later that night when the ships bell rang
Could it be the tequila buzz they'd been feeling.
The wind in the wires made a tattletale sound
And a beer bottle broke over the railing
And every girl knew, as the Captain did, too,
T'was the Bitch of a Hangover come stealing.
The dawn came late and the breakfast had to wait
When the bitch of a hangover came slashing
When afternoon came it was a throbbin headache pain
In the face of a Hurricane and Bacardi dry heavin
When supper time came the old nausea came on deck
Saying fellows it's too rough to feed ya
At 7PM a main player caved in
She said girls it's been a bitch to know ya.
The Captain wired in he had bottled water coming in
As the good ship and crew was in peril
And later that night when his lights went out of sight
Came the wreck of the "Endless Summer".
Does anyone know where the love of God goes
When the dry heaves turn the minutes to hours
The searchers all say they'd have made Chattahoochee Bay
If they'd fifteen more miles behind her.
They might have spit up or they might have vomitized
They may have broke deep and drank more water
And all that remains is the mess and the names
Of the girls and the guys and the daughters.
Lake Oconee rolls, Sinclair sings
In the ruins of her mixed drink shore mansions.
Old Hartwell steams like a young man's dreams,
The islands and bays are for Bass Bastards.
And farther below Lake West Point
Takes in what Lake Lanier can send her
And the Pontoon boats go as the mariners all know
With the hicks of June remembered.
In a musty old Walgreen's in Gainesville they prayed
In the aisle of stomach discomfort.
Their heads they chimed,, 'til it throbbed 6 times
For each one on the "Endless Summer".
The legend lives on from the Chestatee on down
Of the big lake they call Lake Lanier'ee
Lanier, they say, never gives up her dead
When the hicks of June come early.
Dead, Dead, Dead
This is just a short rant about life and death. There is a lot we don't know about life. There is less we know about death. Shakespeare referred to death as "the undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveler returns."
Having recently seen the DVD of Bill Maher's "Religulous," I am more certain than ever that we can't be certain of anything. Actually, we can be certain of one thing. If a slick looking dude in a $1,500 suit tells you that he's certain about what happens after you die, and that you can have the same amount of certainty if you just send him a fat check, you can be certain he's full of crap.
Here's something else I'm fairly certain of: the book "90 Minutes in Heaven" is a malodorous load.
Which brings me to a more specific point. You know how people who claim to have had so-called near death experiences talk about how they floated up out of their bodies and looked down at their recently vacated corpses? And then they talk about seeing a bright white light which they feel strangely drawn to as Enya sings in the background?
Well, as it turns out, there is -- surprise, surprise! -- a perfectly reasonable scientific explanation for this phenomenon. These are the illusions brought on by an oxegyn deprived brain.
Check this out. This is an except from Radio Lab -- www.radiolab.org.
If it hasn't happened to you, it's likely happened to somebody you know. And whether or not you believe it, about one in ten people report having had one. "Out of body" experience, it's a dirty word in many circles. Which is perhaps why pilots call it "G-LOC" (gravity-induced loss of consciousness, pronounced "G-lock" not "glok"). Turns out this kind of experience (call it what you want) occurs quite frequently among fighter pilots. Producers Ann Heppermann and Kara Oehler bring us the story. We'll hear from pilots Tim Sestak, and Col. Dan Fulgham on what it's like to lose yourself, unfortunately for us skiddish passenger-types, while flying a plane. Finally we'll hear from Dr. James Whinnery, who simulates G-LOC by placing pilots in giant centrifuges. His research monitors their brain activity as they accelerate to speeds inducing this loss of consciousness. But Doc Whinnery isn't just a scientist, he's a subject. And his research has taken him to some surprising places.
This is a very interesting podcast.
And with that, pleasant dreams...
Having recently seen the DVD of Bill Maher's "Religulous," I am more certain than ever that we can't be certain of anything. Actually, we can be certain of one thing. If a slick looking dude in a $1,500 suit tells you that he's certain about what happens after you die, and that you can have the same amount of certainty if you just send him a fat check, you can be certain he's full of crap.
Here's something else I'm fairly certain of: the book "90 Minutes in Heaven" is a malodorous load.
Which brings me to a more specific point. You know how people who claim to have had so-called near death experiences talk about how they floated up out of their bodies and looked down at their recently vacated corpses? And then they talk about seeing a bright white light which they feel strangely drawn to as Enya sings in the background?
Well, as it turns out, there is -- surprise, surprise! -- a perfectly reasonable scientific explanation for this phenomenon. These are the illusions brought on by an oxegyn deprived brain.
Check this out. This is an except from Radio Lab -- www.radiolab.org.
Out of Body, Roger
I was there. But I, like, wasn't there. I was floating. I was looking at myself from outside of myself.If it hasn't happened to you, it's likely happened to somebody you know. And whether or not you believe it, about one in ten people report having had one. "Out of body" experience, it's a dirty word in many circles. Which is perhaps why pilots call it "G-LOC" (gravity-induced loss of consciousness, pronounced "G-lock" not "glok"). Turns out this kind of experience (call it what you want) occurs quite frequently among fighter pilots. Producers Ann Heppermann and Kara Oehler bring us the story. We'll hear from pilots Tim Sestak, and Col. Dan Fulgham on what it's like to lose yourself, unfortunately for us skiddish passenger-types, while flying a plane. Finally we'll hear from Dr. James Whinnery, who simulates G-LOC by placing pilots in giant centrifuges. His research monitors their brain activity as they accelerate to speeds inducing this loss of consciousness. But Doc Whinnery isn't just a scientist, he's a subject. And his research has taken him to some surprising places.
This is a very interesting podcast.
And with that, pleasant dreams...
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Sunday, October 19, 2008
20 years might as well be 200
The other night my sister and I were rummaging through the squirrels nest that is my childhood home. Over the years my father has used it as head quarters for his tree removal business and temporary home to crack smoking vagrants and big bootied hoochie mamas. Among the beer cans, wiry brillo pad threads (used in crack pipes) and piles of dirty clothes are the crumbs of my childhood. A baseball trophy with a broken bat, little books on UFO's and "How To" Magic Tricks, forgotten photographs and yellowed opened mail. My grandmother, Mama Ruby's antique furniture is also there, as well as her sewing cabinet (still full of buttons and thimbles). My father holds onto all this stuff like he wants it but he treats it like garbage. Worse...he lets other people treat it like garbage. I ended up sneaking away with my father's old drag racing trophies, and a faded picture of my great grandmother. I may go back for the buttons and books, but the place feels like a mausoleum. It is hard for me to believe that I had my Christmas's in that trash strewn living room, did my homework, daydreamed, read my little books, listened to my music, and played with my brother in sister in that dark creepy basement apartment. It is hard to convince people that it use to be a nice place. I fantasize about fixing it up one day. I hate leaving my childhood in that state of disrepair, although it is probably appropriate.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Letter to my nephew upon his high school graduation
Dear Nephew,
I remember the day that you were born. Nanna and I drove down to Crawford Long Hospital on a beautiful summer day to see you. I had just gotten back from Oregon, where I had lived for a year in the hopes my girlfriend at the time would start a life with me. I will tell you about it one day if you are interested but long story short, it never happened. I was 24 years old. We met your Dad in the maternity ward, and a nurse held you up to the window so we could see you. Your Dad had tears in his eyes and was already calling you his little fishing buddy. I remember Nanna telling me that the moment you popped your little head out that “my brother grew into a man right before her eyes”.
I don't know if you remember your first house. It was a tiny little bungalow in Mountain Park near Roswell. I went to one of your birthday parties there. You could only have been 2 years old. I bought you a little inflatable car that you could hop on and pretend to drive. So I guess you can tell everyone that I bought you your first car...ha ha. You graduation tonight makes me remember how I felt when I graduated from Milton in 1984. I just felt lost. I was not a kid anymore, but I did not feel like I was an adult. I found myself in some weird no man's land between two worlds. Just in case you are wondering, most everyone always feels like a kid inside no matter what their age. Just because you are older doesn't mean that you know everything and just because you are young doesn't mean you don't know anything...you just don't have the experience to back it up. You have heard the saying, "there is no fool like an old fool", well that is damn true. I am 42 now and just starting to appreciate some of advice that was given to me twenty years ago. We all have this need to do things our own way, and the best advice in the world can't penetrate that desire. You may not know it but you have just embarked on a journey to discover yourself. You may find that the 30 year old you is not quite the same as the 20 year old you, and so on. It may take some time to settle into “yourself” and that is okay. All of your life experience will color you. It is a journey that only you can walk although everyone will try to show you the way. One day you will find comfort in knowing who you are and everything else will fall in place. So, although this may not mean anything to you now, here is some advice:
This is YOUR time, do what makes YOU happy as long as it does not harm anyone else.
If you fail, so what, try to find something positive about the experience and move forward.
Don't confuse who you are with what you do to make money, the two are exclusive.
The only dreams and expectations that you can fail to live up to are your own. Don't be too hard on yourself.
Don't underestimate the kindness, understanding, and intelligence of the people who love you. They are living the human experience and are touched by the complexities of life just as you.
Life does not owe you anything. Make your own luck and you will never be disappointed.
That is all...end of lecture. The rest I guess you will have to figure out yourself. That is the whole point of life and therein lays the fun. Remember that we love you and will always help you. Just don't be afraid to ask.
Happy Graduation
I remember the day that you were born. Nanna and I drove down to Crawford Long Hospital on a beautiful summer day to see you. I had just gotten back from Oregon, where I had lived for a year in the hopes my girlfriend at the time would start a life with me. I will tell you about it one day if you are interested but long story short, it never happened. I was 24 years old. We met your Dad in the maternity ward, and a nurse held you up to the window so we could see you. Your Dad had tears in his eyes and was already calling you his little fishing buddy. I remember Nanna telling me that the moment you popped your little head out that “my brother grew into a man right before her eyes”.
I don't know if you remember your first house. It was a tiny little bungalow in Mountain Park near Roswell. I went to one of your birthday parties there. You could only have been 2 years old. I bought you a little inflatable car that you could hop on and pretend to drive. So I guess you can tell everyone that I bought you your first car...ha ha. You graduation tonight makes me remember how I felt when I graduated from Milton in 1984. I just felt lost. I was not a kid anymore, but I did not feel like I was an adult. I found myself in some weird no man's land between two worlds. Just in case you are wondering, most everyone always feels like a kid inside no matter what their age. Just because you are older doesn't mean that you know everything and just because you are young doesn't mean you don't know anything...you just don't have the experience to back it up. You have heard the saying, "there is no fool like an old fool", well that is damn true. I am 42 now and just starting to appreciate some of advice that was given to me twenty years ago. We all have this need to do things our own way, and the best advice in the world can't penetrate that desire. You may not know it but you have just embarked on a journey to discover yourself. You may find that the 30 year old you is not quite the same as the 20 year old you, and so on. It may take some time to settle into “yourself” and that is okay. All of your life experience will color you. It is a journey that only you can walk although everyone will try to show you the way. One day you will find comfort in knowing who you are and everything else will fall in place. So, although this may not mean anything to you now, here is some advice:
This is YOUR time, do what makes YOU happy as long as it does not harm anyone else.
If you fail, so what, try to find something positive about the experience and move forward.
Don't confuse who you are with what you do to make money, the two are exclusive.
The only dreams and expectations that you can fail to live up to are your own. Don't be too hard on yourself.
Don't underestimate the kindness, understanding, and intelligence of the people who love you. They are living the human experience and are touched by the complexities of life just as you.
Life does not owe you anything. Make your own luck and you will never be disappointed.
That is all...end of lecture. The rest I guess you will have to figure out yourself. That is the whole point of life and therein lays the fun. Remember that we love you and will always help you. Just don't be afraid to ask.
Happy Graduation
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
The Big Dirt Nap
Maybe it is because I turned 42 last week, or maybe I am regretting some of the choices I have made over the years, whatever the cause of my reflection maybe, my thoughts have recently turned toward the big dirt nap. I am scared and would rather skip the whole thing. Now this fear is coming from a man that ironically loves graveyards; big ole spooky ones with mausoleums and statues of angels. I was talking about my anxiety with a friend this morning, and being a programmer he gave me the logical answers: you can't stop it, you won't be conscience, why worry. I guess that he is right...technically. However, I want to believe that I continue to be. Being is all I know, or at least all I remember. As human beings we are all given such a short little time on this planet and that is if we manage to stay healthy among the millions of little and big things that try to kill us everyday. For some people, it is not in their DNA to live very long. Let's face it, some giant fat asses live to be old giant fat asses and some don't. Whenever you hear about someone living to be 120 years old, it is always someone that smoked and drank all of their lives. Now out of the limited time we are given, let's say 76 years give or take a decade, how many of those are quality years? Our bodies are steadily meant to fall apart; that is how they are designed. I have actually read that scientist have discovered the trigger that makes our bodies grow old. We are actually coded to deteriorate. So regardless of whether you do your cardio everyday, eats lots of broccoli, and keep your system flowing with lots of fiber, we all have a one way ticket to garden. Also, dying has nothing to do with good and evil. Good people die, bad people die, the two are not related. Everyday there are such sad stories in the daily news about all of the sick children and innocent people whose clock ran out. One minute you are there, the next, who knows where the fuck you are? The only thing that I sense from a logical point of view, and that is with the illogical point that life has a point, is what happens to all that information. The information that we have been collecting every second of our lives until now. I do not even think that nature could be that cruel. Maybe we all are a bunch of little nano-bots collecting info about this world through each of our unique perspectives. Maybe we have to die, so we can do a big data dump back to the mother ship. But is the mother ship still waiting, or did it high tail it's ass out of this universe a long time ago? Everyday, millions of people beg the mother ship for a little info, a little intervention...something to take away the pain. But all I hear is silence. As much as I want to hear, I am not even getting a little white noise, or the sound of putting a shell to your ear. Once again, I am scared. When it is my turn will it be so quick that the blackness will be instant, or will I hold onto the cliff for as long as I can then fall back into the ocean? I think some people let go of this world because they need relief from it, and others let go because they can not hold on any longer. What a mixed blessing to be alive. It seems that the only reason worth existing is the chance to meet other wonderful little information collecting bits of electricity and to share. Having to die seems like it is almost worth the price of living. Maybe that is what I need to decide.
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