Today I resolved to clean my living space. For most people this involves a little moving of a desk here, a little dusting there and a quick vacuum. I however am a pack rat.
From an early age, I was taught to name everything. A blanket became "dino blankie" a stuffed dog, "sea doggie" a car "bessie" a plant, Fred. When you name things, it is hard to get rid of them. Getting a new bedspread is no longer a cleaning ritual, it is a betrayal of a dear friend. Cleaning is hell for namers.
With this is mind I set opun my piles of ie suffixed inanimate objects with a Martha Stewart like coldness. Then it dawned on me. I would be spared much of the pain of throwing dear old friends in a plastic bag by the wonderful fog of memory. Animal after animal was picked up without the slightest memory of a title or experience, and with much lightened shoulders I put the little buggers into their sacks. Pillow pals in one pile for Ebay, everything else in another for charity.
Next came clothes, this was easy. I wear about 3 shirts and 2 pairs of jeans, so everything else was just thrown away. Having gotten rid of clothing and stuffed animals, I went after my many piles of oddities. Pack rats have this odd instinct to simply assume objects will be used later. This translates to having to find a place to store and keep such things. In order to do this with the many odds and ends that life turns up, pack ratters simply pile up every miscellaneous thing in old laundry hampers and boxes.
The resulting potpourri actually yields a pretty interesting trip down memory lane on further review. The random assortment of objects all hold little details describing small aspects of life at the time of their storage. When taken as a whole these tidbits offer a portrait of a time. This can be sad and frustrating at the same time because throwing icons of childhood brings up a certain tragic nostalgia and putting others back in their place reminds of the same task to come in another years time.
After deleting everything with arms reach and feeling more free and feng shui about my living space, I breathed a sigh of relief and waited for next year.
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Friday, August 3, 2007
Planning
Sometimes it is important to look ahead. I did not do that today. After waiting in line at the noisy and congested DOL for 45 minutes, I discovered that the drive test scheduled for today was in fact destined to be next Tuesday.
Had I taken just a little time to call the DOL I would have known well ahead of time that my appointment sat on the 7th and not the 3rd. Next time I plan one something, I must be sure to check that it is actually happening.
Had I taken just a little time to call the DOL I would have known well ahead of time that my appointment sat on the 7th and not the 3rd. Next time I plan one something, I must be sure to check that it is actually happening.
Thursday, August 2, 2007
Not Catching Fish
Not catching fish on a sunny day is a wonderful thing to do. You can sit on a nice warm dock on a nice sunny day in a nice shady, grassy park for hours not catching fish.
People walk by, they see someone pursuing an odd goal. To pull a large, awfully wriggly and foul smelling critter from a lake where it was moments ago happily nibbling on banana bread would seem pointless. This is however a misguided perception. The goal is not to catch a large, awfully wriggly and foul smelling critter, but to spend a nice afternoon not doing this.
When you catch a fish, you pay for your brief moment of excitement by having to get the fish off the hook, decide whether or not to keep it, put the fish on stringer, take the fish home, gut the fish, figure out how to prepare the fish and then actually cook it. If you don't catch a fish, you get to enjoy a nice afternoon appearing to have a sense of purpose.
An acquaintance asks you where you are headed, you reply "to the dock to sit there all day in the sun not doing anything", you're friend tells you that it sounds wonderful while secretly thinking "now here is a guy with nothing important to do". You tell that same friend you are going fishing and your friend thinks "now here is a guy with enough time on his hands to know what he is doing". Fishing is the perfect alibi, few suspect your true intentions and none question them. The only remaining hurdle is to not catch anything.
I propose using banana bread. Then again it landed me a great big carp today, and a 6 hour siesta in the sun.
People walk by, they see someone pursuing an odd goal. To pull a large, awfully wriggly and foul smelling critter from a lake where it was moments ago happily nibbling on banana bread would seem pointless. This is however a misguided perception. The goal is not to catch a large, awfully wriggly and foul smelling critter, but to spend a nice afternoon not doing this.
When you catch a fish, you pay for your brief moment of excitement by having to get the fish off the hook, decide whether or not to keep it, put the fish on stringer, take the fish home, gut the fish, figure out how to prepare the fish and then actually cook it. If you don't catch a fish, you get to enjoy a nice afternoon appearing to have a sense of purpose.
An acquaintance asks you where you are headed, you reply "to the dock to sit there all day in the sun not doing anything", you're friend tells you that it sounds wonderful while secretly thinking "now here is a guy with nothing important to do". You tell that same friend you are going fishing and your friend thinks "now here is a guy with enough time on his hands to know what he is doing". Fishing is the perfect alibi, few suspect your true intentions and none question them. The only remaining hurdle is to not catch anything.
I propose using banana bread. Then again it landed me a great big carp today, and a 6 hour siesta in the sun.
Monday, July 30, 2007
Please turn off your highbeams
Please turn off your highbeams
They are bright and hurt my eyes
When you don't turn of your high beams, they flash and make drivers blind
When you hit a bump, and you hear that thump, your highbeams are flashing my face
Please turn off your highbeams, make the world a better place
They are bright and hurt my eyes
When you don't turn of your high beams, they flash and make drivers blind
When you hit a bump, and you hear that thump, your highbeams are flashing my face
Please turn off your highbeams, make the world a better place
Monday, July 23, 2007
College
It is an odd experience to search for college.
Looking over dozens of summaries and famous names, I wonder at each if it will be the right fit. Somewhere out there exists a college that will help lead to a happy and fulfilled life. All these paths could be walked, but in the end only one will be. It would seem that choosing a college is one of the biggest decisions a person can make in our society. Vast amounts of time and money are commited and the experiences gained at college are often said to define lives. There are thousands of choices some good, some great, some neither,
Will I pick the right one?
Looking over dozens of summaries and famous names, I wonder at each if it will be the right fit. Somewhere out there exists a college that will help lead to a happy and fulfilled life. All these paths could be walked, but in the end only one will be. It would seem that choosing a college is one of the biggest decisions a person can make in our society. Vast amounts of time and money are commited and the experiences gained at college are often said to define lives. There are thousands of choices some good, some great, some neither,
Will I pick the right one?
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Red Shadow on My Forehead
Today I applied for an internship, and failed.
The job was perfect. Albeit unpaid, it had everything an aspiring young thinker could hope for. Situated in the Seattle Attorney's Office, it would be a service surrounded by professionalism and work. For someone never having had a job, this would be an ideal introduction to the working world.
I carefully crafted a long and thoughtful letter to the office recruiter. It outlined exactly how I felt and why I deserved an unpaid job. I checked it carefully. Then I checked it again. With slight reservation, I pressed the send button and held my breath.
And then I saw it... Glaring at me.
A big fat volenteering. Now this may not seem like much, but its context was this. Volenteering opportunities for highschool students.
As it turns out, volenteering is actually spelled, volunteering.
Goodbye internship.
The job was perfect. Albeit unpaid, it had everything an aspiring young thinker could hope for. Situated in the Seattle Attorney's Office, it would be a service surrounded by professionalism and work. For someone never having had a job, this would be an ideal introduction to the working world.
I carefully crafted a long and thoughtful letter to the office recruiter. It outlined exactly how I felt and why I deserved an unpaid job. I checked it carefully. Then I checked it again. With slight reservation, I pressed the send button and held my breath.
And then I saw it... Glaring at me.
A big fat volenteering. Now this may not seem like much, but its context was this. Volenteering opportunities for highschool students.
As it turns out, volenteering is actually spelled, volunteering.
Goodbye internship.
Sunday, July 8, 2007
A Smiling Stranger
Can money buy respect, or just company?
While in Vegas this weekend, I happened across an interesting phenomena. High rollers, or those who casinos feel may pose a significant opportunity for gain are offered personal hosts. These individuals are charged with the handling of all odds and ends for hi profile clientele, they purchase tickets, arrange transport, handle unexpected events and most of all act the part of a pleasent and gracious host.
Of the two I met, both were exemplary people, both pleasent and kind. Alone this would of course pose no concern. What made me wonder was this. If the hosts are paid employees, and if their job is to insure that guests spend their time having fun and spending more than just time, are their warm and fuzzy exteriors reality or just personas adopted to preform a job.
It would appear that there is really no way to tell. The fact that the truly kind and generous may take this outward appearance literally at face value is bothersome. While such hosts may and quite likely are in fact admirable human beings, the mere existence of that shadow of a doubt created by their paid nicehood brings a slight spoil to the broth.
Are they really good friends or are they simply putting on a show?
While in Vegas this weekend, I happened across an interesting phenomena. High rollers, or those who casinos feel may pose a significant opportunity for gain are offered personal hosts. These individuals are charged with the handling of all odds and ends for hi profile clientele, they purchase tickets, arrange transport, handle unexpected events and most of all act the part of a pleasent and gracious host.
Of the two I met, both were exemplary people, both pleasent and kind. Alone this would of course pose no concern. What made me wonder was this. If the hosts are paid employees, and if their job is to insure that guests spend their time having fun and spending more than just time, are their warm and fuzzy exteriors reality or just personas adopted to preform a job.
It would appear that there is really no way to tell. The fact that the truly kind and generous may take this outward appearance literally at face value is bothersome. While such hosts may and quite likely are in fact admirable human beings, the mere existence of that shadow of a doubt created by their paid nicehood brings a slight spoil to the broth.
Are they really good friends or are they simply putting on a show?
Thursday, July 5, 2007
A Pleasent Fog
Listening to an unlearned language always cheers me up.
In the strange sounds and masked droning there is a sense of mystery. The listener is forced to think and think hard over the content of the message, but in the end is left with really nothing. The slight feeling however, that the chaotic now may become ordain later, perks interest akin to Christmas Eve. The contents of the future are unknown, but their leaning and possibility are certain. Listening to foreign languages pushes the ignorant mind to master them, to try something new, to explore.
In mystery I see promise.
In the strange sounds and masked droning there is a sense of mystery. The listener is forced to think and think hard over the content of the message, but in the end is left with really nothing. The slight feeling however, that the chaotic now may become ordain later, perks interest akin to Christmas Eve. The contents of the future are unknown, but their leaning and possibility are certain. Listening to foreign languages pushes the ignorant mind to master them, to try something new, to explore.
In mystery I see promise.
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
Lobsters
Today I went to the beach to write.
Walking down the soft sinking path, I glanced at all the lobsters. Everywhere they lay about, absorbing rays of hard sunlight and growing all the more red by the minute. Swarms of them gathered around the six omni-important fire places, hermit crabbing their spots for the coming evening's fireworks, 12 hours in advance.
I sat on a nice little log in a field of hay and wrote with my dwarf sized palm pilot keyboard, hopefully someone will pay me for it. Occasionally a lobster walked by and glanced at me, apparently I looked too young to be rattling away on a fancy keyboard, and oh my, in the middle of summer!?
After three or four hours I became one of them, I will baste better next time.
Walking down the soft sinking path, I glanced at all the lobsters. Everywhere they lay about, absorbing rays of hard sunlight and growing all the more red by the minute. Swarms of them gathered around the six omni-important fire places, hermit crabbing their spots for the coming evening's fireworks, 12 hours in advance.
I sat on a nice little log in a field of hay and wrote with my dwarf sized palm pilot keyboard, hopefully someone will pay me for it. Occasionally a lobster walked by and glanced at me, apparently I looked too young to be rattling away on a fancy keyboard, and oh my, in the middle of summer!?
After three or four hours I became one of them, I will baste better next time.
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
Morning
I wake up, I smile.
It is morning and possibility is endless. There is a certain glow that associates itself with the openness of new beginnings, a promise to be filled by a day. This seems to stand in direct contrast to the oddly beguiling undertone which the whisper of fresh time carries, for with freedom and possibility comes the temptation to abuse it, to use freedom for nothing.
Today I resolve to accomplish more than nothing.
It is morning and possibility is endless. There is a certain glow that associates itself with the openness of new beginnings, a promise to be filled by a day. This seems to stand in direct contrast to the oddly beguiling undertone which the whisper of fresh time carries, for with freedom and possibility comes the temptation to abuse it, to use freedom for nothing.
Today I resolve to accomplish more than nothing.
Monday, July 2, 2007
Slow Monday
My eyes are bleary.
I've been sitting in a chair for five hours, my body says no. The sickly feeling of a day slipped by begins to set in, and as if to justify a wasted day I continue endlessly browsing the net. I look for entertainment, meaning, satisfaction. It is no where to be found. The stark contrast of the bright fuzzy lights and dark clear lines on the screen are beginning to cause vision to blur, maybe it is time to go outside.
The sky is clear and the air is clean. There is no youtube. Back to the cave.
I've been sitting in a chair for five hours, my body says no. The sickly feeling of a day slipped by begins to set in, and as if to justify a wasted day I continue endlessly browsing the net. I look for entertainment, meaning, satisfaction. It is no where to be found. The stark contrast of the bright fuzzy lights and dark clear lines on the screen are beginning to cause vision to blur, maybe it is time to go outside.
The sky is clear and the air is clean. There is no youtube. Back to the cave.
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