zimdog's chew toy

a year of Morgan Freeman

2012-01-19T05:11:00.009-05:00

Em & I have decided to embark on a yearly tradition; we will watch the filmography for each year's recipient of the Cecil B. DeMille Award....

The 2012 recipient is Morgan Freeman, whose movies I generally love; however, we are off to a surprisingly rocky start:

Under Suspicion (2000)

Chain Reaction (1996)

On a three-tier scale of "up, sideways, or down," Em & I gave both movies a rating of sideways....

Currently, we are watching:

Thick As Thieves (a.k.a. The Code; 2009)

Here's hoping for an "up"-swing!

Crater Lake pics

2011-12-23T04:50:00.003-05:00

'Tis only a cell-phone camera, but 'tis not bad....

I have tons more pics of Crater Lake to look at, but these two stood out right away....

Crater Lake & Wizard Island (left)

Crater Lake & Wizard Island (right)

More once the Holidays calm down...?

A Morning... (... For Remembrance!!!)!

2011-12-10T13:59:00.009-05:00

When I decided the title of this post, I imagined my wife---(dr. e-z)---singing "Oh, What A Beautiful Morning...."

(And, it was definitely that...!)

I woke up before dawn & watched the end of a total lunar eclipse....

(The intent of waking was---(eventually)---to write....)

But---(first)---I made breakfast & grabbed my laptop; up in the studio, I got the heater running....

When I opened the studio window to check on the eclipse---(from a higher vantage point than the yard, where I'd previously been watching)---dawn was presenting more... (... as was light cloud-cover...,)... all along the Western horizon...).

(...(... but...,)... still visible was the mostly red, partially-eclipsed Moon... (... so, I put Disc I of Pulse into the CD player...).)

... one more magical experience with that album... (... like Carlsonian Residue* on the disc...).

(For more on Carlsonian Residue, open the Post-Notes in a New Tab/Window....)

And, then...?
The eclipse became spotty in the clouds... (... which were now slightly more front-lit by sunlight...).

(In the gathering clouds, "Shine On You Crazy Diamond" took shape... (... & a slice of Moon shone through the clouds...).)

When the section of Moon-sliver burst through the edge of the clouds, a distant sea bird appeared... (... as if from the Moon jewel...).

(... or... (... rather...,)... the bird came to My more immediate attention... (... like those first few stars of dusk that suddenly become visible... (... despite having been there all along!!!))!)

As a few more---(or the same)---birds (re-)appeared in that spot, I was compelled to study the moment....

(... birds circling... (... between Me & the lunar eclipse...).)

Come on---(you target for faraway laughter)---& shine!!!**

(If necessary, re-open the Post-Notes....)

The clouds did some more eclipsing of the still-red Moon... (... & I doubted if this lunar eclipse would remain visible for much longer... (... before the Sun would dilute its power... (... & the eventual turn of the Earth would wash it from view...))).

. . . .

I have been wanting to post an update on the book... (... which I first mentioned so long ago now...).

The author---(c.d.zim)---is still writing... (... & developing the first draft...). But---(now)---the book has so-much-more shape than it did before....

(For this, the author is deeply grateful to a writerly friend, Ian McCarthy... (... who came up with the idea of starting a writer's group...).)

Thus---(in trading chapters with a writer)---the author received constructive comments on the first half of The (Eventual) Case...!

(In exchange, I offered comments on chapters from Ian's work-in-progress... (... a pulp-fiction novel called Bloody Money...).)

The only problem is---(since August)---the author's fellow workshopper has been absent from Tacoma....

(In August, Ian moved halfway across the country; nevertheless, the author solaces in this absence....)

Luckily, we live in a technological age that permits collaboration via e-mail....

(Also of note: I am currently on holiday break from tutoring... (... which means the author is hard at work, prepping chapters for Ian to read... (... in 2012!!!)).)

My hope is that a full draft of the book exists by March... (... & My dream-of-dreams is that it will then quickly be revised... (... & published!!!)?)

We---(Me included)---are forced to wait-&-see what true cases will be....

(In the meantime...,)
(Pulse is there... (... coating me like a warm blanket...).)

Happy surfin', y'all!!!

Post-Notes: "A Morning...(... For Remembrance!!!)!"

2011-12-10T13:33:00.005-05:00

*---{Carlsonian Residue....}---{(... a concept brought to my attention by Su Carlson... [... & written down---(for further review)---in her master's thesis: Residue...])}---{[... but, paraphrased here as: the natural residue of sentiment & experience that we apply to the objects in our lives....]}

**---{Pink Floyd}---{("Shine On You Crazy Diamond" [written by: Waters/Wright/Gilmour])}---{[Pulse (Disc I)]}---{(1995 [Pink Floyd Music (1987) Ltd.])}

Jesus-as-Commodity

2011-11-05T02:06:00.004-04:00

I couldn't believe what I saw in Ross today: the Lord-&-Savior Jesus Christ in the form of a talking action figure....

That is the Lord's Prayer you hear (en Espan~ol)!

In other news---(regarding shameless capitalizms)---I checked every pair of shoes at Ross -- to see where they were made. Of course, every pair was made in China. So, I bought the pair that I saw as being "Most Ironically Made-in-China...."

(Perry Ellis: America....)

Happy shopping, y'all!

Hemp for Liberty (a petition)

2011-10-31T01:27:00.003-04:00

(in case it gets pulled from the site, I'm posting it here:)

This petition pertains to so many issues---(most of them, in fact)---but the main issue seems to be the right of self-sustenance that is being denied by the unconstitutional Federal prohibition of one of Nature's most versatile industrial resource: hemp....

The prohibition of hemp began in 1937, when marijuana was outlawed (after years & years of bad press). The common misconception about this Federal prohibition is that We, the People, were somehow being protected by these laws. This drug prohibition was, however, just a cover for the "dirty" business being done behind the scenes....

As we continue seeing today, the will of the People was "decided" by special interests that did not wish to continue competing with the very competitive, very versatile hemp plant. Thus---(via its close relationship with its propagandized cousin plant, marijuana)---hemp ceased to be a viable option for the People of the United States of America to use in their endeavors of making paper, textiles, diesel fuels, etc....

Before the People's trade in hemp was unnecessarily outlawed, major U.S. companies---(i.e. Ford Motor Company)---began researching & developing technologies that would utilize byproducts of the readily available, versatile plant: Cannabis sativa (hence the need for competitors of hemp to squash the competition in any way they could).

There is no easy way around it: if We wish to continue reducing Our dependence on foreign oil & foreign goods, We need to find Our own ways of producing energy & goods made here in the U.S.A.

This nation once shared a valuable relationship with hemp & marijuana. While the People may not be ready to reconsider marijuana, We can safely consider hemp as We once did: a vegetable with many, many uses!

With so much talk in recent years about stimulating the economy, it seems only logical for the People of this nation to begin investing in resources that will localize Our nation's ability to create sustainable energy. This is why the re-legalization of hemp as an industrial resource seems primarily to be an issue of civil rights. Initially, the prohibition of the plant was done not in the interests of the People, but in the interests of corporations that stood to lose out to a plant that had proven its worth in so many ways.

behold the Breakfast Beast (Redux)!

2011-09-06T00:24:00.004-04:00

Folks, that's three kinds of animal on one sandwich....

(But, this ain't no club sandwich, fool...!)

The Breakfast Beast (Redux) is:

grilled slices of roast beef (3);
sliced Swiss cheese (melted on the roast beef, after flipping);
two strips of bacon (pan-fried);
one egg (pan-fried in bacon juice);
grilled slices of tomato (3);
on toasted dark sourdough rye;

(The Original Breakfast Beast excludes the bacon, swaps Monty Jack for the Swiss, & comes on toasted white sourdough....)

a yummy scrap for the zimdog's bowl

2011-08-21T16:22:00.007-04:00

---
{futuristic thoughts about Kennedy Space Center}
---

Before space travel became widespread, there was only one U.S. port to the cosmos....

(Kennedy Space Center....)

Located on Cape Canaveral, Kennedy Space Center was established in 1962....

(A year later, the spaceport was named for President John F. Kennedy....)

---
{from NASA, "Kennedy Space Center"}
---

Kennedy Space Center has served as the departure gate for every American manned mission and hundreds of advanced scientific spacecraft....

Project Mercury....

The space shuttle & International Space Station....

The Hubble Space Telescope....

The Mars Exploration Rovers...

---
{author's note}
---

I just couldn't find room for this information in the latest planetarium script....

(But...,)
(That's a good thing... (... right???)!)

Mother''s Forgotten Garden, 978-3-639-18199-9, 3639181999 ,9783639181999 by C.D. Zim

2011-07-05T13:08:00.000-04:00

Mother''s Forgotten Garden, 978-3-639-18199-9, 3639181999 ,9783639181999 by C.D. Zim

Russell Lloyd Zimmerman (July 04, 1922 - May 27, 2011)

2011-05-27T17:21:00.007-04:00

I felt strangely calm after reading Ryan's text that Pop had collapsed while doing yard-work....

(Wasn't I supposed to feel more shock than I felt; wasn't I supposed to cry...?)
(...(... you know...,) those sorts of thoughts....)

After all, Pop was my grandfather... (... my own kin!!!).
... someone I've known since I grew old enough to recognize the importance of people other than myself....

Growing up, I always thought it was so neat to celebrate my grandfather's birthday & the 4th of July together....

But---(as I grew older)---my 4th-of-July plans didn't always include Pop....

In later years, I attached other experiences to the holiday... (... & to Pop...).

For example...,
... the life of Henry David Thoreau....

In 2002, I celebrated our nation's independence at Walden Pond... (... where Thoreau moved on July 4th, 1845...).

So, even though I didn't always celebrate the 4th directly with Pop, but---(because of his birthday)---he was with me in spirit... (... wherever I was, or whatever I was doing...).
... & then---(whenever I did get back to PA)---he was there....

(Same-old house; same-old Pop....)

... like Thoreau, a man who shared some connection with a plot of land... (... &, by proxy, the Earth...).

On the day of Pop's death, my dad told me Pop had recently done some work on the mower & was back to mowing the yard himself....

He loved taking care of that yard... (... something I always remember about him...).

Also like Thoreau, Pop was a man of his own....
... a man of deep rational thought....
... an inventor....
... a hard worker....
... & a man who enjoyed Life's simple pleasures....

In Pop, I also recognize a military man....
... a soldier born on the Fourth of July....

He was someone who served his nation in a time of darkness...,
... & who---(afterward)---enjoyed living peacefully in the post-World War II era....

However, it's the earlier recognitions of Pop that I miss the most now....

For me, Pop was always the gentle giant standing quietly at family functions....

(... that is, until I joined him up there in the stratosphere....)

... but, that's another topic altogether....

(... an essay about the genetic inheritance of lanky legs....)

... & big ears....

(... relevant here only as cosmic connections shared between the two of us....)

... physical reasons for receiving the cosmic news of his death....

For me, this happened as I climbed the steps to go in my front door....

The strange Pacific-Northwestern weather had issued one of its occasional sun-showers....
For some reason, the meteorological moment reminded me of Pop....
... understandably so, considering the text Ryan sent about his collapse earlier that morning....

That day, I had already thought about Pop more often than I might have on any other day....

But, something felt different about this thought... (... a moment of realization in the mist & sunshine...).

As I opened the front door, my cell-phone began ringing... (... Ryan calling...).

I stepped inside to answer it... (... & entered a world in which my grandfather had ceased to live...).

Immediately, the calmness of earlier began cracking....

I began considering how everyone else would take the news....
... Pop's children....
... his other grandchildren....
... even his great-grandchildren....

I cried as I told Emily... (... something akin to Grandma's sadness of a missed mate...).

I cried later when my dad answered Grandma & Pop's phone... (... & he told me about the heart attack that struck Pop to the ground...).

A day or so later, I cried some more while writing in a sympathy card... (... to mail to Grandma...).

A few more days later, I called Grandma to wish her a Happy-as-could-be Birthday... (... & had one more cry for the spirit of her missing soul-mate...).

Really, the only consolation I have taken along the way is...,
Pop died doing something he loved... (... tending to his own patch of the Earth...).

He died trimming the grass along the edge of the driveway... (... one aspect of his death that I had no problem accepting...).

The coroner said Pop probably died quickly too... (... another acceptable aspect of his death, considering the long, good life he lived before that death...).

And now---(pretending to cram scattered thoughts into one simple piece of writing)---I find myself strangely compelled to talk about Pop in elemental ways....

In his frequent silence, he often seemed like a wise man... (... his wisdom broken only by the occasional moment of clumsiness...).

(... another quality we share through genetic inheritance....)

However, Pop's clumsiness was of the innocent kind....
... underestimated words... (... the intelligent thoughts of simple man living in a complicated world...).
... or, the occasional moment of physical entropy... (... like the memory I have of him leaning his back against a wall, only to knock some decorative kitchen gadget from its perch...).

I am usually young in my memories of Pop...,
... but---(despite being youthful memories)---I still manage to recognize the honest innocence of those clumsy moments....

... which is why---(now that I'm older & mentally more like Pop than I was in my early years)---I understand more fully the power of his ways....

(... & how that mental power must've eased his return to a silent state of wisdom....)

... yet one more reason why Russell Lee Zimmerman is, was, & will continue to be the grandfather I remember so dearly....

(May you rest in peace, Pop!!!!)

cunctipotence

2011-05-19T03:39:00.003-04:00

For years, I've been wanting to read this article again....

Well---(tonight)---I finally did the 5 seconds of work necessary to find it....

Cunctipotence: Elemental Female Potency

Enjoy!

Saturday the 14th

2011-05-14T15:05:00.003-04:00

Yesterday the 13th was not particularly un-lucky for me....

Sure, I encountered some forces that were stacked against me---(forces which did spark strong feelings of frustration)---but because it happened on a Friday the 13th, I was eventually able to overcome the negativity of a "holiday" (& consider the situation from a rational, self-respecting point of view).

... nor do I wish to promote the omnipresence of rational thought....

(In fact, quite often, I consider the ways We---(as a nation )---realize the lasting effects of Our emotional ignorance....

(... Us having the wires crossed in many, many ways....)

... rationalized bullets-&-bombs when We want to be positive... (... & territoriality when We want to be negative...).

What's wrong with emotions when We want to be positive... (... & rationality when We want to be negative...)?

Creativity seems like better company for positivity... (... & solitude for negativity...).

(... as opposed to thoughtless obedience....)

(... on both counts....)

But, that's beside the point....

(... or is it...?)

Dun...,

... dun...,

... daaahhhh!!!!

r.i.f. osama bin laden (1957-2011)

2011-05-03T03:19:00.010-04:00

After hearing Jon Stewart's commentary, I agree that---(if there's a Hell)---Osama Bin Laden is roasting in it....

(Doesn't mean I have to agree with how he was sent there....)

I simply don't understand life in an uber-militarized nation....
(I grew up in England... (... where people choose to be polite...).)

As Stewart moved from the funny first five minutes into the emotion-laden material, I even found myself beginning to justify the personal nature of the killing....
(... that the U.S. government had---(at least)---killed Bin Laden with a personal touch....)
(... with a bullet instead of a bomb....)

By the end of the show, Jon Stewart's demeanor had fully embodied itself in two of his closing words: "Pure id."
(I wasn't disappointed or surprised though....)

... because, I'm sure---(without experiencing the same)---that the human id is gravely affected by skyscrapers collapsing in a nearby neighborhood....
(... not that I can relate....)

When the events of September 11, 2001 reached me in Australia, I had just gone to bed....
(... having already lived most of my September 11th....)

Em & I were near sleep when her mom called to tell us what was---(at that very moment)---happening on the other side of the world....

(Thus, my id cannot properly relate to that of a contemporary New Yorker....)
(... nor the People who lost loved-ones on that day....)

Having said that, I can't seem to get past the point that Our own militarized nation was partly responsible for creating Osama Bin Laden... (... to commit systematic murder...).

... & that Our own militarized nation has now destroyed Osama Bin Laden... (... with more systematic murder...).

...which means the People should share in the blame... (... for permitting a government that creates monsters...).

(But, hey....)
(If it helps to pretend....)
(Go on & pretend that Bin Laden wasn't once human....)

I see the murder of Osama Bin Laden---(& the resulting celebration)---as confirmation of what Jon Stewart admitted to:

Pure id....
... proof that U.S. Americans have officially known the id-rattling effects of terrorism....
(...giving them reason to forget the destruction that their own nation has created elsewhere....)

(... & maybe now---(with the eventual closure of 9/11 in motion)---We can begin to reconsider some of those bombs we drop on other Peoples...?)

Stewart's wise-crack about the erect State of Florida was more accurate than he realized....
(... the unconscious, sexual nature of Our nation's military phallus....)

After tonight's Daily Show, I wonder---(even more than before)---if the killing of Bin Laden will offer any more closure than an unsatisfactory prison execution....

(Or...,)
(Maybe We'll continue thinking with our erect inventions...?)

I do not wish to imply that Jon Stewart was off his game tonight....
(... nor that he was unjustified....)

In fact, his thoughtful interview with the guest would suggest surprising rational function....
(... despite his id-charged emotional state...).

I only wish to admit that---(having been disappointed last night by Obama's predictable victory speech)---I merely wanted Jon Stewart to give me some hope tonight....

I wanted him to ponder the life & death of Osama Bin Laden as I do....
(... namely, one more reason to reconsider the military-industrial complex....)

(Then again...,)
(I wasn't even in the country for 9/11....)

Luckily---(for my sake)---I had underestimated the fool that remained....

(Thank you, Mr. Colbert....)

... which leaves only the matter of Osama Bin Laden's remains....

...

And so---(to you)---Osama Bin Laden... (... currently roasting in flames...),
I say this:

May you soon be cleansed of your human nonsense....
(... & the human nonsense inflicted upon you & your neighbors....)

... so that the U.S. American People may sooner move on....
(... & discover the errors in Our own practices....)

Cheers,

da zimdog

da zimdog goes (... flies kite...)

2011-04-29T04:28:00.003-04:00

The other day, I did something I haven't done in years & years... (... more than a decade...).

If you can't see it in detail, it's Griffin's Lightning McQueen kite. (I think I enjoyed it more than he did.) I must've flown it for nearly two hours....

Today, it wasn't windy enough to fly a kite, so Griffin just jumped in a puddle.

I'm so proud of his dadaist nature....

the last medical update...?

2011-04-26T02:33:00.003-04:00

So...,

Patricia Tison's CT scan came back with results normal....

In other medical news...,

I've been eating the prescribed breakfast cereal each morning & like the flavor... (... so I decided to share the recipe...).

... & another interesting doc-ument... (... hyuck, hyuck...).

Bon voyage!

another day of medicine

2011-04-21T01:52:00.002-04:00

Today, I ventured farther into the world of modern medicine....

I established a relationship with a naturopathic doctor. His suspicion is that my GI tract is asking for more fiber... (... so he prescribed me some probiotics & a particular cereal recipe for my breakfasts...).

After leaving the doctor's office, I went down the road for a CAT scan. (What a strange sensation... (... feeling the warmth of that contrast solution in my body...)!)

When the CT was finished, the male nurse said I could remove the wristband from my wrist. I didn't think much of it at the time... (... replying that I thought I was going to get blood drawn as well...).

Later in the day---(while washing my hands)---I decided I didn't need to wear the wristband any longer, so I ripped it off... (... & by chance, checked the name on it...).

So, I say to you, Patricia Tison---(wherever you are out there)---may the results of your CAT scan show a healthy GI tract....

this blog post is so meta-

2011-04-16T02:51:00.004-04:00

I went to see multiple doctors today. Lately, I've been having a weird, warm pressure in the left-side of my gut (& more recently, some nausea & closed sinuses). Today, I finally mustered the courage to go to Urgent Care... (... & begin the process of finding out what's goin' on inside me...).

Nothing conclusive from that visit yet... (... except for finally finishing Orwell's 1984 while waiting for the doctor... (... & the nurse... (... & then the doctor again...))).

After two hours at home (hangin' wit da G-dawg), I skated to an eye doctor appointment & got my eyes checked.... (That's right; 20/15 vision, suckas!!!!) Woot woot...!

Then---(later in the day)---I decided to blog about it....

(This blog post is so meta-!)

The Wacky Wizard's New Lunch Sandwich: The Spotted Monte....

2010-11-23T22:12:00.005-05:00

The Spotted Monte is a variation on the Monte Cristo (... inspired by the English dessert dish, Spotted Dick...).

---

Start with two pieces of Freedom Toast.

(The Wacky Wizard used croissants....)

Broil slab of ham with cheese & raisins on it....

Once the meat, etc. is nice & hot... get the Freedom Toast in there to warm up....

When the Freedom Toast is warm... spread grape jelly on & assemble the sandwich....

Finally, chew & enjoy!!!

(But only if you're wacky enough....)

why the chew toy is no longer dead

2010-06-27T01:53:00.000-04:00

(a repeat post to show facebook & A.J. who's boss)

I've been telling people here & there, but this is the first mention in full-on, press-release style.

Since early this year, I've been working on a novel-length project. What originated as a 25-page story for a summer workshop later evolved into an 80-page screenplay-story hybrid that played a role in my master's thesis. The tale now continues advancing the full distance by becoming a book-length work of fiction devoted to various themes (mostly U.S. Liberty & wildness [including my main man, Thoreau]).

The tentative (but quite certain) title for this project is The Eventual Case of the Nacirema v. Joe Q. Patriot (& the Walden Fella)... similar to its earlier title as part of my thesis. But while the title remains similar, the word count will change drastically. I published my thesis with a German company called VDM Verlag. The contract with them allows me to re-publish those materials elsewhere as long as I alter at least 20% of the word count. I'd say I'm safely altering far more than that. More like global overhaul... being performed very gradually. (No more rushed deadlines. No more half-assed submissions. When I submit this latest version for publication, it'll be done right, dammit.)

My hope is that I can recover the chew toy as an outlet for updates, realizations, etc. If that happens, I also hope to post some other stories to zimdog pnaws... stories that influenced the sudden onset of The Eventual Case.... (But I'm not gonna post those until I "finish" touching them up, which means taking time away from the bigger picture... and right now, my brain prefers focusing on The Eventual Case....)

In revising from thesis version to book-length version, I'm revamping not only the narrative structure of the tale, but also much of the content. Eventually, I'll be posting sample sections... but only once I have a complete first draft. So for now, I'll just restate what I recently told a friend. One primary goal of the project is to fracture the narrative psyche (... whatever that means).

zimdog's reason for not blogging

2010-06-27T00:47:00.009-04:00

why the chew toy is no longer dead

I've been telling people here & there, but this is the first mention in full-on, press-release style.

Reactions to a question on the u.s. census

2009-11-30T16:03:00.002-05:00

Question 8 on "The American Community Survey":

Does this house, apartment, or mobile home have -

a. hot and cold running water?

b. a flush toilet?

c. a bathtub or shower?

d. a sink with a faucet?

e. a stove or range?

f. a refrigerator?

g. telephone service from which you can both make and receive calls? Include cell phones.

Reaction #1:
Wow. I guess I shouldn't be surprised that this question is on here. There must be some primitive American homes on the postal grid. But still, it's the 21st century. Why shouldn't everyone be able to answer yes to all of them like I did?

Reaction #2:
Not only am I lucky to have been born in America, I'm lucky to have been born into the lucky America that takes running water and food storage for granted.

Reaction #3:
This doesn't make me love America more. It makes me more ashamed of economic inequality. Spoiled brats get their Sweet Sixteens boasted on MTV, but the "have-nots" only get to watch, that is if they're lucky enough to experience the luxury of cable television... or "a sink with a faucet" for that matter.

zimdog's quote of the fortnight

2009-11-19T18:55:00.003-05:00

I'm sad because I'm happy,
I'm happy because I'm mad,
And I'm mad cuz it's so sappy...
to be happy when you're sad.

-- Oscar the Grouch, Sesame Street

zimdog is top chef 4eva

2009-10-29T03:50:00.009-04:00

Top Chef was just coming on when I started making dinner earlier. Sounded like a challenge to me.

I can't believe I've never blogged about my cooking before. I'm terrible at cooking, as you can imagine. I'm such a left-overs cooker too. Those who have seen the sorts of things I eat can probably imagine the sorts of things I cook. I mean:

- I once made dessert burgers, which might've been salvageable up until the point where I dumped half a jar of molasses in with the half-frozen ground beef;

- if I had a restaurant, my signature sandwich would be The Pregnant Lady: grilled sourdough with cheese, pickles, french fries, tomatoes, onions, and a variety of sauces that make the ending plate representative of the afterbirth;

- in college, I would race others through plastic cafeteria cups full of table-made slop. And I rarely lost.

So you can imagine how much Tom Chode-Lickio from Top Chef would enjoy having me ram my fucking cooking down his toad throat.

Music helps when I cook, so I threw on some Mason Jennings (discovering the beauty of “How Deep Is That River,” a song from his last album). The cardboard box holding the plastic pouch of ready-made guacamole was cast aside next to the Mason Jennings paper CD case. Dun't wurry, Mason. I wun't thro' yur c-d-buklet uh'way thunkin' it's a gwack-uh-molay bux.

Here's an accoutrement I developed tonight:

The Wacky Wizard's Scientifically Speedy Garlic Butter

- one used Trader Joe's frozen crème brulee dish

- one reasonable-sized pat of refrigerated butter

- one chopped, pressed garlic clove

Use microwave to melt butter in crème brulee dish. Melt butter only halfway. Add crushed garlic. Melt butter the rest of the way.

I spooned this Scientifically Speedy Garlic Butter onto oat bran toast. Now that's some wacky garlic bread to go with an even more wacky meal.

But first things first.

The appetizer (or “First Course” as the professionals call it) was an apple & cheese plate. I decided to serve the apple en apple slicer alongside a variety of cheeses: walnut gouda, hand-broken triangles of provolone, and Cambazola (a very-bleu cheese with mushrooms). Thanks also to my sponsor, Babybel, for the featured cheese of the plate for their Babybel Light semi-soft cheese. Babybel Light. The lite Babybel.

Em seemed to be enjoying “First Course” so I away'd myself back to the kitchen to finish the Main Course. I don't have a name for it per se, except maybe...

The Wacky Wizard's Turkey Burger Stir-fry with Pesto-Cream Soy Sauce Reduction

- four Trader Joe's pesto-parmesan turkey burgers

- the remainder of a bag of frozen stir-fry carrots

- the remainder of a bag of frozen peas

- the remainder of a bag of frozen green beans

- a handful of raw broccoli

- one ramakin of soy sauce paste (made by leaving soy sauce uncovered in the fridge for several days)

- one package of stay-fresh guacamole (or fresh if you have it)

- a couple tablespoons of plain nonfat yogurt

- some pesto paste (not too much)

- a short pour of heavy whipping cream

- some butter

- a small handful of salted pumpkin seeds

Grill really frozen burgers & wax paper dividers on medium heat. Scrape already-processed turkey meat away from the wrappers as they defrost enough to do so. Remove wrappers from the skillet as they become available. Mash turkey meat up too as it becomes freed. When all turkey meat has cooked away from the wrappers, and all wrappers have been removed from the skillet, wash hands thoroughly.

Hopefully the turkey meat isn't char by now. (If it is, turn the skillet down. It's still good.) Add some butter to the skillet. Begin adding vegetables in an order than makes sense to you. Cover the skillet to facilitate steaming of said vegetables. If cooking in Cleveland, try not to laugh while steaming your meat and vegetables.

Well, you've made it this far. You might as well finish the dish, right? After a few good minutes of steaming, remove cover. Stir guacamole & yogurt together. Add to meat and vegetables. Stir soy sauce, pesto paste, and heavy cream together. Add to the rest of it (cuz at this point it can't hurt).

Turn heat down to low. Re-cover skillet, and let simmer while you prepare The Wacky Wizard's Scientifically Speedy Oat Bran Garlic Bread.When the garlic bread is done, plate everything like this...

... because other arrangements are not officially endorsed by the Wacky Wizard.

But wait! I forgot the finishing touch. Supply all brave eaters with a small cup of salted pumpkin seeds to sprinkle on top for added crunch.

There. Just look at that flavor hiding in there. I had to use the flash to find it. Does flavor think it can hide from me or something?

A Thoreau Saturday

2009-10-28T00:11:00.008-04:00

I realize the chew toy has been a bit of a bitch fest in past months. I think I'm finally decompressing from the negative self I became in Florida. This is to be expected, but that doesn't mean the chew toy's gotta suffer all of that anguish. It's time to turn the corner, at least for a little while.

Did you get that? And by "you," I'm addressing the 0.33-repeating people who still read the chew toy. It's time for a lighter side of the zimdog.

I had quite a Thoreau-esque Saturday. Em, G-Riff, and I saw a pumpkin patch.

On the way home, we stopped at Terry's Berries, where we picked a bucket of apples which we then washed and pressed into cider. It was fun, except for the mean-spirited jackass ordering us around on the cider press. And the cider is the best I've ever tasted.

After we got home with our jug o' cider, I decided to cut some wood in the green-belt running behind our apartment. (As Thoreau probably would, here I note that we've even come up with industrialized names for Nature; oh, we are a sad society.) I came across a felled tree while walking Murphy down there a few days earlier. My goal was to go chop a few large logs off and bring them up to chop for firewood. So down the hill I slid with a bag over my shoulder. The bag was to collect wood chips for kindling, and also for transporting my hatchet, ax, and water bottle.

Here's the tree (after I chopped off a 2.5-foot section):

In the far distance, you may be able to see the train tracks that run along the far edge of the green-belt. When a train would come by, I'd take a break to watch it, wondering if at some point during Thoreau's stay at Walden, he too was chopping wood as a train clunked by. It was a fine moment for me.

I didn't have much area to work with, so chopping even that one section off took quite some time.

The wood was also pretty spongy, not the easiest to chop or burn, so as I chopped, I knew my work wasn't going to amount to a whole lot. I didn't care though. I kept working, just to see if I could finish.

When that piece finally broke over, I was satisfied with the work I had done. I took all these pictures the next day, so I don't have any pictures to document the section I cut off, but you can see the end left behind. I beaver'd it pretty good, eh?

Cutting a section off was one thing. Dragging it up the hill was what followed. So I whacked at it long-ways a dozen or so times until it split down the center. That way if I lost hold of the wood dragging it up the hill, instead of rolling on and on, it would hit the flat side and eventually stop sliding.

No matter. It was still difficult enough getting that wood up the hill. As you can see, it's a steep hill...

... that just keeps going up...

... and up...

I got both halves up in a trip each. Well, for the first piece, it was more like one-and-a-half trips, because I slipped and bashed my knee pretty good on a rock, and had to go halfway back down the hill to get the slide-a-way wood. But otherwise, I only ran myself out of breath and shook my muscles weak from the exertion of it all.

After lugging the bag of wood chips, cutting tools, and water bottle back up, my final rest was a moment of great satisfaction, spent listening to one more train go by--after which I pulled the ax from the bag once more, much nearer the top, to cut this smaller diameter log (left foreground).

It turned out to be a much harder wood that chipped into pieces much faster; later in the day, it also proved itself a better burn than the monster for which I worked much harder. Lesson learned.

And what further evidence do I have documenting this Thoreau-esque endeavor of self-reliance?

Here's my ax...

... and proof that I was fool enough to cut through a tree using only an ax... and no gloves...

The blisters are healing nicely.

zimdog's ironic quote of the fortnight

2009-10-23T03:59:00.002-04:00

"I have never let my schooling
interfere with my education."
-- Mark Twain

I say ironic because I found this quote on the bottom of a box of Hemp Seed Granola. That's not very ironic by itself. What's ironic is that on the back side of the box was a reminder for wary customers that "Hemp is Not Marijuana," something human beings knew quite well for the tens of thousands of years that we cultivated and used both hemp and marijuana.

This was, of course, prior to the 20th century when American policy-making sheep, doing the bidding of corporate ticks, tried to stir up global hatred for a plant. As far as I can see, they have succeeded in removing from sanctioned education all traces of cannabis's ancient relationship with humans. Even regarding the more recent history of America alone, how many U.S. citizens are aware that their nation once relied on hemp as its most valuable and diverse industrial resource? And on marijuana as its only painkiller?

Given my previous post, I promise I'm not turning the chew toy into a pro-cannabis rant fest or anything. This is just the education I'm uncovering lately... proof that I too have not let my schooling interfere with my education. I also think it's further ironic that fear of marijuana (the drug form of cannabis) was created for no other reason than to outlaw hemp (the resource form of cannabis). Rich white men never had a problem with people smoking marijuana. They only wanted a way to remove one of the cheapest, most renewable, and most environmentally-sustainable competitors of paper and petroleum from the marketplace. The "war" against cannabis has more recently been taken up by pharmaceutical companies, some of which own the rights to all medical research on marijuana. You can imagine how diligently they're working on that research.

Personally, I'm a little stung that my nation doesn't trust me with its honest history. Or does it hurt more that my nation values the greedy of a few more than it values the common prosperity of the masses? I'm not entirely done in by either thought though. There's still the comfort of knowing that neither the government nor its ruling corporations can ever know the honest meaning of liberty, because true liberty only comes alongside an honest education.

Good lord, this is the place I live.

2009-10-07T15:57:00.004-04:00

Every time I see a new abovetheinfluence.com anti-marijuana ad on TV, I'm appalled at just how goddamn stupid they must think Americans are. Yet now that I see them spending money on crap like this...

"Stoners in the Mist"

... all I can say is, oh boy. If abovetheinfluence.com has time and money to waste on a hollow statement like "Stoners in the Mist," then there must still be Americans stupid enough to buy into that zombie crap. And here I thought parenting was about being honest with children.

I can't speak for other drugs, but marijuana I'm deeply honest about, because I understand many of the truths that don't get media play. This is why the existence of "Stoners in the Mist" makes me angry. I can only imagine how deeply offensive it is to the millions of Americans incarcerated, their lives unnecessarily wronged by unconstitutional marijuana laws.

I suppose the widespread stupidity of the American people probably has something to do with how little science goes into our decisions on a regular basis. And of course I recognize how difficult it is to form an unbiased opinion (or better yet, a true understanding) of something that has been outlawed since 1937. So, when will come the time for anti-marijuana propagandists to consider scientific facts? Real lives are being ruined by a marijuana prohibition that is NOT working:

In 2002, 94.9 million Americans admitted having used marijuana at some point in their lives. In 2008, that figure had grown to 102.4 million. In percentage terms, that’s an increase from 40.4 percent in 2002 to 40.6 percent in 2008 – unchanged, statistically speaking. For current (past 30 days) use, the pattern is similar: 14.6 million or 6.2 percent in 2002, 15.2 million or 6.1 percent in 2008. The slight declines of a couple years ago have now been entirely erased and were likely no more than statistical noise..

From the above linked site:
The drug war industrial complex will never admit it, but the most intensive anti-marijuana campaign since the days of “Reefer Madness” produced exactly nothing.

How sad is it that we live in a place where these statistics will mean almost nothing? It doesn't matter that anti-marijuana propaganda hit a brick wall several decades ago when the lingering stereotype of the stoner was invented. Instead, stoner propaganda has simply become a moving wall that continues alongside any form of honest public policy on the matter. That way, it's impossible for marijuana research to change minds that have already been made up.

Still, I have little doubt that someday Americans will repeal marijuana prohibition, even if that day is decades into the future, once America becomes a place of proper science. That future society will recognize and come to understand the physiological and mind-altering benefits of marijuana, and recognize the raw power of its non-drug cousin, hemp. Then, Americans will look back on marijuana prohibition for what it is: an unfortunate, decades-long McCarthy Era of people jailed, lives ruined, and money & effort squandered so the unflinching righteousness of a moral belief could maintain all the political control.

Addendum to previous post

2009-09-29T16:31:00.002-04:00

Wow. You know how sometimes you think about something a whole lot and then you encounter something really similar?

Well, in my dark moods of late, I e-mailed a past professor for advice, because she always felt like more of a personal mentor than the rigid, proper professor. She suggested an essay for me to read: "The Woman I Love is a Planet; The Planet I Love is a Tree" by Paula Gunn Allen.

I wrote last night's blog post without reading the essay, and when I did get to read the essay today, I couldn't believe its relevance. In fact, I'm glad I wrote the blog post on my own. Otherwise, I might've let the essay's words jumble up what I wanted to say.

Anyway, I just had to post the first paragraph of this essay, because she handles some of the ideas I was dealing with in a more succinct manner:

"Our physicality--which always and everywhere includes our spirituality, mentality, emotionality, social institutions and processes--is a microform of all physicality. Each of us reflect, in our attitudes toward our body and the bodies of other planetary creatures and plants, our inner attitude toward the planet. And, as we believe, so we act. A society that believes that the body is somehow diseased, painful, sinful, or wrong, a people that spends its time trying to deny the body's needs, aims, goals, and processes--whether these be called health or disease--is going to misunderstand the nature of its existence and of the planet's and is going to create social institutions out of those body-denying attitudes that wreak destruction not only on human, plant, and other creaturely bodies but on the body of the Earth herself."

I challenge anyone to consider their deepest considerations on this passage, and still come out finding flaw with it.

Sometimes it's helpful to be a robot, but not when you want to feel human.

2009-09-29T02:12:00.002-04:00

Lately, I've just been really down. These depressions do come around periodically, but some are deeper than others, and this is one of the deep ones. The other night, as I lay in bed, waiting to fall asleep, I just started wondering what is my purpose in this life. I mean, why am I even here when an overwhelming majority of my beliefs are not shared by a modern society that prefers controlling as much existence as it can. My religion allows for much more than straight lines at perpendicular odds with each other. In my religion, there are infinite radii with no lines of symmetry. In Nature, possibilities are as numerous as the numbers go, and I think that's really beautiful, because it means every person gets the freedom they deserve just for being born into these lives. I guess I'm just in the unfortunate situation of being born a few thousand years too late.

My life took a serious change a few years ago when I discovered my religious beliefs. Most people seem to decide on theirs sooner, hence their egos find back-up that much sooner. Not me. I've been living the egos of others since I was a young boy. Even at the age of three or four, I learned to let my superego overcome my ego. The memory is hazy, but I remember standing among the clothing racks of a store, being taught to look behind me so I wouldn't be in the way of others. Contrary to what would be ideal, having a dominant superego didn't make me a super human. It made me a self-conscious head case with a handicapped ego. But now that I've been developing my religious beliefs for a while, I feel my ego developing with them.

This is a theory I'm borrowing from Joseph Campbell, but it's one that makes sense to me. Why else would people be so goddamn certain that their gods exist when there's absolutely no proof? Why else would people argue so vehemently that their supreme being is the only one if that god weren't a construct of their egos? The most likely reason is that each person is the only one in full contact with his or her own mind & soul (or in the case of extreme organized religions, a bunch of people have decided they can successfully share a mind & soul).

Because I came into religion and ego so late, I feel as if I'm just being born for real. It's frustrating, knowing all the things I believe now, yet not having the power to go back and live. It's even more frustrating knowing the people of the world could live lives full of individual power & freedom. This means never feeling any need to pad your answers, conceal an improper desire, or otherwise discount a personal decision that in no way directly imposes on the freedom and safety of another human. Instead we spend our lives finding new ways to control each other. Think about it and try to name one area of your life in which you have total control. Laws protect us from each other, but laws can't protect you from the social majority deciding your morals for you. This is where your thoughts are being controlled, and your soul simply follows suit.

One great example is sex because it's one of the basic human desires. Even ancient cultures understood that the genitals are sources of great power. Anyone who's ever had an orgasm knows this. So why do we think there's something wrong with sex? Why is it dirty? And why are we so ashamed of sexual desire that sometimes we're even willing to talk about it like it's not there? I'm not sure.

I do know though that it takes me a considerable amount of courage to admit that I just don't see monogamy as the most effective lifestyle for mature adults. I'm not even Christian, yet here I am bound by Holy Matrimony--the marital rules of a religion I don't even believe in. I got married because it made me civic partners with my soul mate. But if I were to let my body ignore the body rules of this bond, the members of our society (especially Emily) would regard me as the lowest of the low. Ask any public figure who has been shamed in this way.

I'm not promoting widespread infidelity, nor am I suggesting that divorce is a quality answer--especially in my case. I truly believe I found my soul mate. I just happened to do it on the first try. Beginner's luck, I guess. But still I wonder how we got here as a culture. Why have we decided to not be powerful? And why do we feel compelled to limit each other? Forcing a man and woman to regard each other as each others' only sexual option is about as limiting as it gets in a world of more than six billion potential experiences. (And sure, married people can still masturbate, but I don't see the majority of monogamy promoters promoting marital masturbation.) So why don't we just cut to the chase already and start spaying & neutering each other at the wedding? (Of course that would make it blatantly obvious that we're controlling each other's bodies with monogamous relationships... because the last thing we would ever want to do is acknowledge that we're failing each other by keeping up appearances.)

So what does any of this have to do with me? Well, for starters, I'm a man that thinks about sex a lot. I think most guys genuinely do. It's not just a joke we like to make. So I'm affected by it in that way. But the way I got here is that I'm really becoming fed up with fighting the powers that be. I'm one person shouting at a wall. I'm not going to change a damn thing, so it seems my ego is failing soon after coming into being. I'm tired of thinking someone else's thoughts , but I simply don't have much power left to fight any more. I am the neutered modern male, bound toward eternity with my spayed female friend.

I know I'm not supposed to admit such things publicly, but I don't much care any more. That's what being controlled does. It leads to despair, and that's where I've been lately. This discussion of modern thoughts on sex is just one of the ways I feel the utter despair of having my life decided for me by the majority rule. The rest are similar arguments that conclude with me not being trusted with individual power and freedom.

Well, it occurs to me now (at the very moment I finish a revision of this blog post) that this is the only individual power and freedom I still have. I have the truth about what I think and feel. So rather than going through the time and money of seeing a therapist to process the blames and shames in my head, why not just let them out where the public can know them? My reasoning is, most people hold onto private matters. Well, that may work for them, but I'm of the opinion that keeping secrets is more about keeping something from myself. Since there's not much of an ego in this head to process privacy, I gotta let my secrets out every once in a while, if I really want to process them.

This is the beginning of another line of posts here on the chew toy. I call it the “Sometimes it's helpful to be a robot, but...” series.

zimdog's quote of the fortnight

2009-09-24T21:50:00.002-04:00

from the back of a Trader Joe's receipt:

"I like nonsense. It wakes up the brain cells."
-- Dr. Seuss

(So... does this mean all those super-serious people out there are comatose? 8^))

The Burden of Innocence: A South Florida Recovery Post

2009-09-23T23:58:00.006-04:00

The following post is the first in a series of occasional posts that will help me process all the crap that happened to me during my time in South Florida. I know I was a much kinder person before living there (where the ugliness of America seems heavily concentrated).

The first life-changing event of my adult life took place early in 2004. I was out walking Murphy early one evening when I saw a group of kids playing in a parking lot off the main drive. Some of them I didn't recognize, and a few I did. In particular, there were two boys I'd talked to before.

But on this particular day, I didn't talk to them. Murph and I were walking along the sidewalk, on the far side of the main drive, and we stopped to watch for a few seconds. All I remember was having a silent chuckle at their youthful innocence when I hear a woman yelling at me from my right.

"Hey. I'd better never see you do that again," she said.

"Excuse me?" My reply was not aggressive. For the first few seconds, I really didn't know what she was talking about, or even if she was talking to me. But when I saw the insinuation in her eyes, I got angry in a hurry. "What did you say?"

"I know what you were thinking,' she added.

Well, then she must've looked right through my own innocence in that moment, and focused on my dark, troll-like features, because there could be no explanation in between for her.

I began a heated march toward her car. I forgot almost entirely that there were kids nearby as I let the swear words loose at her. To be quite honest, I don't know how I restrained myself from putting a massive dent in the hood of her car. And there I stood at the front of her car, demanding to know what she meant. She was a true coward, willing to make the worst of accusations, but unwilling to stand behind it to my face.

Poor Murph. He was just out for a walk with me, and all of a sudden I'm dragging him all over the apartment complex. As that toxic bitch drove away at low speed, I chased her everywhere. I never really figured out why she drove all over the complex like she did. Maybe she felt compelled to engage in some personal crusade to save the neighborhood from the evil-looking man and his bait-dog. What she probably didn't count on was me following her the whole way, yelling as loud as I deemed necessary. I wanted to hear her say what she had only insinuateed so far. Fucking coward.

When she did finally accuse me of being a pedophile, I told her I lived in the apartment complex with my girlfriend, and asked if she wanted to come up and meet her. Her reply was, of course, that all child molesters have girlfriends. I don't remember her reply when I told her I used to do volunteer work as a tutor and mentor for elementary school children while I was an undergrad. But I'm sure it didn't matter anyway. You can't argue with ignorant Americans, because for them, the alternative is admitting they might be wrong.

Eventually she drove off and out of the complex, and I was left more furious that nothing had been resolved. Immediately, I went to the apartment where the boys I knew lived, and I asked to talk to their mom. I explained what had happened, and that the whole thing was bullshit. I was just standing, watching them play. The boys' mom seemed surprised at the whole thing, especially the behavior of the old woman, because apparently she knew the crotchety old sack that lived across the parking lot. Still, the mother seemed to believe me at the time, or she put on a good act.

But pedophilia isn't something a parent is willing to give the benefit of the doubt on. This is why I got so angry at the accusation. The boys' mom never looked at me the same. If her boys were out playing when I walked Murphy down that side of the complex, she'd call them in. Never mind that I lived in their fucking building.

Even the police did nothing. I called an officer out the next morning to file a report. He said maybe the woman had thought I looked like someone on a sex offender bulletin, as if that would somehow make everything okay for me. (Of course, this was the Davie Police--that outfit ready to protect and serve--from which I actually had an officer say as I was reporting my bicycle stolen: "What do you want me to do about it?")

This accusation was was the eye opener for me in life in America. What does that say about our society when a grown man can't look at children playing without being seen as a pervert? Are we really that ready to see sex in everything? I know I'm more likely to question myself now, and how others see me. That wretched woman's reaction to me was so totally unexpected and off-base that I now know any accusation is possible. I have since had two people who were once friends bring this event up as an accusation (the first, less than a year after it happened, and the second, more than five years later). It's an open wound in my life, and one that will remain open for some time yet.

But that's the power of accusation (especially on someone like me who takes personal attacks very personally). I know I can't ever mentor children again, because I won't let myself take the chance of having my life overturned by rumor, even for the sake of a troubled kid. See, that's the thing about accusing someone of child molestation. It's the most vicious rumor that can stick to a person. Guilt or innocence isn't even up for discussion.

When it comes to any behavior that society despises, there is no stalemate. Uncertainty is a guilty verdict. And that wretched bitch, with one loss of restraint between her brain and her mouth, made guilt out of an innocent man. For that I may never forgive her.

I did make eye contact with her once more. Murph and I ran past her apartment one morning. I was still a somewhat forgiving person at the time, so I tossed her a quick hi. I can still picture her up there, surrounded in cigarette smoke, glaring down at me with nothing but the unbridled contempt of her hollow soul. She never even considered that she'd made a mistake. For that, I will not forgive her.

Cosmic order on earth

2009-09-20T02:27:00.006-04:00

Outside tonight, I realized something about the night sky. The constellations are places where imagination has the power to trump science.

Two stars in the Summer Triangle belong to birds: Deneb of Cygnus the Swan, and Altair of Aquila the Eagle. Near the line between Deneb and Altair sits Delphinus the Dolphin.

As science well knows, dolphins are larger than eagles and swans. But in the night sky, the leaping dolphin is dwarfed by the outstretched wings and neck of a giant swan. I take comfort in this.

What science has taught us is that our species most likely gained its unique spiritual sense from a bond with the sky. Ancient cultures regarded celestial objects as gods for their dominant positions, powerful light & heat, and their repeating patterns that brought ordered change to the earth with each new day, night, or season. I wonder if we would have ever rationalized this human-sky relationship without science, but it's too late for that speculation. We've already dug the excavation sites and done the other detailed anthropological guess-work that brought us this far.

Nonetheless, it does not take much personal awakening to see that most of us have (or still do) share a spiritual connection with the sky in one form or another. And so in an effort to better my own spirituality, I humbly wish to share a revised poem that I sent out a couple places earlier this year. It's called "Someday at the Zoo" and it's ready to read on my creative writing blog, zimdog pnaws. I've been searching for reasons to post more work there. Now it seems the spirituality of the night sky has given me as good a reason as any.

Another new blog, zimdog?

2009-09-16T00:08:00.005-04:00

Tired of the zimdog's wordy social tirades?

Then why not get them reduced to a delicious glaze:

Peter Cheddar's Words of Biological Wisdom

Would Peter Cheddar lie to you?

The three if-s

2009-09-06T02:47:00.004-04:00

Thought-provoking movies of my recent:

1. If you've considered that money is the new god, may I recommend What Would Jesus Buy. If you've never considered that money could be the new god, then never mind. It probably won't make much sense to you. (Of course, I kid.)

2. If you have yet to see a vampire movie that takes life seriously, may I recommend Let the Right One In. N.B. It's one of those films that's not made in the U.S.A., so bring your reading eyes.

3. If you haven't seen Revolutionary Road because (like me) you thought the previews made it out to be a so-so tale of provocative sex amidst the rise of uber-conservative America, then don't listen to yourself, damn it. There's a lot more truth there than I thought there'd be. And it's not just cuz I'm a feminist and all.

Storytelling, Updated

2009-08-29T17:00:00.003-04:00

This summer, I had another stunning realization. (What this means is, I either heard it before, forgot, and then thought I invented it, or I really did figure it out on my own, hundreds of years after someone else already did). My momentous decision is this: the hero a la Joseph Campbell is dead. Thus began the slow accumulation of thoughts that would someday become a blog post.

It all crashed down last Sunday as Em and I got into a movie: The Chaos Experiment. In and of itself, it was an okay film, sort of a formulaic horror/thriller, the premise being six people are locked in a huge steam room. Like any horror/thriller, the sexy stuff comes early on, but soon shifts into "Oh, shit. Let's forget how aroused we are, because we are all doomed."

The best part of the film is the lead role, played by Val Kilmer. He's the anti-hero, the guy who locked people in a steam room. But he did it for the good of all humankind, you see. He did it to get newspaper headlines so he can warn everyone about the human plunge into global warming, for which 2012 will mark catastrophe.

So it's Val Kilmer I can thank for realizing that the hero isn't dead. Our heroes have just been complicated. Because we construct heroics based on our egos, our growing understanding of each other's egos only complicates matters. It could be that as our society becomes more complex in its operations, our egos have also become more complex to keep up. Regardless the reason, knowing that we're all similar (despite what our egos suggest about each other), the "good vs. evil" motif is no doubt becoming a relic of the past, of a time when light was good and darkness was evil. Therefore, any story clearly portraying "good vs. evil" is an exaggeration of the human condition. Either this is done for the sake of art, or the storyteller is trying to serve his own ego up as the truth.

da zimdog reads a book!

2009-08-25T01:49:00.006-04:00

Just finished watching The Wrestler. What a great fucking movie. But that's irrelevant.

Or is it? I've always liked (and been much better at) watching movies over reading books. So why did I enter a writing program? I'm not sure. Getting my MFA is just one more thing I did because it seemed like the thing to do at the time. And I am glad I did it. My only regret is not being able to predict what it would do to my desire for reading. After being told what to read, and having it suggested (unofficially of course) HOW to read, I'm just a little tired of books.

Luckily this feeling is wearing off (albeit slowly). Yes folks, I read a book, a thin one... and it only took me two weeks! The difference this time is, I read a book I actually wanted to read. About a month ago, I drafted the first few pages of what will be my second novel. It will have just a touch of wolf theme to it, so I knew Never Cry Wolf would be one of the books I should read before getting any deeper into the new project. I'd been thinking about it in recent months, so what do you think I happened upon a few weeks ago among the remainders of an estate giveaway? Never Cry Wolf by Farlet Mowat. (I read a much older copy with a different cover, but I couldn't find an image of it online. Anyway, this newer one's got a stunning picture of wolves on it, so enjoy....)

My first surprise was that it's a work of nonfiction. I always thought it was fiction. (Hey, I was like six or something when I saw the movie.) Not that that matters. But because I have an MFA now, I can't just read a book without critiquing it, which is how I noticed Mowat's packed writing style. Mostly, I noticed because I've had constipated sentences on the brain lately from reading the words in my own thesis. Mowat's writing and my own seem evidence of what happens when the science-minded turn to creative writing. Each sentence is a crowd of words and ideas, making paragraph progress like a bushwhack through the briars.

Of course, as one who enjoys advancing through wild, tangled brush, Mowat's prose didn't really bother me. I don't need a clearly worn path, in woods or ideas. Advancing through the thorny patches is just more fun for me. Maybe it hurts a little, and the going is slow, but that is the satisfaction that comes from the kind of genuine problem solving that scientists seem to enjoy most. What's more, I have plain respect for the time Mowat probably spent crafting each sentence, even if the eventual combination produced an overworked whole.

But why am I even going into all this? Only within the confines of the academy does the Department of Arts and Letters get the final say on matters of creative writing. In the real world, science matters too. Yet the institution must have attached itself somewhere inside me, because here I type, supposedly a free man, and all I can do is try to rationalize what needs no reason. The arrangement of the words hardly matters when the emotion's there. That's what writing is mostly about, isn't it? Bringing your own emotions, and hoping the readers bring theirs?

Well, Mowat does this for sure. His work illuminates the very honest lives of wolves for those willing to change their minds about the well-rumored darkness of a species. The result was my eventual last step at the end of a one-paragraph epilogue that's nothing but a flat-out downer. For 175 pages, I discovered a beautiful family of wolves through Mowat's human eyes. Then on page 176, he hits me right in the eyes with two separate, but equally startling beams of harsh light: uncertainty and senselessness. Not even he knows what ever happened to the wolf family he (and I) came to love, but he does make one thing very clear in that epilogue. Humans are quite capable of letting their fears consume them, so much so that groundless human fears alone have the power to destroy all those things more innocent than humans themselves.

If you haven't read it before, you will most definitely find surprises in this book. Highly recommended.

Make way for the zimdog

2009-08-11T18:29:00.006-04:00

One day during our time in Indiana, Emily was going out shopping with her mom and I was heading out to do my own thing. It was suggested as possible that I could, if I wanted, make a stop at Target for baby food. At the time, I was shaved near bald, and my transition lenses were dark from just coming in out of the summer sunshine. I must've looked like the founder of a local Hunter S. Thompson fan club. I was also clearly one of the few men in Target on a weekday afternoon.

I thought, don't let them know you're an outsider. For fuck's sake, man. Pull it together. Learn to function around others. Yes, that's it. Calmly sidestep the estrogen-fueled bumper cars and make for the baby food section. But where is it? Goddamn, they knew you were coming. They hid the baby food. Oh, no. There it is. Mmmm. Yes. Study the flavors. Consider their potency and quantity. You're a man on a mission.

Alright, so I can exaggerate with the best of them. I'm not actually uncomfortable around women, nor did I think like Hunter S. Thompson while I was there, but I do admit I was uncomfortable. And not just in Target. Maybe you, my humble reader, too can attest to the reason. Everyone seems to be playing a game called "Let's all pretend no one else exists." This has been going on for some time now. I thought all these people were bred in Florida because that's where I caught wind of this trend. but I've since encountered them as the majority everywhere I've been lately (and that's a lot of places). Now I just expect this tension whenever I leave home.

I expect it because I know there are other human specimens living and moving beyond the boundaries of my home. As I proceed on foot from my personal form of motorized transport, I notice these human specimens all around me, driving their own personal forms of motorized transport or proceeding on their own feet. I study the demeanor of each one, only to find each one is a lot like me in many ways. Thus, I wonder if, like me, they are longing for specimen interaction. I wonder if this one or that one will reciprocate a greeting. Every once in a while, there's a return of smile, and more often than not the non-committal head nod to acknowledge that eye contact has been made.

But mostly it's: customers busying themselves with looking where to swipe their card so they don't have to make eye contact with their customer service representative; shoppers watching the movement of each others' carts for cues on how to plan their next move; people standing silently in wait for others to divine the feeling of being in someone else's way. All the while, I'm watching, thinking, Just say excuse me, for fuck's sake! How is someone supposed to know someone else is behind them without the communication of this information?

The main reason I'm all whiny and complainy on this subject is that I'm very much an outgoing person with strangers. I suspect I'm much more annoying to those people who have known me for some time. I'm an honest a sort of fellow, meaning I tend to say what I'm thinking (something I chalk up to using the potential of the intuitive brain). But in time, I expect that my honest words accumulate in the intuitive brains of others, making them grow tired of me.

This suspicion, however, is not enough to make me give up my honesty because I know that communication is what has gotten humans this far. If we stop telling each other the truths we see, then we are effectively done evolving. So why not just tell each other the truth all the time? Oh yeah. Shedding the animal past means we're supposed to be considerate of others. In public, I'm supposed to be polite by considering the needs of other people, so if other human beings don't want to be acknowledged, then I should just leave them alone. Right?

Then why do recluses willingly expose themselves to public spaces? Moreover, how are there so goddamn many of these people? Oh yeah. There are so many of these people wanting to be left alone in public spaces because that's how they were trained to act in public. Think about how often you see children being honest creatures in public to the chagrin of their parents who then begin training that openness away. No, no, little Sally. We don't stare at others, or Billy, stop speaking to that poor person. He doesn't want you bothering him, (as if it's somehow a bother being noticed). I've observed dog owners doing this too. When I'm out walking Murphy and some other dog on a leash gets all loud about us, the dog-walkers don't acknowledge me or Murphy. They speak solely to the dogs, scolding them for acknowledging others (which, it seems to me, only reinforces a dog's need to bark at that thing over there that its walker obviously doesn't notice).

This is my guess. Our solitude in public is the evil twin of politeness. When you think so much about what other people want or need and how you should act for the sake of others, it becomes much easier to get fed up with all the shit you're doing for other people. Your ego demands, what about me? This is politeness gone awry. This is how the majority of human specimens has come to walk around in as many private little worlds. Every encounter with another person strains your own abilities to be you, so when we set out each morning with the mindset that we are to have absolutely no effect on anyone else during the day, we are expecting ourselves to go out into the world where we will not slow anyone down, nor get in anyone's way, nor take the last item that anyone else might've wanted. To be quite honest, I can't remember the last time I lived a perfect day in this manner. There are just too many people to please.

Obviously it's much more complicated an issue than this, but I feel I've uncovered one of the many reasons we can be so damn prickly to each others' presences. For instance, another reason could be that we just don't want to (or don't have the time to) get to know one more person. We can be selfish like that, I suppose.

Or maybe it's because our brains still operate with a heavy share of intuitive thinking. For example, when I look at someone's face, waiting to see if they'll acknowledge me, sometimes their eyes meet mine. Even if their gaze is averted very quickly, I already know what I've seen. There's something spectacular about vision this way, how we're able to differentiate even the slightest difference in the direction of someone else's gaze--especially when what they're looking at is our own eyes. This enhanced definition was probably given to us by Nature for survival, and also for recognizing the threatening or challenging gaze of another. When people acknowledge me and look away, maybe they're intimidated by me. I am a rather tall specimen, and I do have the unfortunate look of a troll or something. If this is the case, then the tendency for people to ignore me in public is just a thread of evolutionary ability that hasn't been bred out of them, so I shouldn't get upset with them.

But this doesn't mean I feel like a troll. Maybe others should recognize that there might be more to me than some eager troll taking an interest in the life of another, waiting for the opportunity to thieve a piece of it. By the flip side of the same coin, maybe they should recognize that I'm just another person like them, looking around at others to see who's gonna be friendly. In this case, I'm being too kind by defending a majority of people who are well aware of the dishonesty they're perpetuating by ignore others. Instead, I'll take comfort in knowing that some people simply do not evolve as fast as others, and that I am one of the fortunate front-runners of the species. Personally, I like this option better, because right now I'm typing this from the safety of home, where my ego can still make whatever choices it damn well pleases.

On and on on the matter of author intent

2009-08-10T02:10:00.006-04:00

At one point during my thesis defense, one of the committee members asked if the intent I explained for the story being discussed should perhaps be made more apparent for the reader. My answer was, "I'm not sure that's up to me," to which my chair replied, "I'm pretty sure it is." All was said in good-hearted tone, and I wasn't bothered by his suggestion, but just today I returned to that moment, realizing I underrepresented myself (something I have made a habit of doing in life). I just don't think authors should have to beat their readers over the head with hidden meanings and suggestive imagery. If readers get it, they get it. If they don't, there are still the more literal elements for them to consider.

One thing that bothered me severely about my creative writing program (and, I'm guessing, creative writing programs in general) is the unfortunate lack of in-depth meditation on writing. In workshop for a week, you're reading and commenting on three writers' submissions, or reading and discussing an entire book, not to mention the work you have for two other classes, and the life you're living off campus. Personally, I can read and absorb maybe one book in a week, and then I might need a week off before the next one.

One day this summer, I was bullshitting with an old college friend who's been a computer programmer since he graduated in 2002. In discussing syntax, something common to our respective trades, we found ourselves in agreement about something not commonly respected when it comes to language. Like him, I enjoy reading prose so dense that I frequently stop to re-read and re-read portions... not because it's poorly worded prose, but because the ideas therein are complicated enough to be worth reconsidering. This is when the act of reading becomes the process of understanding. Understanding does not often come at breakneck pace.

In my very humble opinion, writing is far too often overworked until tender. And for what purpose? Frankly, I think it's to cater to readers who aren't willing to do any work on their own. Attempts to know one's audience sometimes lead to writing for readers who want their ideas as pre-processed and neatly packaged as everything else in a life of convenience. More and more, writing seems geared toward readers who want to speed-read a dozen books in the time it takes me to understand one. I just don't understand the big damn hurry. It's not like any one of us can read everything ever written. Then why not take our time with the books we've got?

I'm not saying I'm the best damn writer or anything. In fact, I'd confess I think I'm no better than average. And part of the reason is that I'm not so much a writer as I am an idea man, but I don't see a problem with this.Who knows? Maybe I just sat in too many discouraging workshops where decent ideas were passed over or misunderstood by readers too hurried to drop in and make an attempt at understanding. (And to those whose ideas I passed over for lack of time, I do apologize. It's not exactly a writer's world out there.) I'm not saying I want to sacrifice the feel of the story by only writing fictional worlds in which the characters flap about as hollow ideas in a concept. I do know, however, that my stories come from ideas (something often discouraged in workshops). I do this because I want my stories to have a weighty epicenter, and if the story can still ring true as a believable world for those readers not interested in ideas, fine. Anyway, conjuring believable worlds is probably the hardest aspect of writing, and the one coming the slowest to me.

Still I feel like I encountered little or no attention to ideas in fiction writing workshops. Instead, I saw hints that America needs more copies of John Irving and Alice Munro. These prose-heavy styles of writing are fine, and I do enjoy reading them from time to time, but what about the rest of the genre? What about all those classic idea writers like Nietzsche, and Kafka, and Camus, and Orwell? And Hesse, and so on and so on and so on? I remember reading books by them and learning something about existence. The Great Gatsby is an awesome book and all, but it's mostly about rich people living in New York. Does the Universe revolve around money and Americans? Well, let me rephrase. Should it?

All I'm trying my darndest to say is, I feel like an odd ball reassuring myself that somehow my writing does matter when around me I see an America and its fiction that both seem interested in how something is worded rather than what its words contribute to understanding. I don't know. Maybe you should just call me crazy or lazy.

Oh yeah. One more thing that happened this summer...

2009-08-08T17:00:00.004-04:00

It's not a dream come true or anything, but guess whose master's thesis is published and way, way overpriced online? Just go to whatever site you normally visit for books online (Amazon, Barnes & Noble, etc.) and do a search for Mother's Forgotten Garden: A Cosmic Remembrance. Your search just might produce a work by c.d.zim (with an apple on the cover). Ehh, it's a first step anyway. Mostly I went through it to get a sense for the publishing process. I guess I could've gone through some place like Lulu.com, but I didn't want to pay any publishing costs.

Out of the blue one day, I got an e-mail from some acquisitions editor with a publishing company called VDM Verlag that mostly publishes scientific theses and dissertations. She said she came across a reference to my thesis in the FAU library database, and she thought it might be suitable for publication through VDM. I though, What the heck. My thesis would most likely just sit in the FAU library anyway. This way, VDM pays the publishing costs, my thesis gets published in paperback form, and I still retain the rights to my work. If I want to take the overall work or any part of it to another publisher, all I have to do is alter 20% of the word count (which I would want to do anyway, because I have since re-read some of it and wondered what I was thinking).

Anyway, like I said, it's a first step. It's definitely no superstar publishing deal, but at least I got to see my book listed online... for a list price of ten times what it's worth. Yeah, real encouraging for a budding writer.

Oh, and if you're actually interested in reading my thesis, but you don't have $96 to spare, just ask me and I'll e-mail you the pdf.

it's been a zimdoggian summer

2009-08-08T14:58:00.005-04:00

(In my best Ali G,) Whuz-bin-gwan! Aight, check it. I iz eah in Tacoma, Washin'ton wiff mah main man, G-Riff, and as always, me Em'ly who jus' luvs bonin'.

Ehh. Impressions always work better in person. I've just had Ali G on the brain since seeing Bruno in Indiana. That was uncomfortable. At many times, I was the only one to be heard laughing in the theater. Others may have been, but homosexuality isn't really one of those things the average person in the Heartland feels like discussing or recognizing. My only hope was that I didn't get any sodas dumped on me. Oh, and my favorite part was the elderly couple sitting a few rows behind. As soon as the full-screen penis shot came up, I heard him say, "That's interesting," and then he and his wife didn't stick around for the rest. Quite honestly, I'm surprised they made it through the hyper-exaggerated parody of gay sex in the beginning.

So, no blog posts in a good while. It just hasn't been that sort of summer. In some way though, I think it has been advantageous for me and Emily to learn the parenting life while on the road for three months straight. And l'il G-Riff's got a story to tell people when he gets older. In the first seven months of his life, he has been in six time zones and 21 states.

Let's see. What else happened this summer? In bulleted form:

- I realized Frank Zappa is the weirdest person to have ever lived. It doesn't matter how many times I listen to his music. I still marvel at the amount of raw creativity that moved through the man in his life. I also admire his ability to not give a fuck about all the unimportant crap that forms the epicenter of man-made existence.

- In one of those rare and exciting lucky moments, I tuned in for the last five minutes (hockey minutes) of the Stanley Cup's Game 7. As the TV picture warmed up, it looked like the Penguins had the season all sealed up. But just as I started scheming insults for B. Doozan (a planetarium colleague and fan of all-teams-Detroit), a Red Wings' defensiveman killed a one-timer to bring Detroit within one goal of tying it up. From there on out, Detroit applied massive pressure, blasting shots on net, with a few near goals, and just generally controlling the puck for those final minutes. The tense ending went right down to the last fraction of a second when Pittsburgh's goalie literally threw his chest in front of a flying puck that would've send Game 7 to overtime. I don't care who your hockey team is, or if you even like hockey. The Penguins earned the right to hold the Cup this year. It was pretty much the best Stanley Cup Game 7 ever.

- To make the long trek west with Griffin, Murphy, and our stuff, Em and I decided to sell the Corolla so we could start payments on a more family-sized roller. Once upon a time, I wondered about SUV drivers. Now I am one. Oh, the things parents do for their children. But don't think us too noble. It's a 2006 Honda Pilot EX-L, which I'm pretty sure stands for EXtra-Luxury. It's got heated leather seats et plurissimae amenitae. Mostly, I'm digging the moon roof and 6-disc changer.

- Life as a parent has made me much more protective. I used to consider myself a pacifist. Now I am coming to consider myself prepared. I now think about what I really need to keep Griffin safe at all times. Thus my collection of tools and weapons has begun. I found the Gerber Gator Axe and Knife combo. The knife slides up into the handle of the hatchet, where it is held in place by a magnet. It's a great camping/survival tool, but mostly I bought it for the size and style of the knife, for which I have yet to rig up a homemade sheath so I can carry it for protection. I am also considering getting a concealed weapons permit and a small revolver. I know the chances of being in the wrong place at the wrong time are slim, but I simply refuse to die (or let Griffin die) a senseless death because some pathetic psycho decides to shoot up a building full of strangers. It seems a strange paradox, especially given the trite anti-gun propaganda that spotlights guns instead of irresponsible gun owners, but I've never felt more responsible and more capable of owning a gun than now that I'm a parent. Griffin's safety is my number one priority, and there's nothing in the world that can make me act so stupid as to treat a gun with anything but respect. That's the reason I want to carry one... because there are too many irresponsible people who already do. And after living in Florida (where five years of bad luck rained down on me like shit from the sky), I now wonder if maybe I'm just destined to be in the wrong places at the wrong times, encountering the wrong people. One can hope to control one's destiny, but to be certain of destiny is to be a cocksure fool. I'm choosing instead to be prepared.

- And probably the most amazing thing to happen all summer is getting to Tacoma. We're in one place... for at least a year! We're not unpacked yet, but we're in an apartment and all our stuff is out of the storage unit. I'll say more once it's all fixed up like it's going to be for everyday life, but we were lucky to have found this place. It's simple and comfortable, with everything we need nearby. Topping the list of awesome finds is a grocery store called Trader Joe's. They have delicious foods at affordable prices (like Whole Foods), and there's one right around the frickin' corner. I think we'll be satisfied here, Murphy included. There are plenty of cats and other animals out back for him to chase and bark at, etc.

zimdog's quote of the fortnight

2009-07-02T04:30:00.003-04:00

(from the underside of a Wegman's bottle cap):

The bad news:
there is no key
to the universe.
The good news:
it was never locked.

Swami
Beyondananda

Talking like a man with a paper ass...

2009-06-03T00:11:00.001-04:00

My dad and I were standing by the grill earlier talking about health care reform. Pretty standard. I'm no expert, but I do know that the arguments being made against government health care are crap arguments. It's no more socialist than the police force any one of us can benefit from. And there would be no increase in taxes. Or rather, there would be, but gone would be the health care premiums and deductibles making health care CEOs filthy rich. Personally, I think taxes would work out cheaper, and we'd be a healthier nation. Maybe I'm looking at it wrong though.

But let's get back to those crap arguments being made. The bastardization of information in the media is a problem of obese proportions, and some Americans are ready to believe whatever they hear from the idiot with the loudest microphone, which is why I was surprised when my dad told me some of the New Republicans are really getting pissed about the sorts of propaganda being spouted at high volume by loudmouths like Rush Limbaugh and Newt Gingrich. This is refreshing news for freedom of speech. Intelligence might just get its voice yet.

Now the funny part. Our discussion reminded my dad of a euphemism his father often used for describing unintelligent, crap arguments. He described the irresponsible speaker as “talking like a man with a paper ass.” I admit I can't quite figure out what this phrase means, but I like it, and somehow it makes sense inside my head. I hope to keep this phrase handy for regular use. But still I'm curious. Any ideas why it works?

Silly in religion

2009-06-01T20:41:00.006-04:00

Driving yesterday, I saw a license plate that read "2CJESUS." My first reaction was: Whoopie! Another asshole Christian trying to ram salvation through my head.

But then the underlying humor hit me. That driver was right then and there going to see Jesus. I had a fair chuckle, and realized how much more I like Christians when they're making jokes instead of playing missionary. This in turn found loose connections with recurring thoughts of late, one of which is the mild sadness I feel from knowing that juvenile humor generally meets disdain. It's like some people have forgotten how to have an innocent laugh. I know my own world is a much happier place when I spend more of it enjoying humor at any level.

Recently, Griffin learned to blow raspberries with his lips... semi-funny in and of itself. Then one night, he made that sound almost immediately after releasing a real fart. I was so proud of my son's very first fart joke. Of course cynic that I am, soon came the thoughts regarding the lack of respect that fart jokes get any more. It's like you're an outcast for enjoying bodily humor (just one of the many arguments supporting ecofeminism's claim that the master consciousness has trained humans to consider the natural world inferior).

Well, I don't give a flying fish. The snobs of the world can kiss my ass, which is that funny-shaped set of lumps halfway down the backside of my body. My body, by the way, is my physical connection to the natural world; nowadays, some consider it "inferior" to the human mind and soul. In my religion, the body, mind, & soul deserve equal attention.

Having said everything I have written thus far, I declare that from this day forth, no human shall rightfully trespass upon my natural right to laugh about turds and their hilarious variety of shapes and exit sounds. I shall not find embarrassment in shifting my rational thought process into simpleton gear for an episode of South Park. (I recently saw the queef episode and just about choked on my own laughter.) Nor shall my soul suffer the narrow moralizing eye of the prideful elites who can't stand being anchored to reality by a crude vehicle that expels waste. Heaven forbid humans learn the powerful energy of recycling!

Em's bathtime tune

2009-05-26T23:37:00.003-04:00

(sung to the tune of Funiculi Funicula while dipping G-riff's backside in and out of the water)

Dunk-dunk-dunk-dunk
Dunk, dunk-a-roo
Dunk-dunk-dunk-dunk
I dunk-a you
Dunk-a-you, dunk-a-you, dunk-a-rooooo
I dunk-a-you, dunk-a-roo
Dunk-a-doo

(repeat as desired)

Coda (sung as random, festive silliness):
Dunk-a-doodle! Dunk-a-doodle! Dunk-a-doodle-doodle-doo!

The song came about as a more popular spin-off of Bouncy, bouncy, bouncy on the bed.

Mother's Day 2009

2009-05-11T04:07:00.004-04:00

Emily, her folks, Griffin, and I spent Emily's first Mother's Day at Pike Place Market in Seattle.

We tasted cheeses n' jellies, ate a damn delicious lunch, saw the fish being thrown, etc.

from left: zimdog (wearing his new favorite hat), Em the Mom, li'l Grif, Mimi, Gramps

Go west, young man. Go west.

2009-05-11T00:25:00.024-04:00

On April 28, Emily and I left the Florida life we've been living since August 2003. The good from the last 5.5 years will stick with me, while the bad became history as soon as I left the curb.

The trip out west took nine days. The overall movements were complicated, but to cut to the chase, I met up with Griffin, Emily, and her parents in St. Louis on May 2nd. (For those musical fans out there, of course I made the "Meet me in St. Louie, Louie" joke at least once before my flight). From there, we made Tacoma in six days of driving. Not bad, considering we did it all with a 4-month old. (Griffin was a real champ, by the way.)

We're now holed up in a Tacoma hotel room, our stuff in storage and the U-Haul trailer safely returned. Already, this place promises more sanity for the zimdog. If nothing else, I'll be living under cooler weather, a fact that leaves me physically and mentally pretty cool.

If you've never been out West, I recommend driving it... if you have the time. Those Florida skies may look big, but they ain't shit compared to big mountains topped by big skies. Here's a visual sample of what one encounters when forging new frontiers. Pioneers, Ho!

Father & Son Reunited in MISSOURI

Somewhere in IOWA

SOUTH DAKOTA

WYOMING

MONTANA

IDAHO

WASHINGTON

Tacoma at last! (>3800 miles traveled)

This one says it all...

It feels good to be still, for a few.

On Becoming Poet Colbereate

2009-04-10T15:24:00.009-04:00

I just finished reading a friend's months-old post regarding an unexpected rise in the reading of literary fiction. The news is not quite so good for poetry. Man, I don't get it. Not only is poetry fun to write, it's also fun to read. There are no strings attached, no commitments. You just read and react. There's nothing to figure out.

While reading her post, I thought about my own recent experiences with poetry. My degree is in fiction writing, but poetry's always been a good friend. Just last month I sent some poems out to a contest and a journal in hopes of a bite. We'll see.

I also sent, late in December, a letter to Stephen Colbert regarding the Siamese Scats that won me an honorable mention in the 2007 Wergle Flomp. I'm surprised they made it that far, given a vast majority of society's judgmental attitude toward anything fecal. Were the poo-ems juvenile toilet humor? In ways, yes. But they are a little more than just poo poo humor. If read aloud and given some consideration, it is possible to find a certain amount of thoughtful poesy therein. My hope in sending them to Colbert was that they might actually gain further recognition via someone who seems capable of considering toilet humor for something more.

Well, it's been quite some time since I sent the letter, so I am facing facts--especially after reading my friend's post about literary reading habits. I think it's time to archive the letter in my blog, because it won't likely meet exposure any other way. And so I present an original letter entitled, "On Becoming Poet Colbereate."

22 December 2008

Dr. Stephen T. Colbert, D.F.A.
c/o The Colbert Report
513 West 54th Street
New York, NY 10019

Dear Dr. Stephen T. Colbert, D.F.A.,

Until your show became a conduit for global success, I had no idea how important I was to myself. Yes, the intoxicating promise of the Colbert Bump has the potential to seize us all... even a humble man such as meeself. And so now, in meek tone, I write to you on the matter of why I should be named Poet Colberteate. I offer up as evidence the enclosed Siamese-twin poems, “Sca-rat-ska-bat-tale: A Movement” and “Movement Number Two: A Scatastrophe.” Read aloud, these poems conjure the simplexity of an everyday verse that could resound loudly throughout the Colbert Nation.

At the end of this sentence, you will find the appropriate meta-textual time-space gap that facilitates the reading of the enclosed poems...

{Blog link provided specially: the Siamese twin poo-ems}

... so now that you understand the importance of the Siamese Scats, you see how truthfully they harness the vulgaris hominum via the vox populi. The moral, too, is clear: semper ubi sub ubi. (Et illa est verba.)

The truthiness of the matter is, the Siamese Scats should earn me the prestigious title of Poet Colberteate because the “honorable mention” dealt thus far has only insulted my precious Siamese Scats. On the day of their penning, these poems were handed down directly by the purveyor of all things natural, the Almighty Poet Himself, Sir Henry Godsworth Longdong. In the golden light of this budding revisionist history, surely my heavenly droppings glow worthy of the American literary canon. Unfortunately, getting them there requires more than the peristalsis of everyday life... unless....

Enter the American media syndicate. Heck, if Rush Limbaugh can flush his daily verbal toilet with the Clear Channel, why should my divine defecations not undergo nationally-syndicated passage via Viacom? I await your reply, sir::: zimdoggie@gmail.com, or 954.###.####.

Cheers,

c.d.zim

P.S. If nothing else, please issue the Wergle Flomp judges a stern Wag of Your Finger for me, or perhaps some “swimming lessons,” iykwim.

Interesting Strawberries of Recent

2009-04-06T21:36:00.003-04:00

The most monster strawberry I have ever seen. I bought the package just so I could bring it home and eat it.

with others for scale

This one's just a little guy (from a different package):

ditto

zimdog's South Florida survival tips

2009-03-29T18:49:00.009-04:00

I went earlier today to the local Publix grocery store, and Jesus F'ing Christ, I have never been more anxious to leave a place (meaning South Florida). The level of inter-personality ranks about as high as the median IQ, and if you think I'm just cynical, then ... suffer a cyber-slap across the face. (As Exhibit Z, I offer said cyber-slap up as proof of what South Florida has done to me. I would never cyber-slap a reader five-and-a-half years ago.)

No, during my entire twenty-minute stay at my favorite Publix grocer, I confirmed my suspicions that Florida is truly toxic to personal interaction. I still got some quality people watching in, and I still had a relatively good time with myself, but there were exceptions as usual. For instance, on my way in, I was walking in behind some guy whose back-of-shirt read, "Puccini's Smiling Teeth." In a rare moment of reverting mentally to a time when I could actually show acknowledgment for a stranger, I said to the man, "Okay, I'm curious. Sir, what does 'Puccini's Smiling Teeth' mean?" The man just walked on, not even turning to see if my voice was real or imaginary. He continued to ignore me when I excused myself, trying once more to get his attention.

When I got home, I told Emily and her dad about the failed communication, and they suggested maybe the guy didn't know what was on the back of his shirt. (Emily and her family members do this sometimes, usually when I don't want them to; Emily often does this when I'm genuinely trying to criticize something small that stands for a much larger problem. She instantly views it through the most positive lens possible. Sheesh.) Maybe. Maybe he didn't know what the back of his shirt read, but we were the only two people for at least forty feet. Was I talking in conversational non-yelling tone to the other person in sight?

No, I think it's something else, something more wrong with the behavior of the population-stressed human being. If he turned around to acknowledge me, he might find me pointing a gun at him. As someone who has been held up down here, I can attest that it does happen. But I never saw it coming. Why would you assume you're about to get held up? Or worse, drawn into a conversation with a stranger? Ahhhhhhhh!

I know you sense the horror too, so I apologize. I am one of those people who occasionally attempts conversations with strangers. I'm of that kind, you might say. In the store, I attempted about six conversations. Perhaps two of them felt honest on both ends. And I'm not saying I wasn't ever the self-centered or uninterested one. All I'm saying is, how did it come to this? South Florida is slowly choking me to death, and I feel like one of the few people that realizes South Florida is choking their human-ness to death.

Don't get me entirely wrong. Florida has not been all bad. I love that Emily and I came down here with almost nothing. We have really created a shared life for ourselves, and we've done it on our own. For myself, I got an MFA in Creative Writing, and in my shared life, Emily and I got married and have now started a family. But always forefront on my mind is that South Florida is the last place I would ever want to have a family. To do so would require me to believe much more blindly in the First Capitalist Commandment: Thou shalt cut thy neighbor down at the knees.

Boy oh boy do I spend my days in this cynicism. I must admit though. Life has gotten progressively harder since my in-laws came to town. This isn't to say that life as parent to a newborn hasn't been tons easier with experienced help around. It has been good in some ways, but in one way that matters to me very much, I have not recently encountered many opportunities to just relax and do some zimdoggin'.

I often have a whole lot on my mind, be it good or bad. Ergo, I either need people I can share these thoughts with, or I need time to churn the thoughts myself--and both have been in short supply. Emily truly is my soul mate, so she often listens to my thoughts, but Emily isn't always the Emily I know when her family is around, and right now, spending time at home means spending time with my in-laws and their two dogs, both of which are the most annoying dog I know at alternating times. Some nights, my brother-in-law and his dog come over too, which ups the in-law and dog counts each by one. And most nights, we probably spend an hour or more with our viewing entertainment paused while Emily and her family talk to either of the two remaining Roosa in-laws in Indiana.

To raise the stakes further, there's a double-generation gap between my world view and the way Emily's parents perceive the world. Really, it's a wonder I have been able to spend 4+ months with her parents living here. Last night was the first time I blew up at her mom. She's having a very difficult time finding happiness in her life, and it just became too much for me last night. As for her dad, we haven't butted heads yet. He's been quite respectful of not being too fatherly in the house Emily and I share, but the possibility of a clash is always there. In many respects, my methods for happiness differ from those of my in-laws (and Emily's methods too for that matter), so as long as we can all continue to respect each others' rights to be different, the rest of Florida will go just fine.

Damn, I can't wait for the end of April, which is where I get to the good news. Emily got an internship match with Western State Hospital. Come the end of April, she and I are moving to Tacoma, Washington with our totally kick-ass son Griffin (and of course da wicked ol' Murph-hizzound). Washington fucking State, sir. I am so anxious for the change of pace, the change of intellect, and definitely the change of climate. I grew up in England (from 2-and-a-half to 8 years of age for those who don't know). Even more than the mind-numb and/or greedy participants of South Florida who have injected me with more negative energy in 5.5 years than I encountered cumulatively during the previous 23 years, it has been the Florida weather oppressing me, so the prospect of moving to a damp, cold coastal climate is exactly what I need right now. I think Tacoma is going to be the fresher air I crave--for many reasons. Most of all though, I am excited to start my family life there... just me, Emily, Griffin, and Murphy. We'll finally start a family, and actually become the married couple we legally became over three years ago.

One idea I've been tossing around to go with the lifestyle change is something of a return to discipline. I took some martial arts as a much younger lad, and I've been seriously considering getting back into it in WA. I'm at a point in my life where I am now responsible for another human life (and half of Emily's too). Martial arts is one activity that would return some of the physical and mental discipline that my shy, lazy, and uncertain Florida life has completely conned me of. I either feel removed from myself at home or crammed so far down inside myself in public that I am working on becoming everyone except who I actually want to be.

One thing I miss feeling is the confidence of preparation, hence the title of this blog entry (at last). This became clear to me today in the Publix parking lot. As I walked toward my car, groceries in hand, I had these very thoughts:

1. Keeping your car keys in your back pocket offers the easiest possible access to them, from either a running motion or a fighting stance;

2. Carry most of your grocery bags in your weaker arm. Not only does this help you strengthen that arm, it lets you carry only one bag in your good swinging arm. This bag should contain something that balances force of impact with swing-able velocity, something like ice or some coconuts.

Yes, now you see what I have become in this place. The way I figure it, if I get back into martial arts, I can just react to the bullshit this world is becoming, and I can spend my own time thinking about more important things... like living, not just surviving. I recently also began training myself to leave my wallet in my pants' pocket at all times so I'll always have it with me, no matter what the circumstances: be it house fire, nighttime burglar, carjacking, etc. This is what happens when you live on shakedown street, where the criminals don't hide their behavior, and the criminal cops hide theirs even less. Truly a sad commentary, considering I have, without knowing it, become a man perpetuated by his own fears in a place so full of fears that they rule us all in one way or another.

Funny pictures of Griffin

2009-02-22T20:01:00.001-05:00

How to play Pizza Box

2009-02-22T18:58:00.004-05:00

Next time you're in a crowd of friendly-ish people, try out this game some of the SoFla crew invented Friday night at the 93 Rock Brew Review.

1. Find a stranger you think might yield a fun reaction. Approach this person and get their attention. When you have it, look them in the eye and say,

Pizza box?

Your chosen stranger's response will most likely be driven by either disbelief or curiosity. But who am I to place further constraint on the possibilities of the human condition? My personal favorite response was from a guy who said, "Yes, pizza box," and kept on walking, girlfriend in tow. For this reason, I recommend approaching stationary strangers. They are less likely to ignore you, and those who are part of a group seem more willing to play along.

2. If your chosen stranger does in fact repeat your question, you then say,

Pizza box.

A simple statement will suffice, although you may wish to add emphasis, as if surprised by their ignorance of Pizza Box.

At this point, your chosen stranger may once more form a question (i.e. "Pizza box, eh?") This is your cue to move the game forward.

3. Ultimately, your goal is to get a high-five or hip-bump from this stranger, so once you feel you have earned your chosen stranger's trust, make your move toward completing the conversation with a loud, enthusiastic:

Peet-za box!

If further curiosity ensues, tell your chosen stranger, "Pizza Box is the word. Spread the word," and quickly move on to the next stranger.

Meditations on the future of the chew toy

2009-02-10T15:27:00.005-05:00

From the busy life of a student, I have moved on to living the busy schedule of newborn's parent, thus I have not yet found much extra time in a week to write, and whatever personal writing time I do find is often better devoted to the artsy sort of writing I learned at the academy. In the last few weeks, I had many ideas for blog posts, but none of them got done. I absolutely should consider other ways to post to my blog without always having to sit down and blog it out. In fact, I already do quite a bit of writing in a week, yet rarely do I consider this work blog writing. Yes, I just raised the existential question: What is blog writing?

It's not a very important question though, so I'll just cut to the chase here. I have decided to start posting some of the article writing I do at work. I also reminded myself that this blog can contain more of the random, unfinished philosophical arguments I poke at in a week. Ultimately, what I want to learn how to do is use the chew toy as a reservoir of past ideas I've had.

And so I give you an article I wrote for the Buehler Planetarium's monthly publication:

NASA Research Fuels: A Seed of Global Responsibility?

In all reaches of technology, the National Aeronautics and Space Administration has made great impacts on everyday life. Its list of inventions and patents already includes, but is hardly limited to: ear thermometers that take a temperature with one click, scratch-resistant eyeglass lenses, and the insoles that make shoes more comfortable. And just consider where humankind would be without long-distance telecommunications, cordless power tools, and water filters.

In recent years, NASA has even begun using innovative thinking to study the causes of, and possible solutions to, global environmental change. A recent NASA article, “Alternative Jet Fuels Put to the Test,” outlines one potential example for influential change in daily human life around the globe. Along with various other research groups, NASA is testing the engine performance and aircraft emissions of two jet fuels made from non-petroleum materials. The two focus fuels of the study are synthesized from coal and natural gas, because these resources actually contain the energy necessary to power a commercial airliner.

Given not only the rising cost of oil but also its ever-decreasing supply, exploring alternatives to petroleum seems more important than ever. The technology to synthesize non-petroleum fuels has been in existence for decades, practical interest remained low, but in light of the recent rabid fluctuation in oil prices, the high cost of building the processing plants that would synthesize non-petroleum fuels may now seem like a viable economic alternative. In addition to decreasing the amount of oil used for jet airline travel, these non-petroleum fuels may also reduce the amount of environmental damage done to the skies. In NASA’s words, “it is thought that synthetic fuels create fewer particles and other harmful emissions than standard jet fuel” (“Alternative”).

Yet, the glaring problem with this research is lack of any suggested departure from human dependence on fossil fuels. Coal, natural gas, and oil are all sources of energy being consumed much faster than the Earth can replenish supplies. All fossil fuels are non-renewable sources of energy, limited by formation time. Fossil fuels came into existence gradually from the heat and pressure of the Earth’s crust acting on the fossilized remains of plants and animals that died hundreds of millions of years ago.

Fossil fuels are quite useful as sources of energy, but when burned, they release the byproducts of their energy into the atmosphere. These are greenhouse gases, which come in many forms. Carbon dioxide has been the main focus of recent greenhouse gas discussions, since it is “the leading human-produced greenhouse gas driving changes in Earth's climate” (“NASA Mission”). Meanwhile, an ever-increasing human population demands the burning of more fossil fuels than ever. “Eighty-five percent of all human-produced carbon dioxide emissions come from the burning of fossil fuels,” which means the global addition of “almost 1.4 metric tons of carbon per person per year to the atmosphere” (“Human Factor”).

To put this impact in terms of accumulated effect, “more than half of all fossil fuels ever used by humans have been consumed in just the last 20 years” (“Human Factor”). Humans are creating a global problem of atmospheric proportions. Clearly, humans have not properly learned to weigh the costs of industrial and commercial ventures alongside the benefits. While the Industrial Revolution has greatly benefited the human way of life, it has also led to a startling increase in concentrations of atmospheric greenhouse gases. The evidence is in the air. “Before industrialization, the concentration of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere was about 280 parts per million. By 1958, the concentration of carbon dioxide had increased to around 315 parts per million, and by 2007, it had risen to about 383 parts per million. These increases were due almost entirely to human activity” (“Human Factor”).

Thus, human beings have upset the natural balance of the Earth’s carbon cycle. “If we think of Earth as ‘breathing,’ the balance between photosynthesis, or ‘inhaling,’ and respiration, or ‘exhaling,’ was about equal until humans began mining and burning large amounts of fossilized organic matter like coal, oil and natural gas a couple hundred years ago” (“Orbiting”). Once upon a time, humans only exhaled the carbon dioxide produced by their own bodies. Now, in the age of technology, humans also ‘exhale’ lots and lots of fossil-fuel carbon dioxide. Hundreds of millions of years ago, these fossil fuels were stored as ‘inhalations’ in the Earth. Now their rapid release by humans has gradually and increasingly tipped the balance on the Earth's carbon cycle. In other words, humans have been exhaling much, much more than their own share of carbon dioxide.

But the topic of global climate change need not be entirely a discussion of doom and gloom. Another recent NASA article, “The Orbiting Carbon Observatory and the Mystery of the Missing Sinks,” outlines a new spacecraft scheduled to launch February 23 of this year. Primarily, the Orbiting Carbon Observatory will focus on how “forests, grasslands, crops and soil are absorbing carbon dioxide” (“Orbiting”). NASA has chosen to focus on land sinks because scientists currently have decent estimates for how human activity distributes carbon dioxide between the atmosphere and the ocean, but less is known about how land sinks absorb the greenhouse gas.

Despite clearer estimates, and despite deforestation and (sub)urban development, plants still seem to have the upper hand on land, according to Scott Denning, a professor of atmospheric sciences at Colorado State University, who says “plant life is growing faster than it's dying,’” or in his more scientific explanation, “‘land is a net sink for carbon dioxide, rather than a net source’” (“Orbiting”). Via Denning, the Orbiting Carbon Observatory article outlines the six main ways a carbon ‘sink’ can develop on land. In all cases, human activity plays a role in creating the proper circumstances for more plant growth. More plants means less carbon dioxide acting as a greenhouse gas. In other words, human development and/or interference naturally leads to more plant remediation and/or prosperity.

The underlying message is quite clear. Regardless of how much or how little humans realize and respect what plants do for them, the plants of Earth will continue working as they always have to undo the ‘exhalations’ of humans, be they the essential exhalations of human respiration or the convenient emissions of human activity. And while plants cannot make up for all of the carbon dioxide released by human fossil-fuel use, they deserve some recognition for having done their part.

Here, NASA too should be commended for participating in the research that returns this fact to the human attention. Projects like the Orbiting Carbon Observatory show that the Administration seems to be thinking in the right direction by revealing the damage done, and their current research on jet fuels seems at least one humble baby step on behalf of humankind. And who knows? Given NASA’s innovative spirit, maybe someday it will announce research being done on plant-based jet fuels. One generation of plants could help to ‘inhale’ the emissions created by the energetic burning of the previous generation, and so on. Such a breakthrough would allow a different kind of progress leading back toward that more balanced point in the Earth’s carbon cycle history before humans knew the means for technological progress without restraint. On the other hand, the future holds only that inevitable point in time when the age of fossil fuels comes to an end. The development of responsible technology alone will determine how humans make the transition.

Given its technological contributions thus far, and its current focus on environmental matters, NASA's current environmental research seems as good a reason as any to remain optimistic that scientific research will someday work hard at making fossil fuels a thing of the past. After all, technology seems to have brought us too far to turn back now. Therefore, technology may very well serve as the eventual solution that bridges the gap between a society’s unchecked desire for innovation and its promotion of the healthy ecosystem acting as its life-support system in the vast expanse of space.

References

NASA, Alternative Jet Fuels Put to the Test.

---, The Human Factor: Understanding the Sources of Rising Carbon Dioxide.

---, NASA Mission to Help Unravel Key Carbon, Climate Mysteries.

---, The Orbiting Carbon Observatory and the Mystery of the Missing Sinks.

A litter of one

2009-01-03T14:40:00.007-05:00

The zimpup arrived yesterday
He came in the natural way
Young Griffin is strong
With feet that are long
The rest I see no need to say

Emily's 39-week wait has ended. Early on January 2nd, I awoke in bed, still not fully recovered from a stupid New Year's hangover. When I became aware of her, I realized she was using her laptop, tracking her contractions at contractionmaster.com. When they came at five-minute intervals, we calmly loaded the car and went to the hospital.

Emily was a goddess. I have never seen her, nor anyone, in so much pain. It hurt me seeing her like that, but by the end of labor, she said pushing was such a relieving outlet after waiting through the pain of intensifying contractions. At 12:08pm on January 2nd, she delivered our son, Griffin Porter Zimmerman: 7 pounds, 9 ounces (or 3.43 kg for those who prefer metric), with his parents' height (19.5 inches).

Those are the scissors I used to trim the cord. Someday, he gets to blame me if he doesn't like his innie/outie.

That's Griffin's "in utero life-support system" (or, the placenta). He no longer needs it now that he has the Earth's atmosphere for breath and his mom's breast milk to eat. The human organism is quite special.

As Emily lie writhing and making painful exhalations that made me cry, I kept wondering when the beauty of labor would become apparent to me. The whole process seemed more a form of torture than the wonderful experience people often recall. But when my son's head finished passing through the birth canal, and the rest of him came sliding out with the amniotic fluid, the reward for Emily's pain was clear.

But Emily wasn't the only one who had a rough day. The process of labor makes for a pretty sleepy baby...

... and proud parents too!

Sorry, Ralph.

2008-11-14T18:33:00.004-05:00

I admit, I did at least look at Ralph Nader's spot on the ballot. He was pretty far down from the top (the top two of course being the two most powerful political parties in the nation: Reps and Dems). Then, once I'd made my peace with not voting for the best candidate, I filled in the bubble for Obama Biden.

Sorry, Ralph. I respect you.

I can understand why most people get all worked up when I say I'm a Nader supporter. After all, he stole the 200 election from Gore. (Or was it W. that did that?) I also understand that voting for Nader just because he's not a Rep or a Dem is equally shallow. It's as shallow as voting for any one candidate based on one issue (Ralph's issue being the sad state of election affairs in this nation, where one must become an entirely different person so as to puppet for one of the big two and their corporate supporters).

But what if I wanted Ralph Nader to be President because he'd focus on issues like everyday life? What pisses me off most about the anti-Nader (or anti-Nader-voting) conglomerate is their often ignorant attitude toward a man who has devoted his life to confronting corporate greed and laziness. The effect has been a long career of making every American's life safer and more respected. Because of Nader, seat belts are standard in your automobile. Because of the non-profit organizations inspired by his work, you now know what's in the food you eat. You know that nuclear energy has some drawbacks. You know that water and air should stay clean, and that forests may be important to us. Granted, the respect corporations have for us and our ecosystem are by no means genuine, but thanks to Ralph Nader, at least this respect is required on some levels.

Once more, sorry, Ralph. I know it's been said before, but this country truly does not deserve you.

And I've come to decide that Obama may not be a terrible substitute. His victory speech brought some moisture to these eyes. And who knows? Maybe Obama will be wise enough to throw Nader a cabinet position. The only thing to know about Nader is that he only does things his way, meaning that Obama will have to approach him with all his morals in check. If Nader smells even one hint of corporate money, he's gone.

Sounds like the kind of guy I'd like running my country.

Florida voters

2008-10-28T18:40:00.007-04:00

To dispel some of the myth surrounding Sunshine State voters, I share with you now Obama's deep understanding of the important Floridian vote:

When I read the words "MY VOTER PLAN," I assume that means I'll have spaces to jot notes about the state and local amendments. Not so. In case you can't read them, the flyer asks me to plan my vote by checking one of the boxes:

I WILL VOTE:
[ ] Before work
[ ] During lunch
[ ] After work
[ ] Other

So, basically, I'm a Floridian heartbeat. I know this because my vote-able heart beats with glee when I cast my eyes upon the other side of the flier:

Cant'cha just feel the chipper birds singing the sunny-shade tune of Obama's day out with a perfect nuclear family?

Don't get me wrong. Neither McCain nor Palin is an option. I'm only wondering whether I should feel insulted by Obama or terrified by American expectations. These sorts of mailers smell like wasted money to me. Do candidates still deem this sort of bullshit necessary, or worse yet, is this the clincher for some Floridians?

Of course now I'm talking about those Floridians whose voter plans consist of checking a box so they can remember when they might be able to fit the foundation of democracy into their work schedule. Let's see. Do I wake up early, vote instead of eating, or get home late?

And what of the "Other" box? To tell the truth, I was considering voting Nader--or "not voting" as the sound-bytten mass public calls it. Maybe Barack Obama believes so strongly in democracy that he wants me to write in another candidate there, or jot some notes on amendments, etc. Given the theft of 2000, I'd me more inclined to believe this Obama flyer was dispersed by a radical covert branch of the conspiring evangelical Republicans of Florida, and they included the "Other" choice and blank line so heathens like me will realize that not voting is an option too.

I actually considered all this until Emily checked today's voice mail messages. We missed a call from Matt Damon, who contacted us on behalf of Barack Obama's Florida Campaign for Change. He wants us to vote Obama too, because "the issues are too important to sit this one out." Now I figure maybe I can check the "Other" box and write in the blank line next to it: Preferably conscious, but not required, as long as I vote for Barack Obama so Nader doesn't steal another one for the evangelicals.

Academonic Times

2008-10-01T17:32:00.002-04:00

I am convinced the academy is sucking the life out of me. I just told Emily today that I feel like a degree in creative writing is actually making me less creative. Just look at the lack of snazzy metaphors and e-prime verbage thus far in this entry.

In the last month, how many blog postings have gone undone, despite the strong desire to rant and rave on some topic? Must finish thesis, that thing for which I have no time because I teach (only) two freshman composition classes. Must finish degree before I know whether or not I can be a writer. Although I suppose if I were a true writer, I'd say fuck the stupid degree and just write right now. (Still, I feel this process of getting a master's is teaching me how to compile a large project, which probably counts for something.)

How're everyone elses' days?

zimdog's syntax secular

2008-09-19T17:38:00.005-04:00

In an essay my students and I read for class, the author writes "Gilbert and Sullivan" as something of a punchline. I understood the reference, and even chuckled at its use, but what I was thinking about most was the use of "and."

For some years now, I've wondered what the difference is between "&" and "and." There may be an accepted usage for each, but since I prefer to speak with ignorance on rational matters I have decided free of external influence, I shall now state how I think the usage differs. You let me know if you agree or disagree. Honestly, I'm getting much better at talking about absolutely nothing for a really long time. I learned it from one of my professors.

My decision, from this moment forward, is that I shall use "&" to join two commonly/closely-related entities. The syntactical purpose is to eliminate confusion in sentences that have lots of "and"s in them. For instance:

Civil War history teaches us the dynamics of color like black and white and blue and gray.

Pretend I have just descended in a UFO and learned English, but I know nothing about the American Civil War. How do I know what color dynamics my non-alien self just wrote about? How do I know the "black and white" refers to races of people and the "blue and gray" refers to the clothing of warring sides. I say, think of the aliens (or anyone else who may encounter confusion from lack of context). Use more &s.

Now try the same sentence on for size, using &s:

Civil War history teaches us the dynamics of color like black & white and blue & gray.

... or perhaps this other example, which also uses &s to establish which "and" joins two choices and which "&" joins one word & another:

When considering the creators of musicals, I like Gilbert & Sullivan and Rogers & Hammerstein the least.

True story by the way...

'Tis bureaucracy, m'lord. Simple, hog-rotting bureaucracy.

2008-09-10T12:53:00.010-04:00

A few minutes ago, I checked my Broward College e-mail account. I tend to do this at work when I get hung up on a project. It's one way to take a mindless break from the constant thinking that non-pleasure writing requires. Normally, these BC e-mail excursions do not last very long. I do a quick pan with the eyes, followed by a vast sweeping highlight before I purge the inbox of the many college-wide e-mails that have gathered since my last work day.

Today was different. I saw all these e-mails about polo shirts, so I'm thinking to myself I can understand college-wide e-mails about Hurricane Ike or maybe phishing scams and other notable scandals, but polo shirts? I had to read them...

Here's the seed crystal e-mail, sent 9/9/2008 4:22:24 PM:

I have had a couple of inquiries about who is eligible to receive a shirt...any full-time employee of the college can have a shirt.

Jillian

And the downtrodden respond:

1. Jillian, I truly believe that the college was remiss in not offering the shirts to those of us in Adjunct positions. Some of us have been serving (and successfully so) the college for a significant number of years. I have just begun my 17th year of teaching at the North Campus. The tenure of many of the Adjuncts far exceed that of the relatively-new or recent full-timers.

We have heard at almost every one of the Adjunct meetings and seminars over the years that the college would not be able to function effectively without us.

Why then, are we now being snubbed?

Steve

2. I would agree. I have just begun my 18th successful year as an Adjunct.

Jimmy

Fortunately, there is hope:

1. Good Morning! Never shouldl 'anyone' should be slighted, after all we are a 'TEAM' and Together as a TEAM we make BC.
This is not much, however, I would like very much to donate my Polo shirt to the adjunct community.
Thank you,
Barbara

2. I second the thought. Adjuncts, feel free stop by my office, Bldg. 71, Rm. 121 (south) for a medium T-shirt. I am guessing I will have it in a few weeks. First come, first fitted.

Gary

The most recent e-mail, from Gary, was sent 9/10/2008 12:49:51 PM. In the course of less than a day, I have borne witness to the tension brewing at Broward College: the uprising of the masses, having found their issue upon which to declare their equality, and whose pleas do not go entirely unheeded, for they find sympathizers in positions of power who are quick to dismount their full-time horses, seeing it as their duty to offer alms to the adjuncts. The revolution has been avoided.

Or has it? I will keep you updated when I know more about the Polo Shirt Situation of 2008. After all, I'm at work. What else should I focus on?

...

Since I posted this entry, two more e-mails have come along. Now I actually look forward to checking my work e-mail!

This e-mail is directly addressed to a previous participant, Steve, whose heated reply (cited above) opened widespread debate on the topic of a college's moral obligation to provide polo shirts for adjuncts. In his reply to Steve, James aligns himself with the adjuncts using Bill Clinton's famous message of 'I feel your pain':

I believe it is generous to offer workers free garments, but if there aren't enough to go around, and that prompts exclusion, then maybe it is something to be re-thought. I often hear that BC is a family. Does this mean adjuncts and part-timers are its stepchildren? I certainly hope not. I know and work with many adjuncts and part timers who are some of the most dedicated people in this college, and that I have ever had the good fortune to work with, and also believe they should not be treated as second class citizens. Suggestion: If there aren't enough shirts for everyone, perhaps they should be donated to a charity that feeds and clothes the needy. If my words come across as soaked in umbrage, perhaps it's because I was a stepchild myself who was often overlooked during gift-giving occasions -- so I know the feeling. I think what you guys do make BC the wonderful institution that it is, and know you will continue to do so, freebee or not. Another suggestion: A shirt only for Adjuncts and part-timers that reads: "Unsung Heros," or better yet: "Backbone of the College."
Just a thought.

One thing's for sure. If the college does make "Unsung Heros" t-shirts for adjuncts and part-timers, I say leave the misspelling of heroes. I think it means something.

Next, the most recent e-mail wins the Hypocrisy Award, considering I received it:

And so it begins.

Please stop with the 'reply all' snarky comments.

Just. Please. Stop.

Gino

Will more Broward College employees enter the e-mail coliseum to do battle wearing only their perspectives on the issue of polo shirt distribution among faculty? As we approach the 24-hour-versary of the Polo Shirt Situation of 2008, I vow to do my duty as news correspondent to remain fair and balanced in these trying times....

...

Your humble reporter is back on the case of the Polo Shirt Situation of 2008: A Symbolic Debate for Equality. Since I last did any news corresponding, only two more e-mails have been sent campus-wide.

In the first one, Shirley writes to Barbara and Gary, those humble souls who previously announced a humble willingness to donate their rightfully earned polo shirts to desiring adjuncts:

Thank you so much for your generosity. I am an adjunct who would love a polo shirt. Unfortunately, though, I would need a Large!
Any other kind soul out there with one to spare?
Thanks in advance!

As you can see, the plot thickens. We discover that generosity is not always enough. For selfless giving to meet a practical outcome, the right people must express generosity to fated counterparts. Otherwise, generosity will see none who can benefit.

The second polo shirt e-mail proves that campus-wide e-mails function based on synergy. From the generosity of full-time staff members willing to acknowledge the broader base of adjuncts beneath them, a new hope for the future of these polo shirts has come to being. As if on cue, the next e-mailer brings the light of Christian love into the discussion by illuminating the greater sense of urgency for generosity.

DEAR WONDERFUL STAFF, FACULTY AND ADMINISTRATION:

For the past couple of days I have the read various e-mails about these POLO SHIRTS for faculty and whether the adjuncts should be entitled to them, as well. As I read each e-mail I thought to myself, "Would it not be a GREAT idea that these BC POLO shirts be put to better use? Why not donate them to those that REALLY need them. How about those victims in HAITI, CUBA and the TURKS and CAICOS Islands?"

Well, just my humble thoughts and opinion.

God Bless,
Andrew

Yes, Andrew. God bless indeed. Thank you for being the voice of reason--and for reminding us that state institutions such as Broward College run on the fuel that is the love of the Christian God. If only God had thought to send those shirts directly to those in need, all this squabbling within the BC family--um, er, TEAM, might have been prevented.

I wish I could tell you more about the end use of these much-debated polo shirts, but it seems the faceless institution of bureaucracy has stepped in to bring our polo shirt democracy to an end:

BC,

The preferred method of group discussions at Broward College according to policy is the college forums at: https://forums.broward.edu//. Please consider not using the collegewide distribution list (BCC) for group discussions.

Thank You

Technology Support
Information Technology

If only this entity, this "Technology Support/Information Technology," had not stepped in to make a soft-worded suggestion for us to [p]lease consider not using the collegewide distribution list (BCC) for group discussions, we might all get to know a little more about how free clothing influence us all. It now seems clear that the distribution of swag polo shirts speaks to more than just job title. The question of who gets a free polo shirt is a deep one, and one better left to the higher powers, like God Himself.

I now see the error in my ways, blaming God for not distributing these BC polo shirts to those in need. He wanted us to learn the lesson our way. One can only assume these humble humans of Broward College made the right choice. Via God's loving hand, they have made the first hesitant step toward ensuring that their unwanted polo shirts make it to those ravaged by the very storm that God Himself invented.

To those who followed me through the many days of this emotional story, I wish only to say, God bless you, and God bless the institutions of America. And God Bless America, and all those who live here. And, I guess, God bless those upon whom we wish to bestow our charity and polo shirts (even though God obviously doesn't like them, because why else would He send Hurricane Ike their way).

In closing, I have only one more thing to add:

Please Note: Due to Florida's very broad public records law, most written communications to or from College employees regarding College business are public records, available to the public and media upon request. Therefore, this email communication may be subject to public disclosure.

zimdog's words of wisdom: birthdays

2008-08-29T12:15:00.002-04:00

Two weeks ago, trying my best to conjure some clever wording for inscription in the birthday card of a planetarium boss, I decided the following:

"Birthdays are like stars: the more you see, the grander life is."

Maybe I can sell it to Hallmark.

ACV: A Political Matter?

2008-08-27T10:56:00.008-04:00

For a few months now, I've been doing daily treatments of apple cider vinegar. Anyone who knows my mom knows she keeps all sorts of interesting reading material in the most reader-supportive room in the house, the b-a-t-h room (for those faint of sensibility). One b-room book was a supermarket checkout-sized booklet on apple cider vinegar. Apparently, there's always (or for hundreds of years has) been an awareness of apple cider vinegar as a helpful daily treatment. I've only been privy for a few months, but it seems to do me some good. I've also noticed that I feel the effects of the tonic more when I use the extra-natural stuff: raw, unfiltered, organic, and unpasteurized. As the booklet also suggests, I mix ACV with honey, but molasses or fruit juice are apparently just as acceptable. These add-ins do not alter or enhance the effects of ACV. They're there for their vitamins and minerals, and also to mask the "unaccustomable" flavor of ACV. And yes, I made that word up.

Taking apple cider vinegar daily (with or without the add-ins) is "rumored" to have various positive health effects. Here's a pretty standard list as found on a HomeRemediesWeb.com page. (The first section of the page describes ACV; the second section lists its "known" benefits.) Even WebMD admits to similar benefits, although the WebMD page immediately follows these claims up by saying: "While the results of these studies are promising, they are all preliminary. Many were done on animals or on cells in a lab. The human studies have been small. Before we will truly know whether vinegar has any health benefits, much larger studies are needed." Bogus or not, there exists a massive population of people who think apple cider vinegar is a miracle treatment. The booklet I looked at listed many, many everyday uses for ACV, both health and cosmetic. I started taking it as a daily tonic because I understood it would help the arthritis developing in my knees. But then WebMD tells me ACV can "cause low potassium levels and lower bone density" (same link as above). Another site tells me ACV contains a whole lot of potassium. Who do I believe? And of course, nevermind that folk medicine has been treating with vinegars for hundreds of years, because all that came before the scientific revolution, which has rendered instinct and unscientific observation all but useless.

I read one account of a doctor selling a product called "Jogging in a Jug," which was a simple mixture of ACV and various fruit juices. The FDA fined him because the label of the product made unproven claims about the health benefits of apple cider vinegar. Could this be one more example of government hypocrisy? The FDA hasn't taken much time to study the effects of apple cider vinegar, but they are quite skilled at reminding people of government authority. Nevermind that they don't have any answers for why they can say no. If the FDA is ignorant on matters of ACV, perhaps it could use its authority to... oh I don't know, STUDY APPLE CIDER VINEGAR. Given my cynical perspective on government corruption and the myriad inefficiencies of bureaucracy, my guess is that apple cider vinegar hasn't been studied because, as a homeopathic remedy, it is cheap and readily available to those that might benefit from it. Often times, lobbyists don't much care for these "communist" substances.

I say, whatever. I'm drinking the shit. Until the FDA and our nation's medical practitioners can prove otherwise (or until ACV meets federal prohibition), I'm going to trust what my body tells me, and so far my body tells me it wants me to keep up what I'm doing. My knees feel better than they have in a long while, and combined with the honey, I feel more energy from an ACV drink than I do from coffee. And it's that wholesome energy, not the nervous kind that makes me feel plugged into the wall.

I'm by no means saying everyone should try this treatment, but have a look around on the Internet and decide for yourselves who's telling the truth about apple cider vinegar. Who knows? Maybe this blog entry makes me one of the "crazies" trying to pollute the population with another one of Nature's toxins. Or maybe I'm just trying to rid my own body of the man-made toxins I encounter on a daily basis. Apple cider vinegar is supposedly good for that too, but you'll never know for sure... at least, not if the FDA and friends have anything to say about it.

Our Endangered Oceans

2008-07-27T20:03:00.005-04:00

As a bystander, the debate on global climate change is so annoying to listen to. The red fights the blue on the playing field. Meanwhile, the real destruction takes place on the sidelines. And most of the commentators are fucked in the head too. Whatever media has been commercialized and sensationalized for business interests has also been "bought" by either/or face of the bickering political machine. It's much easier to trust science because true science, like nature, gives deconstruction no attention. Valid science says, a fact is a fact. The only trouble is, it's a real shame science has to give money and politics a thought.In this world of truth gone mad, non-profit organizations seem most effective.

A bunch of non-profits undertook something called the Blue Project to study our endangered oceans. I read of the project in this weekend's Parade, a media name that probably triggers anti-liberal or anti-conservative sentiment. I wouldn't know. I'm too busy caring about the health of my ecosystems. The earth is more than just another news grabber or a political hot button. The oceans are our oceans, and they're very real aspects of our existence. We all know the human body can't function and replenish itself without healthy blood. When toxins are systematically pumped into our blood, we can survive for a time, but not indefinitely.

Turns out the same is true of our oceans, which are something like the planet's life blood. No matter who's right, the politics of the debate over global climate change cannot distract me from the SCIENTIFIC FACTS. The seas have risen, warmed, and acidified worldwide. Those changes, combined with overfishing, have caused 90% of our big fish to disappear [...] Pollution has led to almost 26,000 U.S. beaches being temporarily closed or put under advisories [...] and nearly 90% of our wetlands, the nurseries for fish, have vanished due to development. The oceans are in crisis. Quoted above is Leon Panetta, co-chair of the Joint Ocean Commission Initiative. Regardless of who he makes promises to for his money, Panetta's is a title I can get behind. I don't care what McCain or Obama think about the oceans. They don't study them for a living.

Even if the two 90% statistics in the quote are off a little either way, any significant reduction in big fish and wetlands means something, whether it's coming from a liberal or a conservative. Ecological problems create tremors in the food web. When the big creatures begin dying, it's a very clear sign that the things smaller than them have already been affected, severely. We could blame development, but that only gives each and every one of us a reason not to blame ourselves.

The bottom line: News stories about the planet's well-being can affect us for a moment, at least until the next news story comes along to change our moods. Well, I plan on letting news stories affect me very much, especially if they suggest a major ecological problem. Who cares if that next strip mall gets built? What I wanna know is, what will the effect be?

Reinstating Cosmic Order with Rocks 'n Crap

2008-07-27T13:48:00.023-04:00

A friend and I hiked the Old Loggers Path in Central PA a few weeks ago. Along the trail, I couldn't help noticing some rock stacks left behind in the middle of a stream. Someone passing through took the time to stack flat rocks, making miniature rock monuments that stood out amongst all the surrounding chaos. A week or so later, Emily and I were driving somewhere. In the passing scenery, I saw another such rock stack in a stream nowhere near the ones I passed on foot. Hundreds of miles and one week apart, the events brought to mind the work of Andy Goldsworthy, whom I admire greatly for his close connection with nature on a daily basis. I learned of his work years ago from a professor (and fellow Blogspotter). Goldsworthy's art reflects time spent to establish cosmic order using natural objects. I find it so interesting that a man would use naturally-existing objects and financially-valuable time to make structures that would not otherwise form in the natural order of things.

Man has, for the most part, taken this premise to appalling lengths. I mourn those who died from the collapse of the Twin Towers, but I do not mourn the towers themselves. I see no beauty whatsoever in the proposed Freedom Tower that will replace the Twin Towers, but I see lots and lots of beauty in structures like Stonehenge.

We are all lucky that men like Goldsworthy exist to bring humans closer to something like humility. He returns us closer to the builders of ancient rock structures, who, like Goldsworthy, built structures to bring cosmic order to the earth.

I do not choose to ignore the self-interest in such construction projects. In its days of use, the grounds of Stonehenge were a place of selfish human sacrifice. Our morals have evolved since then. Nowadays we only sacrifice each other in non-lethal ways. The skyscrapers of the modern age act less like examples of cosmic human order, and more like the economic excesses of a rich minority. The proposed Freedom Tower will become one such place where the rich minority can create more debt for the poor majority. (I know what I believe, so you'll have to ask yourself if you feel like your quality of life is being sacrificed for the benefit of others.) The difference I see between Stonehenge and skyscrapers is one of man vs. nature. Man's existential system, society, is based mostly in beliefs and inter-relationship. Nature's existential system, balance, is based mostly in science. We can deconstruct beliefs and the nature of relationships, but there is no deconstructing nature. Nature operates as it does, and that is that.

From now on, I plan to devote much more of my own deliberation to issues of ecology, and I think my blog of late is proof. From this moment forward, I offer the chew toy up as a sacrifice to the planet I love. Here, I will engage in deep consideration of ecological caution, because I consider anything else immoral support for continued ruination. My spirit demands that I make this extra effort on behalf of others. I take great pride in being blind to "unnecessary" caution. I don't mind that others speed on, blissfully ignorant of the impact they create. Most of all, it's their loss. They pay no mind to the beauty they help to destroy, nor do they recognize the ways they're wasting their own existences paying attention to useless crap. I do admit though that I often wish I could force hyper-capitalists to nurture the planet as much as they take advantage of it.

But I know I can't force anyone to realize something, and it would be morally wrong to do so if I could. For this reason, I am saddened a little by the realization that I may already have chosen for at least one person. In recent months, I've been very seriously owning up to the responsibility of the child Emily and I have on the way. The world of that child is in jeopardy, because of decisions made by me and those around me. I have no choice but to enter a new era of questioning everything I do, even more so than before, which poses a real challenge given the obligation I have to recognize when I should ease off from making decisions for my child. In the meantime, our newborn will be unable to make choices for him-or-herself. Newborns create increased ecological impact, which is where I can make a difference on my newborn's behalf.

For its own benefit, the market economy promotes a parenting of convenience. Unfortunately for the market, that c-word sets off alarms all over my conscience. Convenience, or ease of human living, only creates dis-ease for the planet. The convenient living we've established is as good as ignorance. While ignorance may be bliss, it's also ignorance, and I don't want to be an ignorant parent. For the time being, I will accept all responsibility for myself and my child. In those times when I have to throw away a baby food package, I want to feel the act in my gut. In those times when I find it convenient to use a plastic disposable diaper, I want to feel the smelly plastic choking me like it chokes my planet. My hope is that these pains will make me a more conscientious parent and a less admired consumer. Reduce, reuse, recycle means getting creative, so that's what I plan to do. I don't need to heed the parenting crap blasted at me by TV commercials. Companies can't tell me the easiest way to raise my child. To be a good parent, all I need to do is take a deliberate role in raising my child, and I simply do not see what there is to learn from wrapping his or her poop in a disposable diaper and removing it from sight as soon as possible. Disposables are easier, but if I really want to know my child, I'll share an existence with him or her through very deliberate acts--like scraping poop out of a cloth diaper and washing that diaper in a pail. (Hey, it's just poop. It's not like cloth diapers support terrorism or anything.) The very deliberate act of using cloth diapers will remind me that easy isn't necessarily good. Sometimes, easy runs on lacking creativity.

I often hear parents talk with concealed joy about the many physiological nasties their children produce. "Oh, I see all sorts of stuff shooting out of little Sammy," they might say with a restrained chuckle. They're unaware of the cosmic order they create by spending the time to move something "nasty" away from their children. This cosmic order hits a sudden roadblock when parents wrap their child's poop in a disposable diaper and ignore it from that point forward. They ignore the potential energy that fecal matter has to offer the immediate ecosystem. Poop can be returned to the planet through the dumping of a diaper pail. Instead, it sits preserved like a corpse, wrapped in plastic for the many kajillionz of years it takes disposable diapers to biodegrade.

(stolen from www.greendiary.com/images/disposable_diaper.gif)

Meanwhile, detritus cycles continue cycling without that fecal matter. The turning detritus cycle of any given ecosystem constitutes an overwhelming majority of that cycle's energy. The amount varies from one ecosystem to another, but when I say "an overwhelming majority," I mean the detritus cycle checks in at somewhere near the 90-th percentile of energy in a given ecosystem.

What does all this have to do with the rock structures I've seen lately? As our ecosystem adjusts quietly to slow human self-destruction, I'm sensing a real nervousness among people. More unsettled, I think people are becoming less content with the way of things. Whether they realize it or not, the skeptics of destruction perpetuate a message as toxic as their irresponsible practices. When we can quiet our own agendas, it's quite easy to see that global destruction is being proven by science. (See a later, smaller post.) It's not some agenda. It's the fate of the entire world. The only way to re-establish cosmic order on this planet is through very deliberate and loving acts of nurture. Building rock structures takes this sort of disposition.

Let me end by saying I feel no guilt at all for my place on this planet. I'm not telling others not to use disposable diapers. I'm saying I don't want to, because I see the importance of the hard work it takes to maintain cosmic order. This existence is about making choices that affect the ecosystem of which we're a part, and I strongly question the abilities of most people to know what a relationship with the planet feels like. From where I'm standing, they aren't living their lives. They're spending them, one dollar a minute. Well, I favor a debt of a different kind. I don't want my life owned by corporations and banks. I'd prefer to make daily payments to the nature that gave me a loan in the first place. That way, when the big day comes, I know I'll be able to pay back the loan. The only way I'll get there is by making a daily effort to pay back pieces of the debt, one deliberate act at a time.

Do you think Stonehenge was easy to build? No, the people who built it spent many years and performed "miracles" to get the stones of the Sarsen Circle so perfectly aligned to the summer solstice sunrise. Ancient people didn't make rock structures because they were bored, or because they were easy to make. True, they did it construct them to slaughter someone for the benefit of everyone else, but the point is, those who built Stonehenge made personal sacrifices to construct the monument. They took valuable time out of their survival schedules because they saw building the rock monument as time well-spent.

I saw no sacrificed animals splayed out in front of the rock stacks that started this entry. Nor were those monuments aligned to cosmic events in the sky, as far as I could tell anyway. So what purpose did they serve the people who made them? I saw no clear and practical purpose, other than that they enjoyed the deliberate act of making them. It is my dream that someday the majority of people on this planet will come to understand the wisdom of its ignored minority. For those who built the rock stacks I saw, know that I understand why you did what you did, whether you know or not. I share that love of existence, and I plan to go on living my own "foolish, tree-hugging" existence until the day I die, when I get to make one giant re-entry into the detritus cycle.

Second trimester!!!

2008-07-05T17:00:00.002-04:00

Emily told me today that she and baby z have entered trimester number two. Emily's body has formed the placenta, and the little one is learning to hear the world. More on all the neat stuff happening when I get a chance to catch up on the reading Emily has done. It's tough being a married couple in two different states.

Deconstructive Spoiler Alert! (>>>) Declaration Oil Alert! - the bad news first

2008-07-04T21:40:00.010-04:00

Note: This blog entry is more a miniature essay than a blog entry. If you want to skip the pessimism and get right to the optimism, click here.

Once more, around to me on the natural wheel comes the realization that the human conceptual system is deeply metaphorical. From early human to surviving human, evolving to aging, life makes more sense the more we think about how simple it is. On my recent drive from FL to PA, I entered a deep state of highway thought somewhere in the Carolinas. In a numb state of one-directional travel, I realized I wasn’t following the road and ignoring the trees so much as the road was leading me on to distract me from the trees. It’s a simple realization, but one reached in deep thought. In 150 years of industrial revolution, life seems to have become less simple, but really life has gotten more complicated because we've made it more complicated. Like me driving the car, we're ones driving the industrial revolution, but like the road, the industrial revolution is showing us a straight-forward path and we're not thinking much about anything but. The complications of the industrial revolution sure make modern life easier day to day, but these ways just might kill us, and I think we are refusing to admit it. We’re stuck in the same old industrial revolution, except now it controls us. But what happens when the gas indicator light comes on and illuminates our need to worry? Will we have trouble admitting it then?

In this blog entry, I’ve decided to ignore altogether the debate over global climate change. There are folks who believe global climate change is a hoax perpetrated by the modern-day Chicken Little conglomerate. Chicken Littles that they are, the other side believes the sky is… not so much falling as getting a whole lot more dangerous to live under. The angry bickering of media hand puppets over whether or not GCC is a hoax only distracts us. Instead of trying to decide what damage fossil fuels are doing to our earth, could we possibly cut right to something more immediate?

I saw a film recently called Crude Impact that does just this by examining the effect we create with our demand for fossil fuels? From the film’s website: Peak oil is the point in time when the quantity of oil extracted from the earth begins to irreversibly decline. The United States reached peak oil in the early 1970s. Predictions vary, but global peak oil is anticipated as early as the year 2007. What do oil suppliers know that they’re keeping from us? Where are we in relation to global peak oil? Could it explain the current trend in oil prices that has now begun bleeding seriously into more than prices at the pump? Supply and demand says rising prices mean increasing demand and decreasing supply. This would fit the scenario of peak oil, and the current trend in prices.

One eventual outcome of passing peak oil is eventual war for resources. If/when we pass peak oil, nations that depend on oil will start eyeing up what's left. The U.S. will bump chests with other nations over oil. Like Crude Impact suggests, I strongly believe it will be China vs. the U.S. Both sides will take the sides of other countries in scrambles for remaning oil. Sounds a lot like World War III to me. Considering modern methods for warfare, I’d rather not see that.

What I appreciate most about Crude Impact is its honesty. Yes, oil companies share the blame for capitalizing on hyper-consumption (and other things), and yes, certain nations share the blame for hogging world oil, but where the film quite clearly points the finger of blame is at us, the mega-consumers. We can’t blame more powerful forces because we’re the ones supporting them. We’re the mega-consumers. The products we consume share so many ties to oil that if a product doesn’t contain oil, it probably sees oil somewhere along the way: operation, manufacture, and/or shipping. One great outcome of the bitter debates over GCC is that people have begun discussing plastic, nylon, pesticides, paint, vinyl, and most every other thing around us at this moment. Who’s to blame for supporting these products steeped in oil? Point an accusative finger at us, the U.S. With 5% of the world population, we the people of the United States are the leading global consumer: 25% of yearly oil consumed.

I’ll admit previous generations had little reason to question the industrial revolution making life easy. I’m sure they loved it. Gone were the humble days of surviving when oil emerged to keep them comfortably numb. Now we have the four basic needs all covered in oil use: food whenever we want it, temperature-controlled shelter wherever we go, more clothing than we actually wear, and water in disposable plastic containers. Add in the luxuries and time-saving devices, and you see how our demand for oil keeps growing, and growing, and growing. Nothing outlasts a hyper-energized nation, except maybe the half-life of plastic.

More so than mass consumption, inefficiency is the kicker. Food companies expend an average of ten calories to supply consumers with one food calorie. Crude Impact puts this inefficient energy transfer in deeply simple perspective. In Nature, when creatures make a habit of expending ten calories in order to eat one calorie, they turn into dead creatures. Virtually no creature in Nature self-destructs on purpose, but humans are doing a pretty good job.

Over the course of compiling this blog entry, I surfed the film’s website and e-mailed a contact address with questions about alternative energy sources. The director, James Jandak Wood, replied the next day. He made efficiency a clear theme in his reply: I believe the message you heard from several of the speakers - that the need is to reduce energy use, not replace our current use - is the right message. Dr. Bill Rees said in the movie that all of the alternative fuels in the aggregate can't possibly replace fossil fuels. This is a controversial statement, but I think the possibility that this is true should drive us toward reduction. I think reduction of energy will also help the wealth imbalance, create greater peace and justice in the world and much more. Sounds like a big statement, but I believe it to be true.

I respect Mr. Wood’s “better safe than sorry” mode of thought, and his focus on improved efficiency, but as one interviewee notes in the film, a major problem with the way environmentalists promote conservation is as I paraphrase here: If you ask someone to make a sacrifice for the environment, they won’t. This is problematic, because consumers constitute the majority of oil consumption. Sure, we can make energy-efficient cars, but what happens when the gas indicator light comes on? We can slow down to a more gas-efficient speed and we can coast down hills, but we’re still delaying the inevitable. At what point do we choose between self-sacrifice and global self-destruction?

In other words, I disagree somewhat with Mr. Wood’s e-mail reply. I think he asks too little of the American people. We’re the ones over-consuming, so we should be the ones to make sacrifices as well, and this simply will not happen fast enough. Companies should still provide more efficient appliances, cars, etc., but Americans probably won't take these efficient tools and become more responsible with them. Call me pessimistic, but I just don’t have faith in Americans to suddenly turn hard-core environmental, because we are overlooking the every day addictions of Americans. Most addictions are only troublesome when the addictive substance is taken away. As a culture today, we are addicted to—among many other things—electricity, packaged foods, television, and automobiles. As long as these are readily available, we don’t notice our addiction. If one—or all—were taken away, we would immediately exhibit the classic symptoms of addictive withdrawal. (See the next entry for this quote's source.) Humans no longer live the brute animal life, but we certainly retain our animal-like selfishness, which just happens to go hand in hand with addiction. Using fossil fuels more efficiently will not save us from the refusals of people who do not wish to “devolve” their lives.

I am the opposing hand puppet to Mr. Wood’s optimism, but I’m not all downer. I promise. I know natural energy will get us somewhere sustainable. I believe in wind, solar, and some forms of water power, because they are in constant supply. However, these energy sources still require conduits (wind turbines, solar panels, and hydro-structures), which require fossil fuels to make. The wind, solar, and water power technology then allows further efficiency, but the foundational ingredient is still the same: fossil fuels.

Ethanol, a natural alternative of a different sort, seems smart in theory. Corn renews itself faster than trees, and much faster than fossil fuels, but as one fellow Blogspot-er recently expressed, ethanol is, in practice, a waste of time, space, money, and hope. Ethanol is the right idea, but corn’s best use is still to “get in my bellyyyy.”

For the good news, please continue with the next post (>>>).

Deconstructive Spoiler Alert! (>>>) Declaration Oil Alert! - The good news

2008-07-04T20:54:00.021-04:00

By far the greatest alternative energy source I’ve learned of to date is industrial hemp, which has the potential to spark an energy revolution--if only a fear-filled public can consider the benefits of a plant that, in recent decades, has only had its drawbacks magnified in the spotlight. The Reason [Foundation’s] study says the Drug Enforcement Administration's inability to distinguish between industrial hemp and marijuana is irrational and ignores scientific fact. The report states, ‘Marijuana cultivated for drug value contains between 3 and 10 percent of the active ingredient, tetrahydrocannabinol, or THC. Industrial hemp typically contains 0.3 percent or less of this active ingredient-as a result, it has no value as a drug.’ (taken from U.S. Hemp Ban Hurts Environment, Economy). While it cannot become the sole substitute for our energy needs, combined with intelligent use of efficient technologies (i.e. hybrid cars, solar/wind/hydroelectric energy), if our stubborn government can humble itself enough to at least give back industrial hemp, then I believe Mr. Wood's sense of optimism (detailed in the previous post) would have an excellent chance of becoming an oil reality. I am certain as never before with alternative resources that industrial hemp could make a HUGE impact, for all nations (including the poor ones we don't pay attention to).

In the previous post, I quote Peter McWilliams as follows regarding unrecognized addiction to everyday things: Most addictions are only troublesome when the addictive substance is taken away. As a culture today, we are addicted to—among many other things—electricity, packaged foods, television, and automobiles. As long as these are readily available, we don’t notice our addiction. If one—or all—were taken away, we would immediately exhibit the classic symptoms of addictive withdrawal. It is from McWilliams's book that I received most of my education on industrial hemp: Ain’t Nobody’s Business If You Do: The Absurdity of Consensual Crimes in Our Free Country, by Peter McWilliams. If you’re interested, the entire text is available online. The book quotes part of an ABC radio presentation by Hugh Downs: The reasons the pro-marijuana lobby wants marijuana legal have little to do with getting high, and a great deal to do with fighting oil giants like Saddam Hussein, Exxon, and Iran. The pro-marijuana groups claim that hemp is such a versatile raw material that its products not only compete with petroleum, but with coal, natural gas, nuclear energy, pharmaceutical, timber, and textile companies. It is estimated that methane and methanol production alone from hemp grown as bio-mass could replace 90% of the world’s energy needs. If they’re right, this is not good news for oil interests, and could account for the continuation of marijuana prohibition. The broadcast was recorded early in the 1990s, so the 90% statistic may no longer be accurate (considering the exponential consumption increase since then), but shit, even if it’s down to 70%, or 60%, that’s huge.

There’s a reason I post this entry today, America’s Independence Day. Not only were early drafts of the Declaration of Independence written on hemp paper, but our nation has a long history of hemp that, curiously enough, we seem to have forgotten. I remember learning in fifth grade about tobacco trade in the early colonies, but I don't remember hearing any of this before:

- Marijuana was one of the primary agricultural products in this country for more than 250 years;

- George Washington and Thomas Jefferson grew cannabis on their plantations;

- Marijuana was one of the few painkillers in colonial America. George Washington, who had dental problems his entire life, writes of its medicinal use in his journal;

- Benjamin Franklin started one of America’s first paper mills with cannabis. This allows America to have a free colonial press without having to beg or justify paper and books from England;

- Cannabis hemp was legal tender in most of the Americas from 1631 until the early 1800s;
- You could pay your taxes with cannabis hemp throughout America for over 200 years;
- You could even be jailed in America for not growing cannabis during several periods of shortage, e.g. in Virginia between 1763 and 1767.

Lately, W. and others have been going on and on about establishing independence from foreign oil. I ask you, what supports more independence than plants? If a nation has soil and the right climate, industrial hemp would establish some sense of energy independence for that country. Industrial hemp would also establish some sense of energy independence for any persons that have the climate to grow it on their own land. For this reason, the fight to reverse hemp prohibition will be very difficult. Big business will want a piece of the pie. They've played middle man for citizens’ energy needs for a long time. Why would they stop for the sake of reason? As two major players did in the 1930s, today's mega-corps will jump in to ensure continued hemp prohibition. More on the shameful origins of hemp prohibition in a future blog entry. I've gone on too long as is, and I haven't even mentioned the amazing benefits of industrial hemp.

Some of my favorite reasons for making a switch:

Highly renewable – Whereas trees take decades to renew, hemp renews itself each growing season. In warmer climates, hemp can even see three harvests per year. And in addition to growing quickly, it grows almost anywhere. There’s a reason they call it weed, you know.

Clean – As a plant, hemp would help offset the greenhouse gases released by its use, unlike fossil fuels, which already did their share of respiration millions and millions of years ago.

Versatile – In addition to making paper, clothing, and medicines, we could also use industrial hemp to make some pretty surprising things: plastics, paint, varnish, even dynamite. We could even run our cars on hemp.

Our fucking cars! From the Hugh Downs broadcast: When Rudolph Diesel produced his famous engine in 1896, he assumed that the diesel engine would be powered by a variety of fuels, especially vegetable and seed oils. Rudolph Diesel, like most engineers then, believed vegetable fuels were superior to petroleum. Hemp is the most efficient vegetable. [...] By volume, 30% of the hemp seed contains oil suitable for high-grade diesel fuel, as well as aircraft engine and precision machine oil. Henry Ford’s experiments with methanol promised cheap, readily-renewable fuel. And, if you think methanol means compromise, you should know that many modern race cars run on methanol. An efficient vegetable indeed....

After hearing every non-oil energy source slammed in the media, this proclamation of industrial hemp probably sounds too good to be true. I know every other alternative energy source I’ve learned about has fizzled out in one way or another. They all reach a point where “too good to be true” becomes “there’s just one thing.” But what if industrial hemp really is a viable possibility? I say, why not enter “better safe than sorry” mode and just think deeply for a moment about the simplicity of it all: a versatile plant that grows wild to abate some of its own greenhouse emissions, all while replacing so many of our everyday needs. It sounds like the beauty of Nature to me. If you still don’t believe the benefits of industrial hemp, at least check in for my next blog entry, when I unravel the drug tangle and follow money trail that led to the prohibition of industrial hemp. That ought to feed your cynicism.

I for one really believe in the possibility of industrial hemp, more than I’ve believed in any other cause for quite some time. Knowing what I’ve learned in just a few days, I plan to make awareness of industrial hemp a common priority in my life. I’ll be doing as much research as my spare time allows, so that I can know the drawbacks and dispel the myths. Ladies and gents, I tell you I’m extracted, revved up, and ready to go in circles on methanol power. And this time, I won’t mind if the resource leads me.

Oil company footnote

2008-07-04T20:54:00.003-04:00

Crude Impact taught me that the Exxon Valdez clusterfuck (usually considered a major oil disaster) was hardly the beginning. Now I’ve taken a different stance on Valdez. At least it was an accident. The film offers video documentation of the cost-saving “disposal” methods Texaco used during an extraction project in Ecuador. For what they made a conscious effort to do—because there were no laws to prevent them, never again will I fill my gas tank at a Texaco station. Shell Oil gets called out pretty hard too for doing nothing to stop Nigerian executions that benefited operations in the Niger Delta. Shell Oil representatives literally sat watching as Ken Saro-Wiwa and other Ogoni activists were tried, convicted, and executed… so Shell Oil’s extraction project could “proceed smoothly.” I think those were the words in the memo. I greatly appreciated the film’s education on these matters. Somehow I never heard about this before. (Sshhhh. Don’t make too much noise. I think the media is sleeeeeepinggg.)

Quote by Bertrand Russell

2008-06-27T23:21:00.001-04:00

"The trouble with the world is that the stupid are cocksure and the intelligent are full of doubt."

Ergo, the zimdog asks you,

Have you questioned yourself today?

The Surprises of Cat

2008-06-20T15:17:00.007-04:00

Those of you who know Dr. Dalloway Muffintop Snatchworth Riff-Raff von Kittenheimer are those of you who knew the coolest cat of the modern era. She had a great sense of humor...

...whether she wanted to or not. This still is my favorite thing about her. She loved me unconditionally, despite the silly dress-ups or her reluctant adventures as Spider-Cat. Despite her vehicle, she was pretty much a dog in cat form.

Well, yesterday, the cat I knew threw some pretty enormous surprises my way.

Surprise #1
Her was a him, but regardless what the vet said, I decided after the fact that he'll always be a she to me.

Surprise #2
She was a very sick cat.

Now resting in peace, free from my antics...

Dr. Dalloway Muffintop Snatchworth Riff-Raff von Kittenheimer, or Kitty
(????-2008)

After the comprehensive exam, the vet told me cats hide their illness well. Kitty is proof of this. While visually emaciated, the weight loss came on slowly enough over the past few months that, too busy with all my human bullshit, I hardly noticed she was living off her body fat. Even in her anemic, frail form, she managed to hide a mass the size of a key lime. There it was, right next to the tangle in her intestinal tract where the vet thinks she was bleeding out. I never thought any different of her health. Her ingestion and out-gestion showed little change from usual. I seriously thought I was just taking my cat in for yearly vaccines. An hour later, I left the vet's office without Kitty.

The vet offered me some options. Even the optimistic options were not promising (not to mention being well beyond my financial means), but I still asked for a few minutes to think it all over. The unmanly crying commenced as soon as the vet and his assistant shut the door. As I sat there in catharsis, hanging out with Kitty, I gave her the usual routine: some quick-shine shoulder blade rubbing; cradling her on her back while I rubbed her face; and holding her up by the armpits, dangling her above my head. The last one she always seemed neutral on, but that one was for me because it always made me laugh. And of course she put up with it, because I was her favorite human.

When the vet returned, I asked him to put my cat out of her misery. Prior, I was one to consider euthanasia unnecessary. Even minutes before making a decision, I wondered why shouldn't I just let her die naturally. Euthanasia is always selfish with pets, for no animal would choose death over life, but using my unique human perspective in the moment, I made a decision for Kitty. I figured she'd want her last minutes to be good ones spent with me. After the fact, I still felt my decision was right, and surprisingly, I was relieved when the anesthesia overdose struck her. She tightened, died with her eyes open, turned soft, and like that, my sadness was gone. I'm no expert biologist or philosopher, but this seems to me like evidence of unseen, unconscious chemical communication between life forces: feeling relief from relief.

The vet asked me if I wanted to feel the mass. Once I had a sense for it, he tried to explain why he asked if I wanted to feel it. I don't remember his reasoning, but I remember my stupid reply: "I have some biology background, so it's interesting for me." God, what an idiot I turn into around death. I become as distracted as I am humble. There is something to this though. When I arrived at Emily's house after her grandmother died, that was the first thing Emily's mom asked: Did I want to touch Grandma Millie's hand? Maybe it's knowing the rest of the being has moved on, and it's only a physical vehicle left in front of me, or maybe it's just to confirm what denial tries to avoid. Either way, being alive and touching the dead brings some sense of comfort I'll have to consider more.

I wanted to blog about this last night, but I was fighting a headache. Today, the house seems that much emptier, so perhaps doing this now provides therapy when I need it more. I already miss her retarded meow, and the way she'd follow me around the house for minutes at a time. She certainly leaves a bigger void than the 5 pounds of mass no longer here.

This one's for you, Kitty:

MMRRRAOWH! MRRH.

Dogs on Dixie

2008-06-03T14:33:00.006-04:00

A couple weeks ago, I got pulled over by one rather large waste of money in a uniform. Speed traps are not only insulting to drivers. They also reduce the policemen working them to traffic machines. Were I not one of only five cars on Dixie Highway at the time, I might agree that they were doing something to benefit other drivers. Clearly, the event was more a fundraiser for the city than a declaration of road safety. Unfortunately for me, I was the guy paying more attention to the road and less attention to my speedometer; as a result, I am penalized for...accelerating to pass another car.

The police"man" stepped into the road to direct me over. In an alternate universe, I plowed straight through his ass. Luckily for him, I'm a safe driver in this one. As he cited me for "unlawful speeding," I complained to his partner in legal crime. The partner listening to my loose mouth claimed he's never been pulled over since becoming a policeman. Maybe he was telling the truth. Maybe he wasn't. Either way, he will probably never know how I felt in that moment. And he'll certainly never know what it's like to pay an exorbitant amount of money so Chief Hog can meet the monthly quota.

It's a funny thing about Dixie Hwy. Going north, the speed limit is 35. Going south, it's 40. Guess which way I was going. Yep, 52 in the 35. Like I said, I wasn't on constant speedometer watch (because I prefer to watch the road, you know, that direction my car is headed). I can't honestly say whether I hit 52 or not. I probably did. What I refuse to believe, however, is that 35 is a reasonable speed limit for Dixie Hwy. The wide, grassy median sports a north-south train track while industries and establishments line the road sides. Where's the residentiality that would warrant 35, or even 40mph going the other way?

Traffic cops know where to put the speed traps. They put them where the speed limit seems inappropriately under-set. Then they suck in their stomachs against the shaded side of a building and wait for the fastest of the few to come along. I was only trying to go somewhere and be productive. I'm not against policing Florida drivers. I'm just curious why the traffic police can't focus their authority on the drivers like the ones cutting me off with a fist in the air or the ones tailgating me with a phone in their ear? It is counter-logic to only penalize someone for driving over a certain speed. Seems to me, it's not necessarily how fast I drive; it's how I drive. I don't think radar guns can detect when I have both hands on the wheel and both eyes on the road.

Did you know it is illegal to refuse signing a traffic ticket? When the issuing cop handed me the ticket for my signature, I was fuming fucking mad, so I took the clipboard and drew a fast line as my signature. He informed me I was required by law to sign as it appears on my license. I told him it didn't matter if I did, like it doesn't really matter what you do on a credit card line. In excited motion, he opened my door and ordered me out of the car, threatening me with arrest. I think I actually saw semen seeping through his pants.

I knew anything that followed would not proceed my way if I got out of the car. Fighting hollow citations is far more effective than fighting power-hungry humans.The badge on his shirt gives him the power to do almost anything he wants. If he saw me as angry (which I was), he has the authority to tase me, shoot me, beat me, or do whatever he deems necessary. And then he'll charge me for "resisting arrest" and whatever official name they give "not signing a traffic citation." If I'm lucky he will forget about the "unlawful speeding" offense. I don't agree with this fact of law, but I recognize its unfortunate presence. so in an amazing moment of sudden humility, I told him, "Fine. Give it here. I'll sign your bullshit."

Most everyone I know is nice to the police who pull them over, but I'm telling you, you are making a mistake. Think about the long run. Any courtesy you show them only adds to the power they feel. And they are not just doing their jobs. I'm vomitingly tired of hearing that line. If someone doesn't want to feel the wrath of the people, then that person should not take a relatively comfy job in public service. They work for us, so they should be able to listen to our heart-felt criticism without retreating behind their authority.

Nuff said. Obviously this is a sore subject for me. I had to get the good news out about baby z before I could handle these emotions. In closing, I'd just like to say to traffic cops all over the land...

Get a job, buddy. What you're doing now is not work. It's robot-ing for an organization that steals the other kids' lunch money. Now, if you get out there and focus solely on dangerous drivers, then you will have earned my respect.

zimdog's z-word series: zygote

2008-05-29T20:17:00.009-04:00

the zimpuppy that formed from my birds getting busy with Emily's bees

Here's a picture of our l'il zimdog(ette). Look on the right edge of the dark spot. It's the weird clump of stuff that looks like a black-eyed pea. The zimpuppy is not a total surprise to us. As a married couple, we have God's permission to... you know, do that thing where I move my index finger in and out of a tunnel Emily makes with her hand. Maybe this is God's way of rewarding us for finally trying that missionary-style.

From the moment I knew I had helped make something so cool, it was pretty much the most exciting thing that had happened all month... or maybe a little longer than that. Let me tell you, everything changed when the baby doctor stuck a magic wand up my wife's vagina, and I got to see a six-week-old heart beating. I'm hooked.

I can't really top this z-word, so zygote may very well be the last in the series. Oh, and I'm a lazy blogger. From here on, expect more blogs about zimdog's zimpuppy series instead. Also, visit Emily's page for regular updates: Story of a girl...or boy

Slackin' in for the Holiday

2007-12-17T23:39:00.003-05:00

- unfinished entry I started in Dec 2007 and found in June 2008 -

Now one week done with the Fall 2007 semester and moving into the busy holiday season, I've been working a little on a few stories that will be part of my thesis, but overall I've been doing a bunch of nothing. I know it'll get old soon, but for now I like it.

Tonight, I watched The Bourne Ultimatum and it might just have been the best of the three (in my humble critic's voice). One scene in the middle literally had me wide-eyed and leaning toward the TV in anticipation. I need to get me some o' them skills.

zimdog's z-word series: zymurgy

2007-12-05T23:30:00.000-05:00

a wonderful branch of applied chemistry that deals with the fermentation process (as used in wine-making and brewing)

In comparison to my first z-word entry (zyzzyva), it has been my experience that zymurgy is more often the last word in English-language dictionaries.

It has also been my experience that the product of zymurgy tastes much better than zyzzyva.

Random phone pics

2007-11-11T14:32:00.000-05:00

The theme of this post is R.I.P. old phone. Luke (my bro-in-law) fell asleep on the beach (as most of us do). And then, along came a mini-tsunami > salt water in mee phone. Now that's what I call Bell Atlantic, yo.

After drying out for a good day, 'twould turn on, but 'twouldn't really operate in the ways a useful cell phone might, so i got numbers out of it and e-mailed the best of the best pictures I'd taken with it during its operational dayz. I wouldn't say it was the best camera in the world, but every once in a while, a camera phone'll do just fine.

Lightfall

Murph Dogg

toohl

Vancouvinter

Zom!Org!!

Arno's Luck

Caputi vision

Helioecho

Key West Dennis

Lazy Dayz

Hallowed-Green

2007-11-02T12:05:00.000-04:00

As we did last year, Emily and I Halloweened at the Fetish Factory Ball. For the occassion, I transformed into ...
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Green Man, a hallowed product of Nature who acts as liaison for the Earth in this age of technological darkness.

---

Here, Green Man has gained the balance of Nature, which he wears for all to see:

---

Here, Green Man harnesses free radicals to bring light to a dark room:

---

On his left, a fitting sidekick: Britney Spears from the VMAs.

On his right, an unnamed galactic princess.

---

His entourage:

---

It is told in legend that Green Man altered a substantial segment of the human consciousness that night. Nonetheless, he was mortal. As all of Nature's offspring do, Green Man was confronted by the twilight of his existence.

These pictures testify that, confronted by Fate, Green Man looked into its gaze and smiled--just another sojourner in this life--willing to relinquish control of his body mass so he could assume some other form of cosmic energy.

The transformation began around his mouth (where vodka-tonic had moistened his skin).

---

Britney quickened the process.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

And from out of the skin of green, the zimdog was reborn into this cruel world.

holy click power, zimdog

2007-10-26T15:23:00.000-04:00

I believe I've entered a fractal of what I once knew as reality. As I often do on October 26, 2007 (in the old spacetime), I was reading up on cat history when I double-clicked the name Driscoll (for no reason other than to see it highlighted all-at-once as a distraction from reading the article on cats). Suddenly, I had a new browser up with information about Driscoll, TX. I suppose the browser takes a guess at the context of the word and gives me some information based on that guess--be it a definition, a potential city name, etc.

In most cases, the response (driven by Answers.com) returned valid information, but not in my virgin experience. Double-clicking "Driscoll" gave me weather information for Driscoll, TX, which is wholely irrelevant to Dr. Driscoll, some scientist guy who compared the DNA of wildcats with that of domesticated cats. In later double-clix-perimentation however, I did get a valid definition for "human" and a brief description of what "Neolithic" implies.

So from now on, I dare you to double-click yourself silly all over the Internerd, cuz you never know what might pop up. It could be expected precipitations for a city you've never heard of.

PS edit- Unpon further consideration, I think it is the New York Times online that offers this research tool--and I have not, in fact, strayed from the reality I've known all this life.

zimdog's z-word series

2007-10-20T22:09:00.000-04:00

I was doin' a little web-surfin' (Whoa, dude. Gnarley virus fast-approaching on my nine, homie!) when I learned of the word "Zemblanity" (linked from Cosmopoetica's 10.16.07 entry; use my link if you wanna know what Zemblanity means, because that's not the word I'm focused on over here at the chew toy.)

Well, it got me thinking about z-words. Having a z-name, I've always been interested in the letter "Z." I mean, I have to be interested. Most of my life I've been at the end of lists and last in lines. Only two people in C.D. East High's Class of 1997 got diplomas after me: V. Zorkic and T. Zoellner.

Oh, woe is me and all that. The point is, z-words are cool az, yo. Here's one I like because it was the final word in the dictionary at my parents' house (a.k.a. the dictionary I used all through public school):

zyzzyva [ziz-uh-vuh] - any of various South American weevils of the genus Zyzzyva, often destructive to plants.

Even Wikipedia's entry on zyzzyva mentions it being the last word in many dictionaries. Also in that entry is a link to a starfish (?) Genus Zyzzyzus, which is an even cooler word--because it sounds like a Dr. Seuss creature.

So the idea is to throw a z-word on the ol' chew toy every once in a while. This entry's z-word is zyzzyva (in case you forgot already, or in case I put you to zzzzzzzzzzz...).

Birthday day (and the day after)

2007-10-17T00:24:00.000-04:00

It began with soul food in Harlem: - southern fried chicken (the best I've ever had) - cornbread stuffing (which I've never had before, but I now consider the best kind of stuffing) - mac & cheese - collard greens.

Then, Emily and I went to MOMA, which was cool. We saw a lot of famous stuff (Van Gogh's Starry Night, for instance). And I got to see some Magrittes.

This was one I saw at the NY MOMA:

This one I saw in August at the MOMA in San Francisco:

I like Rene Magritte because he calls it like it isn't:

Yes, Rene. That's not a pipe--and you haven't been smoking it.

Enough spoonfed art though. On to dinner, which came much later in the day--and was perfect. Yuengling's Lord Chesterfield Ale and massive pizza slices from Koronet:

Alex (the guy hiding underneath his slice of pizza) goes to Columbia, so he knew of a cozy dinner spot where we could enjoy these most delicious treats (that were most detrimental to our health).

To liven ourselves up a bit, we went hiking the next morning. Alex and his wife Alana took us pick-a-nicking at Bear Mountain north of the city.

The whole area was beautiful, and no, we didn't see any bears, which makes me wonder what's in a name? Can the name Bear Mountain really do it justice?

Personally, I feel that Nature's gems need not carry such names--for Nature's beauty by any other name ... is the distant cousin of beauty (or something).

Either that, or it's not really a pipe.

Daily Show déjà vu

2007-10-16T23:17:00.000-04:00

The day after hanging with Jon Stewart & Co., Emily was able to score more tickets for yet another day at The Daily Show. I guess the first experience was no once-and-done miracle (as my last post may have suggested; also, my apologies to God for idolizing a receipt.)

On the way to The Daily Show for day dos, I stopped at Colbert's joint long enough to snap this crappy picture. Check out the white van. That's a whole lotta "ing."

The Daily Show and The Colbert Report are recorded very close to each other. From Colbert's studio, we made a left onto West 54th Street, and in doing so, we could already behold hints of this hideous sight two blocks down:

Emily wanted to go down one block and take a right. I ignored her pleas by getting in line for the Daily Show. Turns out we got there earlier than the day before, which means I got an even lower number than the day before.

I LIYKE!!! Does this make me a loser?

Guilty.

Building on what I'd learned the day before, I brainstormed a question for Jon Stewart. When he first comes out, he takes a few questions from the audience. Well, the second go-round, I wanted to be one of the askers--because the day before, people asked really dumb questions. (No lie ... someone asked Jon his birthday.) Therefore, it was up to me to bring an important question that Jon would respect as an artist, but also as an educated man.

So when he started taking questions, I raised my hand. Unfortunately, he made the mistake of calling on someone behind me. I don't remember her question, but it was probably a bold inquiry about his favorite color.

I wasn't worried though. Day one, not many people asked questions so I thought for sure I'd get my chance. Each time he sought a new question, I raised my hand, and each time I looked more like a pathetic loser for not getting called on. The rub-in lie in God making me sit there and listen to the other attempts at clever inquiry. Eventually, Jon Stewart grew weary of participating in "dumbass time," so he got things rolling. Thus concludes the sad story of how I didn't get to ask my question.

The show was fun that night. Day two's audience had more energy than day one's. Also, John Oliver did a hilarious correspondence report "live" from Dickensian England.

After the show, Emily and I went to the House of Brews (our usual spot after a taping of the Daily Show). Our second night there, 'twas an Oktoberfest special in effect, so we got these two magnum mugs for uber-cheap (by NYC standards) and we gave cheers for another successful day as audience members.

Quite the birthday eve.

Yes? Oh, alright, alright. I'll tell you what my question was for Jon Stewart. While other people's questions were stupid-boring, I was aiming more for stupid-humorous. Personally, I think Jon would've chuckled a bit.

Me: Yes, Jon. I was here yesterday for your interview with Ted Koppel.

Jon: Oh, okay, yes?

Me: Well, during the interview, I realized you had interviewed Ted Koppel several times before, but I was curious about something. Have you ever interviewed Ted Koppel ... on weed?

LAUGHTER ALL AROUND!!!

Me: And two quick follow-ups. What shit was Koppel smokin', and where can I score some?

MORE LAUGHTER FOLLOWED BY COPIOUS APPLAUSE!!!

Good Lord, I'm funny.

The Daily Show day

2007-10-03T23:34:00.000-04:00

Emily checked the Daily Show site for ticket info. Miraculously, tickets became available, so we skipped on our plans to see MOMA. Instead, we had a delicious Italian lunch near the Daily Show studio, and got in line for the best fake news show out there (so far).

Here's me in line with a miracle ticket stuck to my forehead:

After two hours in line, Emily and I took our seats as two of only 239 audience members. A miracle!

(...
Later in the day, we found out why this miracle blessed us. The proof lie at the bottom of our bar tab:

Take a closer look and you'll see that it was the work of jesus (in the humble lower case).

No, thank you, jesus. You're our lord and savior.
...)

Being at a taping of The Daily Show was awesome. The only thing I didn't care for was all the fake behind-the-scenes stuff where they got us pumped up and told us over and over how loud we had to cheer (because the studio was so big, and because Stewart and guests are given a greater share of the overall mic level). They didn't need to tell me though. That show makes me laugh enough at home. You better believe I'm gonna laugh louder when I'm there for a taping.

And this preliminary fakeness was by no means the domineering part of the experience. There were many more reasons it was neat to be at the taping. Numero uno was being privvy to inside jokes that don't make it on the air. For instance, we got to see an error that required some editing by re-entering an in-studio discussion with correspondent Rob Riggle. As Riggle was building toward a punchline, the teleprompter stopped working, forcing him to try "riggling" his way out of the technological difficulties with improv, but to very little avail. Jon Stewart thought it was hilarious, and so did we (the audience). So not only did we get to see the edit, but we also had an inside perspective regarding Ted Koppel's later joke about how the show is edited for mistakes. Yep, Emily and I were in on the inside jokes of news greats Koppel and Stewart. You might even say the two of them are our peeps now.

Other interesting aspects of being at a taping:
- Jon Stewart is shorter than one might think
- fun to see a show with the naughty words not cut out
- Emily noticed Jon Stewart swishes sips of water in his mouth before swallowing them (just like the zimdog!)
- seeing Jon Stewart's reactions to pre-taped segments on the screen; that day it was a John Oliver segment about partisan politics in children's books... hilarious.

John Oliver came out and waved to the audience after the show "went to commercial." Very humble guy; he had barely waved before he got himself back out of the audience's sight.

I will never watch The Daily Show the same way again. 'Twas very much the familiar revisited.

Gone West-siyyde - MONDAY

2007-10-03T23:33:00.003-04:00

A quick stop at the SFMOMA. Saw some famous paintings: Frida Kahlo's self-portrait, Jasper John's American flag with 48 stars, a couple of Warhols, and a bunch of other awesome paintings, including one by my personal favorite, Rene Magritte.

The only thing I could snag a pic of was an interactive work called You & Me, Horizontal. It was projected light forms in a dark, fog-filled room.

You could walk all around it and through it, and the light forms drew a gradually-changing sine curve on the wall. Awesome.

From SFMOMA, we went to Alcatraz for a temporary incarceration.

We weren't alone, as masses made the mindless march with us up the hill and through the gates.

Here's us with San Francisco in the background (and one of its lesser known bridges, the Bay Bridge to Oakland on the left):

Here's a solitary cell, where the zimdog probably would've ended up:

Em pulls prison off better than I could--even when she's caught droppin' a deuce.

Here's the extravagant "exercise yard" of Alcatraz:

I call this one "American phallus" in the spirit of the US prison system.

Here I got all artsy-fartsy with the view:

Despite a lot of ugliness, Alcatraz has some beauty as well:

Still, it felt good to get back to the city. When we returned city-side, Emily humored me with a trip to City Lights, a book store famous for the Beat Generation icons that frequented it: Allen Ginsberg, Jack Kerouac, Neal Cassady, Bob Dylan, Robbie Robertson, et al. I didn't take any pictures of the store, but I did buy a copy of Howl, some Beat poetry classic I've never read that helped make the place famous.

THE MODERN DAY

Now I'm back home in Florida, hating the heat and loving the desire to move somewhere like San Fran.

Gone West-siyyde - SUNDAY

2007-10-03T23:32:00.003-04:00

Emily put in a quick appearance at APA, so she could present her poster.

We spent the rest of the day hanging out with Leif, Sharilyn, and two of their friends, Aaron and Diane. We had dim sum in town, then cruised an hour south to the wild mountains of La Honda where redwoods abound. We relaxed our gorgeous Sunday away at some cool mountaintop bar called Apple Jacks. No pictures of the establishment, but here's some of the Drunken Battle for La Honda. Aaron's the kung fu kid, and Leif's the brawny brawler.

I like, in this one, how Aaron appears to be pulling Nature's concentrated energy out of the tree. Treeeeeeee!

Gone West-siyyde - SATURDAY

2007-10-03T23:32:00.001-04:00

We went briefly to APA, to see Dr. Bandura, the guy on the left:

It's a poor picture, but apparently, he's famous for doing some psychological study with an inflatable Bobo doll. If you want to see what he looks like, Google him, for Christ's sake.

The highlight of the day was a show our friend got us tickets for. Leif (pronounced "life") works for Ticketmaster, and was able to score us some comp tickets for Rock the Bells (a sweet compilation tour goin' round). Here's us in the "Beer Garden" (which was more like a holding pen for beer drinkers).

I guess they had to keep us away from the minors, and so the concert planners thought the best way to do this was to fence us all in together, charge us $8 for plastic cups of Heineken (yuck), and keep us as far away from the port-o-potties as possible. Thanks, concert planners.

From the beer garden, we heard the last few songs in The Roots' set. Public Enemy came on next, playing "Bring the Noise" with the guitarist from Anthrax. Cypress Hill (awesome) followed them, and then Wu-Tang Clan. Finally, Rage Against the Machine was the headliner topping off the evening. And as you can imagine, all I could smell all day was the reefer. Mmmmm. Public reefer.

Gone West-siyyde - FRIDAY

2007-10-03T23:31:00.001-04:00

One thing we wanted to do during our stay was a wine tour, so we rented a car and drove north across the Golden Gate.

Funny (not really), but because the Golden Gate is known for its suicides, Emily snapped a quick pic of one of the "Don't Do It!" phones.

We had no intentions of becoming statistics though, so we drove on toward California's wine Mecca. This is the only winery we stopped at in Sonoma...

Later, we wished we'd hung out more in Sonoma. True, there are more Napa wineries and they are closer together than the Sonoma sites, but some of the tasting rooms in Napa are by appointment only (snobby), and seemed less personal somehow.

Also, the road was a fucking mess most of the day. At one point, it took us 30 or so minutes to go a mile.

Because of the traffic, we never made it to the one winery Emily really wanted to see. We still tried some nice wines though. My favorites, for taste and feel, were Milat and Arger-Martucci.

When the tasting rooms started closing for the day, we drove back to San Francisco. Tthe Golden Gate...

...and Alcatraz...

...let us know we had arrived. Before we returned the car though, we had one more thing to do:

After a drive down Lombard Street, we met Leif and his fiancee Sharilyn (our gracious San Fran hosts) for drinks at a bar called Zeitgeist. I highly recommend this place for drinkers visiting San Francisco. If you can't find directions online, e-mail me and I can get you its street intersection.

Gone West-siyyde - THURSDAY

2007-10-03T23:29:00.000-04:00

The first day of sight-seeing: Emily and I went to the Palace for the Arts.

At the Palace, there was somethang called the Exploratorium, which is one of those hands-on science education centers. We didn't take many pictures inside, because we were mesmerized by all the fun gadgets and stuff for learning about magnets, electricity, light, sound, etc. Cool shit everywhere. Far too much to explain here. One of my favorites though, for example, were these ear muff things shaped like deer ears so you could hear like a deer. They also had a pair with tubes that redirected sounds from your left side into your right ear and vice versa. Hearing in reverse messes with the brain.

Emily took this picture after a science dude put some of my cheek cells under the microscope at 1000x magnification.

After a pause at the snack bar (which Emily referred to as "the taste exhibit"), I took this picture of a piece of the interior. Everything there was cool.

Really, the only downside was the excess of impatient school kids interrupting while I was trying to use the darned gadgetry. Gosh! Frickin' idiots.

When the Exploratorium closed, we walked across the street to a beach overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge. Here's the bridge in my sunglass lens (not the broken one), and that's the Exploratorium behind me.

Here's the zimdog with bridge behind, an omen of the day to follow:

Gone West-siyyde - preSanFran

2007-08-25T00:09:00.000-04:00

The day after the last day of summer class, I was on a plane for San Diego to do some work with a writer friend of mine. I don't have many pictures of San Diego--just this one, an answer to the iconic question, "Is there a Ralph's around here?"

There was. (And if I'm not mistaken, that red car looks like little Larry's new Corvette. He's probably still got "$960-970,000... depending on the options.")

Also in San Diego, I saw Sicko and got thoroughly pissed, sitting there in the theater with what felt like strep throat, pondering a trip to Tijuana for some antibiotics because my country's health care system is all about assholes at the top gettin' rich.

From San Diego, I flew to San Francisco to meet Emily for the annual APA (American Psychological Association) convention, which was crazy, because there were protesters out front all week, claiming APA has sent psychologists to Guantanamo Bay to aid in terrorist interrogations. Apparently, some folks associated with APA exacted methods of mental torture or something.

WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 15

Emily and I didn't spend a whole lot of time at APA... not for moral reasons or anything. We just found San Francisco, the city, more interesting that San Francisco, the location of a convention. This little meditation spot was near the convention center.

It was the kind of place you only find in cities that truly care about their citizens. People sat scattered about, playing guitars or chatting with lovers, just enjoying the day.

World meditation

2007-07-18T18:35:00.000-04:00

I came across this video on http://www.cosmopoetica.com/blog/ and I almost didn't watch it because I saw it was 4 minutes long. But then I had one of those moments where I told myself, Hey, Speedy McA-hole, why don't you take a few breaths there, buddy.

Care to do the same?

The New Mexico Place

2007-07-13T13:20:00.000-04:00

Went to NM recently. I think its nickname is the Land of Enchantment. I don't see why though. I had a really good time. It wasn't at all like being stuck in a chant.

I drove around a lot and saw lots of stuff and things. Here's a pretty typical shot of the driving scenery:

Funny, but clouds love eating the mountains there. It has something to do with the cinnamon and paprika in the rocks.

This road sign picture is for those of you who know me, and think I'm obsessed with poop. Well, you're wrong. I just think poop is funny, and I see it everywhere:

Here's me driving:

I call it "Self-Portrait While Driving in New Mexico."

My first real stop was Cuba. Who knew? Who knew it was legal to drive to Cuba?

And why does Cuba support our troops? I thought we hated them, so that would make them hate us too, troops included. Right? Unless they're talking about THEIR troops, which would make sense, since they have their own communist troops, while our troops run on capitalism.

While I was in Cuba, I supported both their cigars and their superior health care... but not at the same time, of course.

Here's what it looks like from one of the highest points just outside Cuba:

To cleanse myself of communism after returning to New Mexico, I went to this place called the Soda Dam:

At first, I thought the water smelled funny, but then I realized it was the communism being washed from my skin. For safe measure, I hiked from Battleship Rock to these nearby warm springs for another swim, and sure enough, there was still some of that funky communist odor left on my white American skin.

Maybe you think I'm going too far, but really it was only like two miles, (a 45-min. hike). And the springs were really cool--I mean, warm. They could definitely make a ton of money though if they just built a cable car that went to them.

(Serious note: Soda Dam and Battleship Rock were both on NM 4, a scenic route running from San Ysidro to ~Santa Fe. I recommend driving it in your rental car--unless you drive your own car, in which case there will BE no need to rent a car.)

Probably the highlight of the trip was the Kasha-Katuwe Tent Rocks National Monument. I took the Canyon Trail up to the top:

All pictures are mine, but you can use them on your desktop. I know they're all excellent. I'm the one who took them with a disposable camera.

Art & humor are soluble

2007-06-15T15:25:00.001-04:00

Mid-May, I was West-Coastin' in San Diego and took an afternoon visit at the Museum of Contemporary Art San Diego (the Kettner St. location; they have others). Well, as luck would have it (and as part of what I can only assume is an ongoing thang called the CERCA SERIES), the MCASD was presenting the art of "Encinitas-based sculptor William Feeney [who] turns assembly techniques and themes associated with the building trades towards self-reflective and conceptual ends." I had never heard of William Feeney before, and I'm willing to bet my car that you haven't either, but now I'll remember his name.

Model for Cabin with machine gun nest - 2005; cardboard, graphite, wood.
(Image stolen from http://www.mcasd.org/exhibitions/index.asp)

Son of a motherf#@^er, when I saw this next one, I think I almost peed myself:

Big Snooz - I couldn't find the work's details online, but it's made out of Igloo cooler material, and it even says 'big snooz' on the lid
(Image stolen from http://entertainment.signonsandiego.com/profiles/events/feeney)

The first room was all Feeney's work, and each piece in that room elicited some reaction. If it wasn't at least a chuckle, then it was some form of nostalgia or deep thought. One of my favorites (not pictured here) was a plastic baby doll wrapped entirely in Band-Aids. It was called Baby Owwee.

And then, as if the Feeney exhibit wasn't enough, I found this monstrosity in the back room next to the bathroom:

The Big Sneeze - 1995; chicken wire, wood, expanding foam sealant, polyurathane, acrylic, metal tank, pump, tubbing, colored liquid, computer with sound chip, speakers, amp.
(Image stolen from http://www.mcasd.org/exhibitions/index.asp)

To blame for this masterpiece are The Art Guys based in Houston, Texas. I wish I could recreate the mini-essay/explanation for The Big Sneeze, because it was pure satirical genius. Basically, these two dudes from Texas have used artistic snobbery as a reason to create things like this. Every 20-or-so minutes, speakers would play the sound of a person inhaling panicked drags of air, followed soon after by gushing green water. Folks, this is art in its purest form: art that appeals to the common man. I stayed to watch it a second time.

For more on The Art Guys, visit http://www.theartguys.com/homebody.html
Unfortunately, I couldn't find any sites dedicated to William Feeney.

The MCASD's permanent upstairs exhibit was lots of fun too. If you're in San Diego, I recommend spending the $5-10 and ~60 minutes it will take you to enjoy this museum.

End of the semester

2007-04-30T18:05:00.000-04:00

It's now that time where I re-emerge from the academic leaf litter to pretend I'm a faithful blogger.

A few hours ago, I turned in the last of my final projects for the semester. It was an out-of-the-ordinary project too, which made it a difficult last one. It was for a class called Women, the Environment, Ecofeminism, & Environmental Justice (or Green Consciousness for short). The class dealt with ecofeminist theory. I've never been a skilled theory head, so I did my share of struggling with the dense abstractions and philosophizationizing.

Knowing as much early on in the semester, I asked the professor if I could write an ecofeminist story as a final project. My secret agenda was that it would allow me to craft one more story for my thesis. I was pretty psyched when she agreed. Her only additional request was that I also write a critical analysis of my own story, using ecofeminist theory to back up the choices I made in the story.

Well, the story came out a little less satisfactorily than I had hoped. The hard work will come in revising it. However, the substance of the story paralleled green theory very well. I'm glad I undertook this project, since it gave me a better sense of applying theory to my fictional worlds. It's certaintly not something I want to make a habit of though. That's hard work doing all that flipping back and forth through books, double-checking details to make sure you've dealt them into the story properly.

Anyway, now I get a break from school for two months. Summer B class starts early July, so I have three books to read before then. Maybe I can squeeze in a bit of pleasure reading beforehand. Oh yeah, and some blog posts.

Killing time at work...

2007-01-06T21:30:00.000-05:00

I'm sitting here, bored, working the occasional part-time thing at the Buehler Observatory in Davie, FL. Figured I'd post a couple of the pictures taken here. The guy that runs the place, Arno van Werven, is a self-taught amateur astronomer from Holland. Isn't that veerd?

First let me introduce you to the observatory itself:

It's kind of fun working here, but, man, I just don't dig any place where I have to interact with the public. Just as I start trying to sight an object, adults circle around me and start firing off rapid-fire questions, the answers for which they're not really interested in, since they start asking the next question before I'm done explaining the first one. Then, some moron kid runs over to the scope I just sighted and says, "What's in this one?" grabbing hold of the eyepiece and yanking down on it, which is when I say, "Well, the moon used to be in there."

Lately I've been getting, "Where's Saturn?"
I say, "It'll be up in about an hour."
Five minutes later, "Is Saturn up yet?"
Uggh.

I like you all though, so you can look at Saturn now if you want:

It's not that I hate people--just stupid people who are overly excited and unable to control themselves.

Here's the Sun. We have solar observing every Wednesday afternoon, or on special solar occasions--like transits or eclipses.

If you want to see more of Arno's pictures: www.ilovestars.com

Stay spaced out, y'all!

Hot air in the cold night

2006-12-26T13:56:00.000-05:00

On the 23rd, my family and I went to visit some long-time family friends, the Dingles. Earnie and Dian Dingle used to flag and work turns at auto races with my mom. Now, they focus their time on hot-air ballooning. Every year around Christmas time, they invite a bunch of people to their place for a balloon glow, where they put the whole thing together and light up the stack in a stationary position. Well, the winter Pa weather often prevents the full-on glow. This year, the wind wasn't too bad, but the ground was too damp to lay the balloon out and fill it.

In lieu of a full-on glow, instead they brought the basket out and fired the burner up into the air. Here's Earnie getting ready to do so:

Check out that stream of burningness:

Like moths to a candle, we all crowded around and went, "Oooooo. Warrmmm."

When Earnie really fired the burner good, he created a hybrid day-night sphere all the way out to a treeline maybe 200 yards away. Quite awe-inspiring. Here, my dad (far left), the Witmers (center), and a Witmer-in-law (far right) bathe in the warmth and light radiating from the massive bursts of fire:

In the end though, the evening was an occasion for us to sit around, shoot the bull, and eat/drink ourselves silly. Here the Grays (center; also long-time family friends who still work at auto races) do the sitting around:

In the next picture, my mom shoots the bull while Emily contemplates another Wheat Thin with dip. Behind them are two growlers of some of the fine beer Harrisburg's own breweries have to offer: Troegs Mad Elf, and something hoppy from the Appalachian Brewing Company:

Also, in both pictures, you can see racing posters hanging on the wall--evidence of the exciting pasts of all these old farts. Not that I can talk though. In the end, I became the life of the party by looking at balloon glow pictures on my cell phone, and sending them to Earnie and Dian.

Those darned semesters

2006-12-19T18:07:00.000-05:00

Okay, so maybe I'm not cut out for this regular blogging thang. How about I just promise to post when I do?

The semester's over now, which is why I actually made it here to my chew toy to do some chewin'. I'm not suggesting anything, but the spring semester may accommodate more toy-chewing. I am no longer a GTA. I'm staying on at the University writing center, but I think I'd like to take some time off from teaching for a while. I will definitely teach again someday...when I get to decide the entire sequence and syllabus. As it is though, I am entrusted with the duty of instructing composition for 22 students, but I'm given a selection of readings to pick from, and told how to teach the process of writing. There's a lot more to college writing than making academic arguments. When I teach again, my sequence, in addition to the academic argument, will include other types of writing (i.e. creative, opinion, research).

At any rate, only working 10 hours per week should allow more room in my schedule for my own work. I'm at the point where my thesis proposal is in sight, so I should have more of it done than I actually do.
Also, my classes for the spring have me really excited:

Fiction Workshop
The American Short Story
Women, Ecology, Eco-feminism, and Environmental Justice
Methods in Madness (a one-week seminar led by poet Rosmarie Waldrop)

Good ol' reliable coursework. When all else irks me, I can always count on classes to cheer me up. After the spring, I'll only need one more writing workshop, but I know I'll take more classes than that--just for poops and laughters.

David Strathairn on a plane!!!

2006-09-15T23:50:00.000-04:00

Most of the people I've told about this haven't cared a whole lot, but on my flight from Baltimore to Albany last weekend, I shared a plane with David Strathairn. If you don't know who he is, search for him ( www.imdb.com ) and recognize.

Suffice it to say he's not one of those actors that's gonna show up in Star magazine. I like him because he's in one of my favorite movies. He plays Whistler in Sneakers. If you haven't seen it, maybe a name-drop will interest you. He co-stars with Robert Redford, Sidney Poitier, Dan Akroyd, River Phoenix, Mary McDonnell, Ben Kingsley, and Timothy Busfield. And it's a fun-ass movie to watch over and over.

Anyway, I'm just chillin' in Baltimore, waiting to get on the plane, and he walks up to the trashcan nearby and sets his coffee down. I recognized him almost instantly, then surprised myself by doing the whole nervous thing. I couldn't believe seeing an actor actually made me nervous. I know famous people are just people at the core, but there's something so surreal about seeing someone in the real world that you've seen over and over in a fictional world.

Flying Southwest, he boarded with Group A, I think. I boarded later. Once I sat down on the plane, I found him from the back of his head and just sort of glanced forward every once in a while to see what he was doing. He proved himself a person by just sitting there quietly, reading throughout the entire flight. From the moment I first noticed him, I caught his occasional glance around to see if anyone had spotted him. I don't think anyone ever noticed him. I sort of felt bad for him, but I'm sure he preferred it that way, even though I think a small part of him wanted to be recognized for the skill he has within his craft.

On the flight, having struck up conversation with my neighbor, I saw fit to divulge my secret to her. She didn't know who he was either. Then, once we landed, I had to wait for people to clear out so I could get my bag from an overhead bin that wasn't right next to my seat. He too waited for everyone else to deplane. He wasn't taking any chances getting noticed. I grabbed my stuff and walked off.

As I headed for the rental cars, I listened to my voice mail for messages from Emily. I had to pick her up at the train station later, and wanted to see if her train left on time. In the process of paying attention to her message, I passed the turn toward the rental cars, so I doubled back.

And who do you think approached the turn just as I did? None other than David Strathairn. When he caught up to me, I lowered my phone, turned to him, and said, "Hey, how's it going?"

At first, I think he thought I was talking on the phone, but he must've felt me looking, so he raised his head, and returned the greeting--sort of a shy, unsure "Hi." But as he continued on to baggage claim, I saw him smile. I don't know if he was smiling because he knew I had recognized him, or because he thought he had said hi to me mistakenly while I was on the phone. I get the impression he knew I had recognized David Strathairn, the actor, in an airport, which made me happy that I might have made him happy.

I could've said any number of things to him about his movies, but I'm glad I didn't. I'm glad I didn't become the rambling moron. "Oh, David Strathairn! I'm your biggest fan! I loved you in Sneakers." I didn't say anything dumb like that, and he didn't have to think anything like, "Yeah right, douche bag. You're the biggest fan. Ummhmm. Oh, Sneakers, eh? That was 15 years ago, schmuck!"

The way things went, I was just some guy in an airport acknowledging and respecting the presence of a skilled artist. I like that.

I hope it isn't temporary

2006-09-07T02:18:00.000-04:00

In the past year, living in such a small apartment (made smaller by wedding presents, a brother-in-law, and a second dog), I've noticed what a disorganized pile my life can be when I'm busy elsewhere. In the past week though, I've been trying to slow my life down some. I'm taking the Tri-Rail more, hardly working any hours at the lab, and focusing my energy on staying active. When something requires my action or attention, I just freakin' do it, instead of waiting until it really needs me.

We only have one sink in the dishwasher-less kitchen, so the dishes used to pile up as fast as the pile of junk mail on the kitchen table. Now though, Lucas (brother-in-law) and I are washing dishes almost as soon as we dirty them. My bedroom is still a pretty nasty mess, but the other parts of the apartment keep me sane. The kitchen table, where I do most of my school work, has stayed clean. Even if clutter does collect there, I know I can reserve a corner of it for my laptop.

I must say, cleanliness is my new top boy. It's a routine I've never been able to practice, but hopefully one I can learn. I stay a lot calmer when I don't see clutter everywhere, and calmness is of great value to this poor college student.

My only hope is that I don't jynx myself with this blog, because good luck is just as important to me. I now know I'm capable of overcoming the chaos bred by my possessions, but divine disorder handed down as a major computer meltdown or a Cat-5 hurricane might turn me into a gyroscope. If that happens, I guess all I can do is take it Job-style and be like, "I don't fuckin' care. Go ahead, God. Blow my shit all over the place. See if I care!" And then I'll reach into my pocket, pull out my USB stick, thrust it high into the air as I leap and shout, "I've got a fuckin' flashdrive, bitch!"

Welcome to September, me!

2006-09-04T01:55:00.000-04:00

September means something unusual this year. I've known for months that these first two weeks of September might be stressful, but I think they'll turn out quite nicely in the end.

Emily and I went to the wedding of Brandon and Shendi this past weekend. I only knew half a dozen people there, but we still had some fun drinking and dancing. It was good to see friends I don't get to see very often. And next weekend, I see different friends I haven't seen in a while. Plus, I'm such a sucker for weddings in general.

I have lots of work to do before I hop on the plane next Saturday morning, but I have all week to take care of it. Emily is visiting her friend Megan this week, so I can stay up late working on assignments. The apartment will also seem a little empty. I admit that sleeping alone in a bed is pretty fun every once in a while, but I imagine I'll miss her being next to me before the week is over.

As for school, I think I'm going to like this semester. I'll probably be busier than past semesters, but in a good way. By taking three workshops-- all not of the fiction variety-- I am broadening my influences not only through what I read, but also in how I write. The health of fiction as an art form seems to be on a gradual decline with nonfiction on the rise. I'm hoping this semester teaches me a thing or two about how I can do my part to give fiction a thump in the chest.

The not-so-easy Big Easy

2006-08-15T10:08:00.000-04:00

New Orleans is not the kind of place to spend twelve hours. In that twelve hours, I ate two amazing meals -- Catfish Pecan for lunch and seafood-stuffed ahi tuna for dinner. After dinner, I forced myself not to drink too much Abita, because I knew the 5am airport shuttle pick-up, even sober, would suck the mad bizzalls. I could've used another couple days to become one with my environment.

Emily was there attending the APA conference. I went the first day as her guest, and actually had fun just wandering around, playing the role of crazy rogue psychologist. With inappropriate gin camouflaged in a plastic soda bottle, I sported equally inappropriate conference attire, complete with blaze orange hunting cap. Who wants to blend in with the sea of slacks and polos?

Having never gone to a professional conference before, one aspect I did not expect was poster presentations. Instead of having a scheduled time and room for the organized presentation of a project, some psychologists chose to have a scheduled time and posterboard where they stood and answered questions about their poster-form presentation. Most posters were a little lacking in visual stimulus, making them hard to understand in the few minutes I spent absorbing. The posters that did have pictures, graphs, etc. usually got the point across much faster and more thoroughly. I'll keep that in mind for next year when APA meets in San Francisco. Until then, I will brainstorm my very own un-APA-accredited, unofficial, possibly inappropriate poster to present at one of the empty boards. I'll load it with graphics on the topic of "Toddler Drug Use: Are the Teletubbies to Blame?" The hardest part is going to be keeping a straight face while answering questions -- and there will be questions. I'll be surrounded by real psychologists.

Even though I spent less time in New Orleans than I did traveling to and from, I still had fun there. Conferences are fun. New Orleans cuisine was fun. The quieter bars were fun. The streets smelled like detritus, but cities aren't often noted for fragrance. Had I known about Emily's surprise to bring me for a day, I probably would have refused to go. Long trips for short amounts of enjoyment aren't really my thing. But since I did get on that plane, I went, I saw, and I rung the crude juice out of my time there.

"Becoming" a "writer"

2006-08-01T11:33:00.000-04:00

I know the title sounds pretentious, even more so because of the quotation marks. Can you picture my fingers hooking into the air? The most difficult part of becoming a writer seems to be learning how not to sound pretentious. My tendency for vulgarity helps me some, but I still find myself in those moments where I'm searching for the word path that brings me back down to the real level of the plebeian.

Probably my least favorite thing about becoming a writer is figuring out how to work around reading aloud with that stereotypical softened tone. Another stereotype of becoming a writer is the "I write for myself" phase, which I think every "becoming" writer goes through at some point. Writing brings a certain vulnerability with it. At first, I hid in the vulnerability, but as I learned to confront the fake-assedness of writing for myself, I felt (and continue to feel) a lot more positive about where mywriting might go from here.

My favorite thing about becoming a writer is the actual act of writing, which I should engage in much more often than I do. I should be reading and writing for an hour each each day.* Instead, I don't. I read a few days a week, and write a few days a month. I'm scheduled for three workshops this fall. I'm hoping that will help me gain the discipline I need to work full-time at becoming a writer.

* I know this sentence could've been worded differently, but I don't care. When I read, I love coming across sentences with identical word couplets. Even though the author has planned them, they still seem such rarities to me. I'm probably seeing the positive in something often considered a drawback in writing. Sometimes, I just find confusing wording interesting. Perhaps it is that that which is just is.

Ever wonder why you exist? Ask Kafka

2006-07-18T01:26:00.000-04:00

Some days seem less useful than others. Other days seem stranger than some. When I get to the end of a day that seems both useless and strange, I know I've had a good one. The days spent toiling for the company or tidying up the apartment somehow don't have the same effect as days spent advancing my own chaos-- or at least not advancing my order.

Today, I slept in (which is becoming a habit of late, and one that seems like it will continue until school starts in the fall). Then I woke up, ate breakfast, walked the dogs, watched TV and went for a destructive lunch of wings and beer. Then I went there and there, accomplishing nothing major, had a few beers at a friend's, where I started watching a movie that always makes me think. Later I watched TV, ate dinner, and finished watching the movie, thinking even more by that point (since I spent the interim letting my subconscious review the first half).

Had I fully itemized my day, not only would this post have been even more boring, but I would only have highlighted the lack of substance in my day. Had today been a workday for me, instead I could've itemized the things accomplished on company time. Even though I
would've been paid, I still would've accomplished the same thing today: minor impacts making no influence on the state of existence. I suppose we've tricked ourselves into thinking we matter, or that our daily dealings matter.

I'm not saying I feel one way or another about existence. In fact, I rather like focusing on the mundane nature of the human state, because that's what connects me to the dull rumble of the churning Universe. Still, days like today remind me that it's okay to exist, no matter what that existence consists of. I just like those moments when I remember that guilty laziness is no worse than proud success. They're both spent in reality.

It's hard to find, but I recommend the 1991 film, Kafka. That's what put me here arguing in favor of my own existence.

Possible Blogospheres

2006-07-17T02:37:00.000-04:00

In a class I took earlier this summer, I learned a thing or two about possible worlds as they relate to literary theory. Being new to literary theory, I am really glad I picked possible worlds theory on which to do my presentation. Most literary theory makes me gag with its disgusting pretentions, but possible worlds theory (along with the more gentle forms of theory, like narratology) seem to be more direct products of literature, and less about critical readers forcing their thoughts into the mix.

Possible worlds theory basically suggests that works of literature act as pnaws (possible non-actualizable worlds). Theorists view works of fiction as constructs of our actual world, which, of course, they are. However, some theorists (such as Umberto Eco with theater and Mihai Spariosu with literature) discusses the ways in which fictional constructs can work backward from a pnaw to influence the actual world. For example, a writer tells the tale of some poor character who suffers greatly the injustices of a fictional world. In our actual world, readers come to recognize these injustices, and begin looking for ways to prevent them in the actual world. In this way, authors can and do shape the future of the world by actualizing possible future worlds that might not have been actualized otherwise.

Well, naturally, the same could be true of blogs. If people didn't blog, then the readers of those blogs might not have the significant effect on the world that they do. In the process, they are actualizing possible future blogospheres. In every instant, only one blogosphere can be actualized from the infinite possibilities, and right now, you are experiencing one unique blogosphere taking shape. And again right now. And again right now... ad infinitum et nauseum.

Alright, so the last part about possible blogospheres was semi-sarcastic, but the rest of the post about being really stoked about possible worlds theory... yo, that shit has already been way actualized, biatch!!!

Hey, no one. I'm married now!!!

2006-07-11T10:49:00.000-04:00

The simplest reason for not blogging since the last entry was because our Internet connection wasn't working for a while. My wife and I were both too busy to make the call. I was also busy because I'm now 1.33 semesters closer to getting a master's, and I dun got married too. See?

Yep, Emily and I have been married now for 4 months. It seems like longer, but I'm sure that's because now I'm married and stuff.

It's all physics

2005-12-06T14:41:00.000-05:00

It took me a while to get rolling with my other blog, so I assume it'll take me some time to get used to posting on this one as well.

This is the personal blog. In bumper sticker style, "My other blog is school-related."

Anyway, school is almost over for the semester, so now I get to start thinking about all the fun stuff ahead:

1. watching the entire Lord of the Rings extended edition trilogy
2. visiting Emily's family for the holidays
3. getting drunk on flammable egg nog
4. going broke buying Christmas gifts
5. coming back to Florida and preparing for the new year

Emily and I are planning to do the South Beach Diet hard-core from Jan. 1 until the wedding. I read a little about it and it doesn't seem to be the fanatic cult activity I thought it was before. There's a lot of neat information in the introductory chapters about food digestion and so on.

The first three weeks of the diet, called phase one, is essentially carb-free. We have been practicing for phase one now, but still cheating on weekends. What the practice has shown me though is that there are carbs in just about everything tasty. After reading some of the book and doing phase one practice, I have also realized what eating an entire diet of carbs does. I used to feel the extreme highs and lows of energy output. Now I know important dietary rules like, if you are eating carbs, eat them with fats and proteins, because the latter types of food slow the uptake of the carbs. This reduces the boom-bust releases of energy. This also means it'll be okay for me to eat pizza occassionally once the diet becomes a part of my routine for a few months.

What kind of sucks though is that immediately following the three weeks of phase one, I have a bachelor party to attend. My own. I suppose I'll just insist on a keg of light beer, since beer, unfortunately, is one majorly wrong source of carbs. Oh, but it feels so right. Mmmmm. Light beer keg stand. Arrrrrlllllllllll...

For now though, a major paper and 22 student portfolios stand in my path. And you best believe I'm gonna mow those bitches down.