Uh-huh, Dat's A Man!

Yesterday, during a typical boring early afternoon on a day off, I took an hour to channel surf through my beloved cable tv. There wasn't a damn thing I found interesting, and I couldn't bring myself to watch the news channels. It's becoming too surreal at CNN lately. I believe it was the 42nd time around the dial (for those of you under twenty, televisions used to have dials to change channels), I stopped on the Maury Show because the remote batteries went dead.

While I searched for my CD walkman (for those of you under ten, before i-pods we used to listen to compact discs, and for those of you under thirty, a walkman used to play cassette tapes), to steal the batteries, I noticed the program topic was something along the line of "Dude Looks Like A Lady" or something. As they brought various women and men in drag to the stage, the audience members would yell out "Uh-huh, Dat's A Man!" It was a little like a game show without prizes, but I know I've found the Maury Show a hundred times before with each show being about men who look like women or "That Ain't My Baby."

I have no problem with the choice of programming for Mr Povich's show. I think he's doing a valuable service for people who have a hard time draggin themselves out of the house. The thing that confused me is how often I've stumbled upon this same topic on his program (for those of you under thirty-five, a guy sporting long hair, a hippie, used to be all it took for a man to look like a woman). I've seen transvestites and transexuals millions of times in the media and on the street, so it isn't really that big of a deal, but it still seems to be a fascination to a lot of people. Still, whenever I'm walking with someone and I see a person of the gender-bending set, one of us will certainly say, "Uh-huh, dat's a man!"

Stranger still, everytime I see a man who "looks" gay, I have to tell it to whomever I'm with, "Yeah, that guy's gay," and if I don't say it, I'm sure whomever I'm with will. I'm friends with several gay men and I no longer see a stigma attached to sexual preference, but I still have to point it out. I'm sure the person in question is completely aware of their own sexual preference, but all of this sexual transwhatever is still so ingrained into my psyche as "foreign" that I have to point it out like I need to punch the person I'm with in the manner of seeing a VW Beetle.

I've been pissed before at people much older than I for their backward attitudes, but I'm finding that no matter how much I've changed my own, there is always a part of how I used to think that still sticks with me. I even still bow my head everytime I hear Jesus mentioned just like I was taught in gradeschool, and I haven't those beliefs in over a decade. No wonder my brain doesn't work anymore. It's still full of all of the trash I've accumulated throughout my life. I suppose I could do with a good brainwashing.

One of these days I gotta get myself organizized

The last week for me has been less than a creative time. I was hit with a written warning at work because there are problems in my department. I was not the cause of these problems, and most of them preceded my move into the position. Others could have been resolved had I been trained on at least the basics of the department. Granted, I could have been a little more proactive and said, "I'm never going to figure this out on my own, I need help," at which time I would have reached out to my counterpart in another store.

But that's not what I came here tonight to talk to you about. I've been listening to Beatles music almost non-stop for the past 7 days, so I feel pretty zen. I've decided to work harder to get my department in good shape so when I walk out it is on MY terms, not theirs. I could possibly remain the scapegoat and get fired, but it's not really such a big deal to me any longer.

What I came here to talk about is that night when I first found out I was getting the written warning, how my mind raced from senario to scenario of how I could get even with my boss. What could I do to his car? What could I do to the files at work? What little bit of sabotage would really satisfy my anger? Thankfully the 5oth time I listened to "Across the Universe" my heart changed and I thought of more personally constructive ways to turn my energy, primarily the job search.

Immediately following my mellowing, I wondered if I were really capable of doing the things I mulled over, and I knew the answer was "yes." Vigilantism is no stranger to the darker parts of my mind, or my past. Sometimes somebody has to pay, and I'm the guy to collect, or so I convinced myself at the time. Yeah, I'm lucky I didn't get my brains splattered on the pavement for one or two of the things I've done to "trespassers of common courtesy." Most people just don't react well to mustard being squirted all over their cars. Does the answer "yes, I am capable" mean I could be labeled as a person who does these things?

Having grown up in the Catholic Church (actually in the church - I slept in a pew), I was taught that thinking about a sin was as bad as committing that sin. Does the fact that I think I could do some destructive things mean it would ever happen? I don't know. I have never cheated on a girlfriend, but I have had opportunities to do so. I have always talked myself out of it, even when I was drunk, and even when the girl I was dating had already cheated on me previously. It doesn't mean I am incapable of cheating. I am not a Code Hero; I just can't get that two-dimentional. I have always been able to talk myself out of doing most things I think would hurt someone else if they knew about it.

Usually the consequences for my actions if I were to act on an impulse would be relatively small and personal, but what about if I were pushed to want to commit murder? If I were in a position where I wanted to kill someone, could I do it? I wish the answer were a clear "no," but never having been in that situation, I'd be afraid of what I were really capable of doing. I've heard of crimes of passion. I really think that if pushed too far, even Ghandi or Mother Teresa could have let their .44 magnums do the talking.

I'd like to think the key to this mystery is to watch Taxi Driver. If Robert De Niro's character sounds a lot like a down to earth, tell-it-like-it-is guy, it's time to seek professional help.

Imagine There Is No Heaven...

In a recent post by JB called, "Evolution Schmevolution: The Origin of Life According to One Religious Cult," she cites her own experience of dealing with people who distort truth to further their own agenda. She survived, and she has a tale to tell that made me think again about what drives people to come up with so many wacky ideas.

Sometime ago Mark Gammon wrote "Mohammed Sidique Khan" on which I threw a couple of witless comments about imagination being the root of terrorist behavior. My thoughts were not expressed well, and it might have come across as oversimplifying a complex and terrible issue, but I was trying to make a point about how people create realities out of imagination, something which cannot be regulated and therefore cannot be quelled so easily by carpet bombing and outlawing certain groups from organizing. Mark stated in one of his own comments to the blog "so many people are prepared to believe nonsense without thinking it through" and finished the comment with "SOMEONE explain that to me." Again, in my sloppy attempt to say something profound and provocative, I wrote a disjointed reply stating, "Ever since apes developed an imagination as a survival instinct to become humans, we have been doomed to survive and destroy."

First, I should admit that it is not completely my own idea at work here. I started thinking about this imagination thing after watching the BBC's Walking with Cavemen, where the final step to becoming human happened when our brains gained the capacity of imagination. Imagination developed as a survival instinct allowing humans to come back from the brink of extinction. In the program it shows a man burying an eggshell filled with water that he could use for a time when water is scarce. Through imagination he perceives a time when there would be a need for this saved water. I took this a little further, after watching the entire video and seeing how the early Australopithicenes battled rival tribes of their own kind in order to survive in a world with limited resources (assuming that this instinct has never fully left us), and added the imagination bit to explain modern nuttiness.

Where am I going with all of this? JB's post shows that a religion or cult may take any fact or idea and twist it toward its own purpose, without waiting for divine revelation to make an announcement. If God gave us the bible, then that is his final word. I don't see many potato chips with the face of Jesus actually saying anything. There is no mention of fossils or evolution in the bible, so for the church to get involved in the discussion is pointless. If your religion can't stand on its own, then you admit this by trying to defend it with the things you make up. "Inteligent Design" is a concept created by people who saw science as a threat. There is nothing in the bible that explains what we've found with science, so to start doing so is completely a fabrication of someone's imagination.

Now, I think an imagination is an incredible thing. Mr Rogers taught us to use our imagination, so it must be a worthwhile waste of time. Imagination allowed us to develop weapons, but also drives us to find cures for disease and to create fantastic literature. But imagination mixed with the survival instinct can be dangerous. Many people are still conditioned to believe that the enemy is anyone who doesn't believe or support the same things you do. Everything from politics, to sports, to music, to religion has its fans. Within these realms, there is the feeling of community. Sometime there is the desire to defend this community in order to assist its survival. Sports rivalries are pretty deeply rooted, but only become violent when alcohol is involved, and usually result in minor fistfights. In the case of religion, the survival instinct is the most dangerous, because the roll of imagination is the greatest here.

Once a terrorist, or a abortion clinic bomber (aka, a TERRORIST) begins to imagine the greatness of defending his religion, the possibilities are limitless. To imagine that one is doing "God's work" by stopping the enemy will allow terrible things to happen. I don't really believe that the Middle East is the only container of religious nuttery, it just so happens that the threat to them seems much more real, and their imaginations have really been running wild. The same thing could happen here if we aren't careful. What would have happened in Waco, Texas if it were a much larger group of believers. They had guns, you know.

We cannot regulate imagination, and I would not want to do this, but it's time to start recognizing that some of these deeply held beliefs are nothing more than the seed of someone's imagination, with a little history and law to make it believable and to keep people from going mad with it. I don't really want to say that all spirituality is all crap, but that's because I would run the risk of taking something precious away from a lot of people who matter to me.

My grandmother, whose health was getting better over the last few weeks, has suddenly taken a turn for the worse. Without a belief in God or some other spirituality, I will be the family member who will not be able to imagine her watching over us when she passes. Everyone else will say, "she is with Grandpa now," and "One day we'll all be together again." I'll hear this, nod and say, "yes, we will," so I don't take these thoughts of comfort away from them. I'll be using my imagination instead to put me in another place and time.

More On the Moron

Tonight, Pres Bush had a nice speech on how he's going to personally rebuild New Orleans with his mighty, mighty arms, so he can give out beads to girls who flash him. Of course, there is a lot of talk about, "where the hell is the money going to come from?" which is a valid question.

I agree that there is a responsibility to rebuild the city, but really, where should the money come from? There is an important idea that it's time for Bush to consider: GET THE HELL OUT OF IRAQ!

Here, first, is the hard reality. Sooner or later we will need to leave Iraq, and when we do it WILL fall apart. Without the American military presence, the more sinister elements will have a field day. It will be sad. It will be painful to watch, but we are trying to catch the sand of that country with our fingers.

Okay, now the not so hard reality. I don't really advocate leaving Iraq for dead, but for too long during this war the United States has shouldered the larger part of the burden of "saving" Iraq, and we can no longer do it. WE CAN NO LONGER DO IT. We need help. Bush finally said he takes responsibility for the inaction in New Orleans, and I think he has one more sin to admit. I think you know where I'm headed with this.

I want to hear Bush say he made a mistake (make that plural MISTAKES) with Iraq, and I want him to ask for help from the world.

I listened to Bush's speech tonight, and I would like to believe that he is sincere. I would like to believe that he can guarantee the promises he made. I don't trust him any farther than I can spit on him, but for once I would like to believe his rhetoric. If he does not change his Iraq policy, however, I just don't see it coming to fruition.

But What Does It Really Mean?

"Bush takes blame for flaws in Katrina response," the headline reads. In the case of Mike "Brownie" Brown, there was a resignation for incompetence. So on behalf of the citizens of the United States, I'd like to accept the resignation of George W Bush for being responsible for the sluggish response of FEMA, which undoubtedly increased death toll caused by the destruction of Hurricane Katrina.

Oh? He's not resigning? Then what exactly does "I take responsibility" mean? Well, to our President, who is so natural at turning a phrase to his advantage, I tell you this: Talk is cheap when human life is the expense.

Diverta-Momenito

I lost a week somehow, and wanted to post this when it was fresher news... but you'll just have to deal with it.

In and interview in 1966, John Lennon made a famous statement proclaiming, "We're bigger than Jesus." Although he was horribly misquoted at the time, he did predict that "Christianity will go. It will vanish and shrink." Where George was the quiet and religious Beatle. John was the loud and not-quite-so-religious Beatle. That's probably why he was my favorite.

When Lennon said this he was commenting on things he witnessed about the world and about the idolization of pop stars. He didn't expect this to be the kind of thing that the Bible Belt (currently know as Red States) would take to heart and organize over.

Last week's Time magazine (Sept 5th issue) featured an article called "Stretching for Jesus." It got me thinking about a few things, primarily, the homogenization of religious beliefs that I've seen. Probably because that is what the article was about.

I remember from my college religious studies class something about how successful religions have stolen from other religions in order to dominate. There are passages in Genesis, for instance (something about a Leviathan, I think), which come from old polytheistic beliefs. Of course every Christmas and Easter I hear people talk about pagan influences on holidays from Christmas trees to Easter eggs to Presidents' Day Super Blowout Sales. And historical research claims that Jesus was not born in December, but in a Spring month known as Craptember which was eliminated from the calendar over a thousand years ago when the first flushing toilet was created for King Arthur (this is also where we get the term "throne" from). They moved it to December in order to take over a winter solstice holiday known as Gimme-Gimme-Gimmie Day.

Okay, I lied about that bit. Truth is that Christmas was moved to December by medieval greeting card companies who wanted to ensure that a steady flow of holidays throughout the year. There is also current talk in boardrooms about moving Easter to August because it's too close to Mother's Day.

Anywho... on about the mixing of religions -

I've known many people who call themselves Christian, but still dabble in astrology and tarot without giving giving the conflict of interest a second thought. I know very few Catholics who follow the dogma that closely (every Catholic family would have about 2 dozen kids if they did). I find that the majority of Americans, while they proclaim to be spiritual or religious or down-right SAVED!, tend to take it on their own terms.

Ultimately, there can only be one Truth, unless you believe the multiple universe model of Star Trek. As a skeptic, I believe in nothing but what science reveals to me, so I don't get visited by Santa or the Easter Bunny much anymore. But if there is SOMETHING, I hold with those who mix their messages. I find it hard to believe that one culture and one book have the ONLY answers. The poplular exception being the dictionary if you shred it up and put it back together right.

When you're trying to get into the afterlife, it's a good idea not to cheese anybody off, so why not try to please everybody.

One For My Baby

I have all of my Frank Sinatra CD's surrounding me. The one I choose to listen to while I write... Well, I haven't decided yet. Because of recent personal developments, I have culled five from the lot: No One Cares, Where Are You?, Frank Sinatra Sings For Only The Lonely, In The Wee Small Hours, and Point Of No Return.

These are some of the greatest albums to listen to when heartache is your companion. FS has a way of making you realize that there is no sin in missing someone. He helps you through it, and has Songs For Swingin' Lovers and A Swingin' Affair waiting for you when you're ready.

It's not easy to select from these albums. No One Cares has "Here's That Rainy Day." This is indeed a great sad song. "Funny how love becomes a cold rainy day / Funny, that rainy day is here." I could listen to this track over and over again. That's just how strong the impact is. For anyone who ever said that Sinatra can't sing, I ask you to listen to this one. The other really, really important song here is "I'll Never Smile Again." Very beautiful.

The next album I look over is Where Are You? This one really hits you where you love. Between the title track and "I'm A Fool To Want You," there is nothing but a deluge of tears. After that, it really starts to get sad. I don't think the darkness has surrounded me enough yet for this one, but it's such a wonderful album, I doubt I can resist its sweet painful melancholy.

For Only The Lonely has so many classics including "Angel Eyes," "What's New," Guess I'll Hang My Tears Out To Dry," and "One For My Baby," probably the greatest drinking song ever written. The best version of this being on the Capitol Years 3 disc set (simple piano/vocal arrangement), but none the less, a song that puts perspective on how a man can be affected by love, but still feels like he must remain a man. Very difficult. Very sad.

In The Wee Small Hours and Point Of No Return are making my decision difficult as well. The songs "What Is This Thing Called Love?" and "I'll Be Seeing You" are two of my all time favorite songs. Can I really dismiss these tonight?

My final choice to listen to? All of them. I'm going to be sad for a while. I was in love with her, and now she's gone. But I'll need another drink first, "So make it one for my baby, and one more for the road. That long... that long... it's long..."

Worth a Thousand Word Essay

In my post of 5 days ago, "Save It For A Not So Rainy Day," Steve commented about the Beatles picture at the top of SEE WHAT HAPPENS (although I'm not a football fan, as he clearly is, I saw Steve's link for a Paul Westerberg site and though, "this guy's all right"). So with the comment about the Beatles picture, I wanted to explain why I chose it.

I remember the photo from the inside gatefolds of both The Beatles 1962-1966 (Red) and The Beatles 1967-1970 (Blue) albums. I was always drawn to the picture because of how strange it is. It was taken during a 1968 photo session called A Mad Day Out. At the location of St Pancras Old Church & Gardens, there was a quick decision to take advantage of the gathering crowd for a few shots.

When I was young, I noticed how strange it was that the young boy stood in the foreground, while the Beatles were only other faces in the crowd. With the gates in front of the group, the boy was the one separated from the public, somehow detatched for an unexplained reason. John, Paul, George and Ringo were merely a part of the crowd behind the fence. Although their faces were the most visible because we recognise them, they were still just part of that group. As a panoramic picture, it fits nicely above the postings of my blog, but with my recent mood, it's something that I have begun to identify with strongly.

Since my post of Aug 19th, Julie and I have been trying to find some middleground that we can both be comfortable with because neither of us wanted to say goodbye forever. It did not work out. I won't explain because it is a too personal a thing even to make public what I already have, but as of today (her birthday, unfortunately) it is over.

I wanted to add a photo to my blog that I liked, but I needed one that really expressed how I have been feeling as well. As with all of art, I bring my own experience to my interpretation. I identify with the child. He is apart from the crowd by a clear barrier. Others who are his of his age, and likely experience are behind him. Old faces, kind faces, detached faces, and of course the Beatles are also behind him. This group, while very near to him, can do nothing to change the fact that he remains seperate from them. His isolation is not shown as his own chosing or something that he has no power to change. He is simply apart from them.

I feel so apart from the world right now. I always have felt this way in some capacity, but right now I see that picture and I see myself in the face of that young boy. I love Julie and I miss her. Almost everyone can identify with the pain of losing someone they love. There are certainly millions of people in the world right now who are in pain, missing someone. There are obviously people in the world who are in situations so much horribly worse than mine, that it seems insignificant for me to even mention what I am going through, but right now no person is feeling exactly what I am feeling. Right now no person is missing Julie the way that I miss her. Right now I am at a distance from everyone else I know and the more I learn about horrible situation in New Orleans the more distant I feel. My belief in hope as something real is at an all time low. You can see that in several of my recent posts.

A little over a decade ago, I was heartbroken about another girl I had dated. Her name was Kim. She was horrible, but I loved her. Because of her and her family, I began going to church again and started to develop a belief in God that had slipped away from me during my college years. When she abruptly ended our relationship, I was distraught. I went to the the pastor of my church, Father Joe, to try to find some consolation in the faith that was still a little shakey. He knew Kim and her family and I felt doubt that I should be speaking with him about such a personal thing. I quoted him a line from The Sun Also Rises, "If you talk about it, you lose it." I was afraid that if there was any hope in getting Kim to reconsider, talking about it would screw that up. But Father Joe said, "No. I like that quote, but you have to look at it a different way. " He restated it as though what I would lose would not be the love or connection with her, but the pain I was feeling. If I would talk about, get it out, the pain would leave me sooner as well.

My conversation with Father Joe did not help me very much. I wanted to understand why it was that love, which was supposed to be such a pure emotion and a proof of God, was something that could so easily be torn from me and leave me in such pain. I wanted to know why in relationship after relationship, I was left with this feeling of emptiness; that if love was the real, magical thing that it was supposed to be, why had it always ended so horribly for me. Several years later I heard that Father Joe had committed suicide, and I realized that even a man of God could not explain for me something that was a greater mystery than the existance of God.

Photographs have a great power to deceive. There is noting about the Beatles' Mad Day Out shot that has anything to do with me. It was a photo oportunity and it happened before I was born. Despite this I feel a connection to it and so it is atop my blog.

There is also a picture in front of me to the left of my monitor of Julie holding her kitten. She is smiling and it reminds me of a time that she still felt the love for me that became an important part of my life. That day might as well have been a photo oportunity before I was born as well for as much good as it does me now. I have to put that picture away somewhere to help me forget about the connection I had with her, to forget about past so I can get through the immediate future. I don't want to throw it away or burn it, but as with everything in my apartment that reminds me of her, it must disappear.

I'm glad that someone else has found enjoyment in the picture I chose for "See What Happens?", but don't be fooled by the coolness of it. I'm expressing something much darker than you may have expected. I'll do my best, however, to avoid alienating readers by keeping this mood in many more of my posts. I have a backlog of a few drafts that should be available soon. Hang in with me, and there will be something much more interesting to read before long.

How About "No One Is To Blame" By Howard Jones?

If I were to create a K-Tel collection of the best "she broke yer bloody heart" songs, I'd have to include the following (track order not yet determined):

1) "Everybody's Gotta Learn Sometime" - Beck (I like the original Korgis version, but it's a little too "clean")

2) "So Like Candy" - Elvis Costello (This is the one where EC delivers the "everything around me, she has touched" vibe)

3) "You've Got To Hide Your Love Away" - The Beatles (Learning how to play this song on the guitar got me through a lot of bad situations)

4) "I Wish I Never Saw The Sunshine" - The Ronettes (If you really want to make someone cry, play this one for them)

5) "You Don't Know Me" - Ray Charles (You Are My Sunshine is great, too, but this one will really make you feel Brother Ray's pain)

6) "It's Over" - Roy Orbison (Almost anything by Roy would fit, but this one has special meaning to me. It got me through an evening I though would kill back in my salad days in the Fall of 1989)

7) "Ever Fallen In Love? (With Someone You Shouldn' Have Fallen In Love With)" - The Buzzcocks (Something to throw a little drums and guitar in the mix without spoiling the mood)

8) "I Gotta Right To Sing The Blues" - Louis Armstrong (I don't understand how it works, but this song will actually pull you up because it is so fucking good. "When Your Love Is Gone" by Satchmo would be a worthwhile substitute.)

9) "Dancing Queen" - ABBA (This is the most horribly sad song to me. I mean she leaves them burning and then she's gone! That's horrible!)

10) "I'm A Fool To Want You" - Frank Sinatra (This is the song. Right here. End of story. If you don't know it, listen and you'll understand. It's one of the ones Jon and I used to listen to on the balcony when I didn't know he was hurting too)

11) "Wise Up" - Amie Mann (Puts it right in perspective, maybe a little too well)

12) "Withered And Died" - Richard and Linda Thompson (If you can connect with this one, you really ought to be medicated)

13) "Here Comes A Regular" - The Replacements (This is a song about living your life without direction and knowing that you're stuck drinking it away. Paul Westerberg is one of the most valuable missed jewels of popular music)

These aren't the only great ones, but believe me, they paint a perfect picture when you need it.

Now because of its mood of desperation, I would also like to add "Mother" by John Lennon. It all starts with the parents, right? At least that's where the blame went when you hit the talk show circuit in the late 80's. No, I don't blame my parents for any misery I ever dealt with. On the contrary, I think my parents have always been wonderful. And lately I'm beginning to understand that they are a little TOO wonderful. My dad actually rescued me when I was at my lowest point at a bar called "Mookies" (You don't ever want to be in sorry emotional shape at a bar called "Mookies").

Sometime ago, when I was really down about a failed relationship, my mother said something that made me wonder just how much a parent can blame themselves for a child's hard times. She said that she used to encourage me to love by telling me to hug the stuffed bunny that I can't remember at all now. She had doubt that she should have done that.

A couple of weeks ago when we went to visit my grandmother who had been in the hospital (no word yet on her present condition, by the way), my father said something I never expected. In front of my wise-cracking aunts and uncles he said he felt really terrible about some incident from when I was a kid. Now this is going back 25 years ago...

I had left some of his tools in the yard and he lost his temper, telling me I couldn't come back into the house until I found them (in the dark with a flashlight). Of course, it was only 15 minutes before I was allowed back in, but I learned a lesson in respect for the property of others. He has carried the guilt of this for a long time, and I was thrown off by iyt. I couldn't believe he even remembered the incident, let alone felt bad about it. I told him in front of our relatives that I remembered it and there was no doubt that I deserved worse. I needed boundaries and he provided them. There was no physical violence, no emotional scarring, but it STILL affected him.

I don't want my parents to start having doubts about their parenting skills from so long ago. They were fantastic with what they had at their disposal. I have always been a bit of a screw up, no worries there (there's another Paul Westerberg song called "Mamadaddydid" that covers this well). Life is what it is and I don't think a "successful life" has to be measured in children, income or property. I know that parents (the good ones anyway) want their children to have better than they did, and I DO have it better. I have parents who connected with me (whether they realize it or not) before it was too late. I just hope my father has been able to connect with my grandmother in the same way now that things are looking pretty grim for her future in this life.

Blood is thicker than water, as I've heard. Relationships with lovers and friends will never compare to good connection with the ones who actually had to sacrifice for you, as long as those connections are clear. That's understood, isn't it? Maybe I should double check that. It's really easy to take that kind of thing for granted.