Wrong and Supposed to Be

It's all wrong. And what is "it"? The system in general. Here's "the way it's supposed to be."

1. Mortgage companies should be responsible for employment. Sure, the government gains a lot when voters are employed but it's the mortgage companies that really suffer. 98% of my mortgage payment goes to interest. I'm renting from the bank. They actually own my home and let me stay here and take care of it while paying them. So, it should really be up to them to get me back in a job. If I don't work all they've got to show is an empty house that, right now, isn't worth as much as it would be if I had a job and paid the mortgage.

2. Doctors should run dating companies. My health in all dimensions (physically, mentally, emotionally) improves drastically when I'm in love. Apparently there have been some statistics to back this up with studies showing married men live longer and are healthier than their single counterparts. Of course, it could just be that some men prefer to party themselves into an early grave. All the same, love works for me. Other studies show that people who are happy can eat what they want and not gain weight. As Pamela says in the movie Avanti!, "I'm not unhappy because I'm overweight, I'm overweight because I'm unhappy." Not to mention the physiological aspects of the hypothalamus (the center of the emotions) which is tied into all the vital bodily functions.

3. Businesses owners should sweep the streets and run counseling centers. Especially the streets in my neighborhood where the cars parked in front of homes testify to the idiocy of having a policy of raising prices regularly no matter what. In this shrinking economy old notions of marketing developed during the tech and mortgage bubbles need to be swept away. People are hanging onto their jobs by the skin of their teeth. They aren't getting raises. They're lucky to have jobs. Raising prices works in an expanding economy like a carrot in front of a rabbit. In a shrinking economy that's demoralizing. Also, those looking for work need to know what sort of worker you need. They don't need to read a page about how aggressive and forward looking your company is and how exciting and wonderful and what great benefits you offer. That's 90's speak and makes the same sort of stink hot air always does. Cars parked in front of homes are people not going out because they can't afford to. People aren't spending. Raising prices means they'll spend less. And maybe businesses should be philosophers, too, and learn something about logic.

Current Fads
Listening. Healing Sounds (free from Sounds True)
Watching. Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince (2009)
Activity. waking in the night
Gadget. iPod Shuffle, 2nd Gen
News Source. Facebook and Twitter
Reading. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J.K. Rowling; Political Suicide - Robert Barnard; UU World; Mensa Bulletin; Precision Auto/Allstate Insurance accident/automobile repair documents
Writing. a lot in a my head

Song of the Night: Song for a Winter's Night

Walking Beneath the Water (Second Life)

Second only to cruising above 2000 m in Second Life is underwater touring. In both places you see residents doing the most personal and unusual stuff.

This underwater garden is my neighbor's parcel. As many do (who prefer not to build at ground level), only a token build is in plain view — a shack on a mini-island. While not a destination listed on the in-world guide, this is a lovely place for a stroll. SL is full of such intriguing local unpublicized places. Always something new to discover.

In the Land of Ordinary Dreams

Most of my Second Life neighbors have ordinary dreams. Like, to have a cat, or a lover, or an office or a four poster bed, or a big screen tv. Or maybe to own a little seaside fishing business. And then there are those that are not quite so ordinary.

Hypertension: A Rant

Hypertension is a disease for which there is no cure. If you have it be advised that you have expected too much, borrowed too much trouble from the future, and overstayed your welcome. It is an extremely slow death from which there is no escape. Everyone gets punished somehow. Hypertension is one how. Conversely, it could also be construed as a favor from the universe allowing you to slowly fall asleep, to painlessly and gradually fail until sudden death takes you. A heart attack can be painful and no one wants renal failure.

Renal failure is one of those bright red flashing lights that paralyzes any common sense your doctor may have. Even the thought of a whisper of those words strikes her dumb and useless. The pen comes out. There is a blink of the eyes. The face stops working as if in hyperdrive stasis and then suddenly reactivates in an alternative future dimension. The pen moves. Scripts get written. The doctor breathes. All is right with the world again.

I on the other hand stop breathing because I know the doctor hasn't a clue what is wrong with me or how to fix it and is disinclined to broach the topic. She is also firm in her belief that consulting with another doctor is a sin greater than moronity since this is hypertension — a basic problem of life. I sigh and take the script. Here we go again.

There are a lot of superstitions about hypertension, just like cancer. And, just like cancer, the "cures" are magical and defy explanation: deep measured breathing, losing weight, exercising, following the DASH diet, organic herbs, tinctures, group support.

I think it has to do with being a herd animal in flight mode. When attacked by a perceived predator, a herd of wild animals panics and races to the horizon seized by communal fear. The animals drop logic in favor of brute force, forcing themselves to run.

As they run, members of the community are picked off, falling in the center or along the group perimeter. The fear factor increases and the herd tries, if possible, to run faster shedding any remaining logic in order to focus fully on the goal of losing their attacker. Those closest to the lost ones exhibit disorientation. They stumble more, their eyes move wildly back and forth, they rely on the press of bodies to carry them in the right direction. Subconsciously they calculate their chances of survival and whether or not the statistical finger of fate will select them or their neighbor. Their fear separates them from the herd, makes them an individual. The herd can't help them now. Their attacker is more powerful than the herd.

The survivors sense that death is inevitable and yet keep running anyway. Hypertension is like that. The unknown enemy that keeps you running. The unseen lethal opponent lurking just out of sight with a magic mystical touch that can reach into any part of the herd and select a victim at will. Those who survive are rewarded with adrenaline enhanced maniacal running — grabbing at whatever solution they can get.

Why is there no cure for hypertension? Because it concerns hormones, about which we know little and which are mysterious and complex. Because it concerns the liver about which we really only know that it is essential and that damage is generally irreparable. This is the fear in the doctor's eyes. The common cold no one can cure. A lethal common cold that will kill you no matter what.

The only treatment is prolonging the agony. Slowing down the predator and maybe helping the victim to run faster or to not focus on those dropping next to them. However, in the end, hypertension will get you. It's just a matter of time.

Everybody's Gone for the Weekend

... and maybe longer. The depletion of humans has been going on for days now. I first noticed it two days ago when I quickly found a spot in the sun at Ellwood Thompsons to have my lunch. Now Richmond is practically a ghost town! This is great! The weather is lovely and I get all the hot spots to myself. No worry about dog crowding down at the river. Lots of space to roam in the parks. I can eat al fresco anywhere in all the best spots of any location. Few cars on the street (although the percentage of idiots seems to have mysteriously risen – guys on cell phones, old people asleep at the wheel, those who apparently live in their cars and don't feel the need to actually drive when on a road, etc.) Aside from that one little glitch it's great. I'm going to thoroughly enjoy my time alone in peace and quiet. No need to go anywhere. I have this lovely resort town all to myself in the fabulous Memorial Day Weekend weather. woo hoo! (Did I mention I'm happy to be alone here for a few days?)
Current Fads slacking
Listening. recently purchased tunes (unpublished); hedge trimmer and dogs barking (the hired help are doing a big number next door and she's not even there!)
Watching. Shrek (2001)
Activity. reading
Gadget. cell phone
News Source. Google News
Reading. The Haunted Abbot - Peter Tremayne; Real Energy - Phaedra and Isaac Bonewits; A Free Course in Making Your Own Talisman - Karl Hans Welz
Writing. not writing (except journaling and well, here)
Actually, it would be totally perfect if you were here, too.

Those of you who follow my Twitter posts may wonder if I was just being dramatic or if I really was in a hostage situation Saturday night. I was not being dramatic.

I went to church with Mom that night. We were mystified by the huge crowd at church on a Saturday night and had to park the car on the lawn outside the school building. As we crossed Government Ave. a volunteer quickly met us and advised us to get out of the street as soon as possible. The nearby intersection with Granby St. was blocked with police cars. A young man had taken over a convenience store and was holding a hostage.

The high attendance mystery was solved easily by noting the number of children dressed up for First Communion. The church was packed. After the service we were told to exit only through the side doors. No one was allowed to cross Government Ave. to get their cars from the parking lot. The situation with the hostage had heated up and police were concern that the bad guy might shoot along Government Ave. One couple snuck across the street and drove off anyway.

Mom asked for the office building to be opened and we went inside and sat down. Lucky for everyone else that it was a pleasant night and not raining. A single phone call brought friends to meet us down the block (in the opposite direction from the hostage situation) and take us to dinner. By the time dinner was over, so was the situation. We were driven back to the church where we got into Mom's car and drove home.

Later it was discovered that there was no gun and no hostage and the desperate man was 17 years old. He just wanted to get some gifts at the neighboring jewelry store. Read the news story.
Current Fads
Listening. Rock Music in my iTunes library; ringing in ears
Watching. Dersu Uzala (1975)
Activity. not finishing the screenplay
Gadget. iPod Shuffle 2nd Gen
News Source. Google News
Reading. Smoke in the Wind - Peter Tremayne; A Wish Can Save Your Life - Gahl Sasson and Steve Weinstein; Romantic Religion - R. J. Reilly
Writing. morning pages

Real Slum - No Millionaire

View a video presentation from the LA Times about real conditions in the slums of Mumbai. Now, don't you have a lot to be thankful for?

the myth of age

Everybody, I mean everybody (except the AARP) is after the below 30 crowd. I understand you have to include them. After all they have to learn how to lead and to be involved and engaged. On the other hand, I'm not planning on retiring and if I were to retire it wouldn't be to sit in a rocking chair or play shuffle board. Let's understand here that I have the health once associated with a 40-year-old and I'm way passed that mark. Heck, if I exercised more I could stay at that mark for a very long time indeed. People living to 65 have about another 20 years to go and mostly in pretty good health. I'm beginning to get worried that maybe the protesting sit-in, be-in, love-in generation may take that up again. After all, we have less to lose now. We can risk it. You young people watch out!

And that went totally somewhere else than I thought it would. What I mean is, boomers still have a lot going on and they have the resources to do it. It's silly to try to place old paradigms on us. I am not some white-haired, grandchild-focused, retired lay about. And don't think anyone from my generation is. So, why are we treated that way? I'm still looking forward and planning my next life. And a great life it will be, too.

You know, here I am with all this experience, really good experience and the finely honed ability to work and some social leaders are ready to put me on the back burner. It's a criminal waste of resources.

Okay. I'm off the box now.

t- (therapy) groups, meetups, encounter groups

Now that we've raised our children and we're back to giving ourselves time, all the little groups from the sixties are back. They're older, matured, wiser and more spiritual, yet are still small, intimate groups where we share what is deep in us and experience change and awe. I'm in three of them and I'm reading at least two books related to human potential. I've become adept at sharing a two minute summary of me. I come home with folded papers in my purse. I promise myself I'll look things up on the internet. I add yet another author or book to my ever-increasing list of good things to read that are good for me.

What I discovered tonight is that first and foremost I need to attend to me. One person shared that her joy comes from helping others. My joy comes from healing and shedding pain. Why there should be so much pain and where it comes from, I don't always know. I am learning two paths now. Maybe three. The buddhist way of releasing everything and accepting what is and learning to let feelings and thoughts pass through me. Desires bring suffering. The spiritism way of feeling deeply the emotions that connect me to the universe and cause it to expand. Desires are good and plentiful and should increase. Then, I suppose, the third path is doing good and/or helping others. Tricky that. How does one help? It's not as easy as you might think. Right now I'm content to help privately in little ways. To learn not to be overbearing yet to be assertive when necessary. I'm sticking to my little plot of ground where I can try things out.


Current Fads
Listening. iTunes Party Shuffle of my entire digital music library; others
Watching. Hair (1979)
Activity. breathing
Gadget. Samsung cell phone
News Source. the news feeds in Safari
Reading. Spirit Guides and Angel Guardians - Richard Webster; Ask and It is Given - Esther and Jerry Hicks; Self-Editing for Fiction Writers - Renni Browne & Dave King; Midnight Dreary: The Mysterious Death of Edgar Allan Poe - John Evangelist Walsh; Das Wilde Land - Heinz Konsalik u. Susanne Scheibler; Mensa Bulletin (Yes, I really am reading them all right now—I'm a reading addict. What can I say?)

You're SHORT!

There are those critical moments in life when some one thing wakes you up to everything else. One of those moments was me shouting "YOU'RE SHORT!"

I was a freshman in college doing my duty to froshes everywhere by supporting my fair share of celebratory events. That night I was celebrating with two friends. One, Marianne, was tall, willowy, moved like a fairy, and had long feathery hair. The other, Cary*, was short, solid, moved like an aerobic dancer and had long molasses hair. They stood side-by-side in front of the room-wide bathroom mirror which reached from the top of the sink to the ceiling. They were dressing for the night's event. Attempting to look somewhat similar, they murmured and adjusted their clothing looking intently in the mirror. Cary was copying Marianne. Marianne was offering soothing suggestions. Cary was getting red faced and lumpy. She pulled and twisted and huffed and puffed.

"Why can't I get this right?" she said. "Why can't I get this to look like yours? I’ve got it just like yours but it doesn’t look like yours."

"Maybe if you ..." Marianne offered some sort of suggestion, gently twisting something with her long delicate fingers. Her reflection glanced over at me, a tiny smile on its face.

I stood behind them in the doorway, watching.

"You're short," I said to Cary. Her head was down as she made adjustments. She didn't hear me. With Marianne’s help she went on tweaking and adjusting, making unhappy noises and getting thoroughly frustrated.

I tried telling her again. Still no response. Finally, I held onto the door frame, leaned into the room and shouted with all my being, "YOU'RE SHORT!" Echoes reverberated off the mirror and around the stalls.

All activity stopped. I froze, thinking I had ended yet another friendship. Cary looked at the mirror and then at me.

"You know, I am short, aren't I?" Looking back at the mirror she continued with all kinds of positive comments like, "No wonder this doesn't fit me like it fits you. No wonder I can’t get this to hang like yours." And so on. Friendship saved.

The semester ended. We all went home for the summer. Next fall I had new roommates. I ran into Cary who looked amazingly different. Her hair was short and curly (naturally, apparently, when not dragged down by the weight of length). Her perpetual sour expression was replaced with a sunny smile. She wore granny glasses and carried a pile of papers.

"Come see my place," she said with a bounce. I promised to stop by. A group of us turned up for a tour. Cary had redone her room entirely in modern fussy Victorian. The walls were a deep, somber purple. Curlicues on the radiator were picked out in gold. Elaborate crown molding was also picked out in gold. The furnishings were custom painted to match the walls. Ancient eyeglasses and writing materials were placed strategically as if the owner had just walked away. The whole thing was like an elaborate set for a modern Victorian adventure movie. I was amazed.

Cary had found her calling in life - to run her own decorating business - all because I had yelled at her. She had stopped trying to be like everyone else and became herself in full.

Some days I wish someone would shout at me. I say things and do things and see reactions and wonder, “What am I doing really? Why can’t someone tell me what it is I’m doing?” I could use an epiphany right about now.


Current Fads
Listening. Memory Almost Full, Paul McCartney and Deep Sleep Every Night, Glenn Harrold; air conditioner
Watching. High Fidelity (2000)
Activity. making a career move
Gadget. cell phone
News Source. Google News
Reading. Small Gods - Terry Pratchett; Voices of Recovery: A Daily Reader; Style Weekly; Mensa Bulletin

*This is not her real name. Not because she needs protection. Because I can’t remember her name. Sorry, “Cary.” If you read this, please comment!

What can a person of high intelligence do?

What can a person of high intelligence do? Just about anything they feel like doing. Unhindered by social norms or conventions these people train as nurses, work for 15 years and then become successful auto sellers in a matter of months. They live frugal hermitic lives at the bottom of the social ladder one step above homelessness and they live at the top, with a highly developed network that nets them more than they need with little effort. They create dynamic personal partnerships that rely only on commitment instead of a legal promise and proximity. They create optimal conventional partnerships and become society leaders. They live in island paradises and inner cities. They write poetry and develop complex mathematic algorithms. They set their own hours, rising at 2 a.m. to run an international electronics repair service with 3,000 domain names or live off the proceeds of stock investments based on their own esoteric systems. Enchanted by the unknown, they easily forge ahead by teaching themselves necessary skills. They quietly innovate and make huge public splashes on Jeopardy.

Whatever they do, they do fully, completely and devotedly, becoming priests, pastors, nuns, and CEOs. A people of extremes, they end up in jails and sit as district court judges. With highly-focused persistent attention spans, they often pursue an interest exclusively and far beyond ordinary limits. It is not uncommon for a person of high intelligence to have deep knowledge about a rare, complex subculture and little about local issues.

Quickly absorbing, analyzing and mastering whatever comes their way, their biggest problems are boredom and vocational boundaries. Their unifying passions are learning and sharing what they have learned. As a people, they are far ahead of the curve, often leading the rest of society into new, uncharted modes of adaptation purely by example.

Chuck E. Cheese in League with Al Qaeda

Thank you, John, for heroically pursuing this quest for truth.

Nothing but Men

See latest stories on Yahoo! News

The democratic primary has polarized the vote between men and women. Perhaps it just made obvious what's been happening all along. Like, I haven't come a long way and I'm not a baby.

Look at any photo of board members of a major corporation and you'll see lots of men surrounding maybe one woman. On the board will be Caucasian, Asian, Black, and Hispanic men with one lone woman blonde woman. It must happen in the men's room. Or on the golf course. It sure ain't happenin' at work or in politics. If Hill were a man Obama wouldn't have a chance. And, NO, it's NOT a black thing.

And you are ...?

I'm attending Ravencon. My first con. I know where all the geeks are. Well, not all of them. I don't qualify, of course. I can clear a conference room in no time. I came in on the end of the "Are comics just for kids?" forum by which time the seven attendees were engaged in desultory conversation about prejudice against graphic novels. After I sat down they ended the discussion and cleared the room. I stayed for the next discussion on "How to write a blurb." Which turned into "How to write a query letter" which will later be the blurb used on the back on your dust jacket and in all other attempts to sell your book.* The tiny room was full except for the two chairs on either side of me which were apparently off limits to everyone else or were covered with a frost that I couldn't see. Half way through the hour a very senior gentleman entered pushing his walker. I shoved the furthest chair and mine aside, making room for him to exit his walker and enter the nearest empty chair. A tiny rustle stirred the room. Ah, now they knew who I was. Friend of old man. Nah. Guess again.

Last weekend I attended my first non-denominational earth-centered spirituality retreat. For the first 24 hours I got pretty much the same reaction. No one is rude or cold. There just happens to be a larger berth of air around me than anyone else has. I'm sometimes talked to as if I have made a wrong turn and am too proud to admit it. No. I want to be here. Listen. I've tried everything else, why not this? And get used to it. I'm not the only bored boomer out here. There's plenty of us looking for new, different and educational experiences.

*It's scary the amount of marketing publishers expect author's to do. The author is supposed to determine their market, locate the editor or agent who covers that market, sell it, write the blurb and the pitch. Really. I would have thought just writing a good book was enough.

Gadget-lovers Future Paradise

How do you like the future so far? Trek to the MOMA and see how much further you can go with personal gadgets. They can make your environment perfect for you and keep it perfect for the person next to you (those backseat fights are a thing of the past). You can create energy by walking, remove impurities from the air naturally, and cool insulin anywhere. Are you a lonely guy? Get a virtual companion to steal the sheets, rub their cold feet against yours and throw plates. I'm telling you, whatever you want, it's there.

(The site has a funky interface so Mac people go with Firefox.)

the best resistance

Die beste Art sich zu wehren, ist sich nicht anzugleichen.
–Marc Aurel (121-180)





The best form of resistance, is not to adapt.

Translations: What men really mean in those online dating profiles

1. Willing to relocate = No fixed address; I'll go anywhere for sex.
2. Skeleton profile = I'm here for the sex.
3. Preferred body type "Any" = I can have sex with anyone.
4. Active = high libido
5. Separated = married but looking for extra sex
6. Looking for a warm, caring woman. = I'm looking for safe unlimited sex.
7. If you're looking for sex, move along. = I've discovered I get more sex when I say I'm not looking for it.
8. My friends say that I'm ... = I've heard these lies will get me more sex.
9. Be prepared to be treated like a real lady. = I will totally take over your life (so that no one can have sex with you but me).
10. ... enough of a bad boy to be interesting. = You will never know where I am.

Virginia is for Dogs

While checking out Boom Your Brand (long load time) I found this hilarious ad. Nothing like a good laugh first thing in the morning. Worth a visit if you have the time. Very sixties. They also share some interesting opinions about boomers (mostly why you need to sell them stuff).

annoyers and annoyees

Neighbors are either annoyers or annoyees. Most of my neighbors are quiet people like me and therefore end up being annoyees. Two houses down is a couple who have broken the unwritten rule of physical annoyance by putting up a high privacy fence, filling their yard with a pool and building a huge high deck surrounding it. That way, whenever anyone is out on the deck they can look down over the fence at the rest of us. They had maybe two annoying parties last year. It wasn't really awful. They quieted down by 10:30 p.m. On the other hand, they have only invited the extroverts across the street for one swim. I know they don't have to invite the neighbors over for a swim, it's just one of those annoying things.

Today I had my annual unfriendly exchange with the little man next door. As usual, it involved him sharing his limited vocabulary at the top of his voice about my dog and what I can do with it. I listened to him rant for a few minutes.

Then, during a break in his ranting, I replied, "Are you suggesting inappropriate congress with my dog?"

And he said, "Yes, I am!"

Which surprised me because I didn't think his vocabulary extended to two syllable words. Then I listened to a further demonstration of his limited vocabulary while waiting for him to wind down.

"That fuckin' dog is the only fuckin' boyfriend you'll ever get," he threw at me while the dog barked madly.

"He's a damn sight better than you!" I retorted loudly, which shut him up. Once again, Elaine wins!

We didn't have our little conversation last year because the previous year he played his trump card by complaining about my dog to the mayor through a friend of a friend. That trickled down to my local animal control agent who agreed with me that the little man has some serious problems. (And lucky me, I get to be his neighbor.)

Subsequent to his fruitless appeal to the mayor, I won the last little shouting match, too. He had, as usual, entertained me with his limited vocabulary for about 10 minutes. As he was winding down, he shouted, "What about my right of quiet enjoyment?" To which I replied, "What about mine?" which shut him up instantly.

Maybe he'll learn one day that no matter how much he doesn't like me and my dog he just can't win that cockeyed little game. One mustn't like one's neighbors but one must learn be unannoying.

I Was Not There

I was nowhere near the earthquake that is called "Thriller." I was in Saudi Arabia and then Lebanon. When I got back to the states my brother had to describe break dancing to me. I still have trouble understanding the excitement. It's just an album.