A journeyman’s ramblings: He is no everyman, but one who turns a carefully focused eye on the events of the madcap world around him. He aims to point out what others miss and draw attention to the patterns that exist amongst the chaos.
Bad taste is a disease that strikes without warning.
It moves silently, can hit hard, and can be contagious. The dangerously infectious ways are demonstrated by various fads like wearing your pants backwards, buying accessories for your pet rock, and listening to “boy” bands made up of guys who are all 27 or older.
No one is ever fully immune. Even the Fonz once jumped the shark, coining the watermark phrase that indicates a wave has crested and is about to break.
Thus, when news hit the Missourian newsroom that the Jackson jury had a verdict, an epidemic cut an ugly, gruesome path through the crowded assembly of reporters, editors, and photographers.
No names will be attached to the following comments in order to both protect good people from being judged by words uttered in a moment of weakness and also to keep me from implicating myself.
WARNING! What is to come is not meant for those with weak heart or underdeveloped senses of humors. You are welcome to proceed, but keep in mind someone may step on your toes.
Here is a list of not-so-faithfully submitted headlines for this season’s “trial of the century.”
He beat it.
Billy Jean was Not his lover
He’s baaaaaad.
Jackson: I’m going to Disney World.
Peter Pan goes back to Neverland.
Jackson acquitted: get over it.
Jackson trial finished: Can we stop talking about it now?
Jury: Not so dangerous.
Wacko Jacko Backo
Didn’t stop till he got enough.
Jackson: I’m Teflon, you’re glue…
Verdict: Weird, but not guilty.
There were more; no doubt you caught wind of some others in the media frenzy that followed. It kinda makes one envy those biodome people who live in isolation in a giant greenhouse for a couple years, though that after-briefing has got to be a hoot.
-----------------------------------
“Okay, I see you’re done reading the news briefs we compiled for you. Are there any events you want to talk about?”
“So let me get this straight…”
“Take your time.”
“So Michael Jackson was found not guilty.”
“Right.”
“Haven’t people been working on a case since 1993?”
:”Yes, and he was acquitted of all 10 charges.”
“Okay. And “Mr. and Mrs. Smith” is the top movie in America right now, and not “Star Wars: Episode III?”
“Right.”
“I would have thought the last Star Wars movie would have been tops for weeks.”
“Oh yeah. You didn’t see other prequels yet, did you?”
“No. Is there something I should know?”
“Forget it. Just know that the new power couple, Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt have the top movie right now.”
What do you mean, “new power couple?” Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston broke up? They were perfect together!”
“That’s what I said!”
“This is a crazy, crazy world.”
“That’s what Governor Schwarzenegger would probably say after he got booed during his speech to his alma mater.”
“What?”
“Oh, you see, Schwarzenegger was at Santa Monica College giving a commencement speech but was continually interrupted by protesters…”
“Schwarzenegger who?”
“Governor Schwarzenegger.”
“What?”
“Of the state of California.”
“Schwarzenegger is governor of California?”
“Yes.”
“We’re talking the Terminator guy, right?”
“Actually, the press sometimes calls him the “Guvinator.”
“When can I go back inside the dome?”
-----------------------------------
The world doesn’t really pay much sense if you stop and think about it. Your best bet is to go about your business and don’t question it, or better yet, if they tell you your time is up and you can come out now, DON’T LEAVE THE BIODOME!
Like Michael Jackson current set of charges, this class is dismissed.
Scratch that. My dyslexic mind swirls and suggests an alternative.
A better question would be…
Dreams are made of what?
And from here we commence:
Where does one find the source of our imagination? I don’t believe there is a physical center in the brain that scientists have determined (despite the conflicting evidence that some people have identified it an had it surgically removed; often along with their sense of humor). Granted, studies using scan and imaging machinery have proven there are sections of our brains are more often revved up when engaged in creative acts, like painting, composing music, or writing sonnets. Researchers call such techniques “neato cool,” a technical term in this case used to mean “really, really close to that Star Trek style stuff that we love to watch,” but still are unsuccessful in advancing the technology to the levels they would prefer.
SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECHHH! BUMP! BUMP!
That’s the sound of technology reaching the end of the currently layed tracks. Actually, in this age of digital imagers and the online information highway, reaching the end of the road would sound more like an old modem attempting to dial up, but I’m to lazy to try to simulate the bleating, static-y drone of 1s and 0s.
The answer won’t be found with technology – few answers are discovered that way, anyhow. We usually build stuff on a hunch to confirm what we’re pretty sure we already know. There are exceptions to the rule, but I don’t believe we shall find one here.
Where were we? Searing for the root of imagination. Yes. Quite right. Let me continue…
Note: Some of you may think I’m stalling. Some of you weren’t thinking that before, but presently are now that I’ve brought the subject up. Most of you were, just now became, or shortly will become right in your belief that it’s the truth.
I don’t have jack here. I’m trying to make means by no means, with apologies to Roger Miller, and am coming up a bit short.
I believe God gives us a driving spark, but I don’t know where it is found or how it works or why it blazes on in some and burns out in others or why we’re able to share so little light compared to the untold brilliant potential of an infinite number of suns that sparkles in all of us or what would happen if we stopped trying to light the darkness.
I wish I did.
I simply know it’s there. I still feel compelled to ask the unanswerable. I feel like there is something worthwhile to be discovered in the course of the search, even if we never find that intellectual holy grail.
While I can’t imagine ever solving the quandaries, I equally can’t imagine how dismal life would be if we didn’t try to.
Many give up and shift their attention on to “more important” things. I do the same sometimes.
But somewhere inside, something still flickers pushing me to dream bigger and try to imagine something even grander than the plain, concrete world I typically live in.
Consider it the “Call of the bewildered.”
Would you please excuse me? I’ve got to take this. Pardon me while I slip “outside” and chase some “existential” fireflies.
Flashback post: This should be a familiar phrase for those who knew the old site, but since this is a new establishment, I thought we’d formally reintroduce the term.
“Flashback post” refers to something that was meant to be posted on an earlier date. It could have been started earlier and had a delayed finish. It might be something I feel would have meant more if linked to a certain date. It could also mean the author, yours truly, was feeling antsy about having two lengthy posts on the same day and kicked it back. It is similar to a “future post,” a rant left in advance of a conscious absence, though I typically lack the prognostication and time to schedule such pre-planed posts.
And without further ado, here’s something I meant to write about on Saturday.
Fishy musings
My church had a fishing expedition plotted for Saturday morning. Despite the fretful downpour the night before, and some drizzling around dawn, things dried up for the early morning departure time (which wasn’t a big deal since we were 45 minutes off leaving on time anyway).
We had six leaders show up and only two boys, meaning turn-out was great for the eight-and-under crowd.
As it worked out, the two little kids had on average two or three adults working hard to hook a fish on the line in time to pass over to the boys to reel them in. That left room for one or two people to be re-baiting back at the enclave of parked trucks (after worms [both plastic and the more squishy sort] escaped or bobbers needed replacing or there was a simple desire to swap rods). For those of you keeping count at home, you know that leaves one to two others on the far side of the pond having limited luck luring anything (besides sweat bees).
I belonged to the final category. It’s been a while since I was on a fishing trip and I’d have to stretch farther than that to think of a trip where I actually got to fish. In the past, I’d often spend more time trying to help people fish – by baiting hooks, untangling lines, wading out to get a floating lure that had come loose, etc – than fishing myself. Adding to my rustiness was the fact I typically fished by trolling, which is riding in a boat and letting a line drag behind you. There was less repetitive casting required on the short waves of Lake Taneycomo than the banks of the unnamed (and frankly, not worthy of a name) pond we were stationed it.
“Fishing is one of those things like riding a bike,” was a saying that drifted through my head. “You never totally forget how to do it.”
That thought was followed by various fishing memories, including, but not limited to: getting a hook caught in my face, getting a hook caught in my dad’s co-worker, being in a canoe that flipped (not my fault), being in a canoe that flipped (my fault), feeling the muddy ground beneath me give way on a field trip where I slowly – but irreversibly – slid into the lake, having the fish I hooked half swallowed by a snapping turtle and the difficulty associated with pulling them both in, being fretful after being warned about catfish barbs, being scared stiff after hearing a snake was in the water (never saw it), freaked out and refusing to move in the water due to a snake (saw it), and being paranoid about losing my glasses in the lake after countless repetitions of a story that happened to my uncle.
Fishing is like riding a bike, huh, I pondered. Maybe this was a bike I shouldn’t be riding, I briefly thought as I made a second half-lap (I went half way around and re-traced my original route back) around the lake after I’d swapped poles after a reel bust mid-cast (it was fixed later, but not by me despite no lack of trying).
But I returned to the far side of the lake and rediscovered my own drive for fishing. I don’t always fish to catch fish – though there is a thrill when they are striking and you never know what will come with the next cast. I also like to stretch out and meditate.
I kept casting away with a plastic worm even as it became obvious the majority of the fishers were using bobbers and real worms (especially those who kept catching the fish on behalf of the little kids). I like to think and cast – and I thought it wouldn’t be bad to seize an opportunity to practice casting for a while.
I didn’t matter if I had difficulties like when I’d have a doozy of a knot – and it’s always more challenging to deal with the tiny knots of a microfilament line than your average corded ropes – or I’d have to re-bait my hook with another plastic worm from the bed in my pocket (“Bed” is one of the group nouns for a bunch of worms. Don’t believe me? Look it up).
I have a lot of weird things on my mind lately – in case you hadn’t noticed. I spent a couple hours tugging on the line (typically after hooking a branch and not necessarily one located underwater), fiddling with the fishing line, and trying to untie my own twisted line of thought.
I only made so much progress on all three areas. I’m not even sure if the times I did rear back on my pole (intentionally) it was actually a fish nibbling on the other end. Everything I pulled all the way in was at one point plant-based in life, so I can’t be sure.
I’m positive God is working to untangle my mental line, however. I’m not sure how or when. It can be amazing how impossible a knot appears until you tug at it in the right place and suddenly it all comes together. After crunching down for over 10 minutes, and still having quite a fluffy, loopy bird’s nest in my hand, I was suddenly surprised to find a soft pull caused the straight line to reassert itself.
I didn’t catch a fish, though I reaped a side benefit from the smiles of the two kids when they posed with their haul. I wager our group pulled out the second largest fish in the lake (the biggest, as all fish-talers know, is the one that got away) in addition to over a half dozen of his mouth-sized cousins.
I had good time and didn’t do too much harm – a claim bolstered later when the flimsy reel was finally put back together (using a pocketknife, some strong hands, and some careful applications of pressure on plastic).
All in all, I think fun was had by all – except for the fish.
One must always take online test results with a grain of salt (actually, I would apply this rule to tests of all shapes and sizes [ie, I.Q., ACT, GRE, etc], because they only measure a part of you and I have yet to encounter an exam that is able to weigh a complete character). I stumbled on this test while reading a backlog of old posts. I bookmarked it at the time and only today returned to it. The final tally I would not have guessed on my own, but there is a logic to it that I can't deny.
Check out my results and contemplate taking it yourself (though be warned, it asks over a 100 questions, so be sure reserve a bit of time for self-administration).
You scored as Luna Lovegood. You're an extreme introvert and because of this, are also a deep thinker. You ponder things others would never dream of pondering and stand with your beliefs without backing down. You find it more valuable to daydream than to socialize, because there's so much more going on in your head than others'. Most people don't understand it, but you seem to prefer it that way.
Inspiration comes in unexpected places (it comes from expected sources as well, but one should still be a welcoming host when the muses crash your home).
I’d gotten behind on my daily online blogs (see the previous day’s post about being sick and out of it) and was seeing what I’d missed. An entry in the comic Scary Go Round, formerly Bobbins, instantly provided a writing spark.
I’ve long enjoyed this strip about quirky Brits. I believe reading it helps me keep on my wordsmanship; especially during periods where I can’t verbally spar with my sister (by my count, the long-term score has largely remained tied, though she may dispute those figures). The site included my favorite description of the internal logic of internal monologues and how soliloquizing falls apart when actually vocalized.
The June 10th entry featured a guest artist but retained the literary flair of the original.
The premise of the strip repeated a famous story about the writer Ernest Hemingway. Several different versions of the tale exist, but the unwavering barebones account was “Papa” being challenged to write a complete short story using only six words.
His finished masterwork: For sale: baby shoes, never used.
The Scary Go Round strip featured several short tales from the eclectic cast. Others have tried to craft stories following this strict premise. They include:
John Updike: "Forgive me!" "What for?" "Never mind." Tobias Wolff: She gave. He took. He forgot. Michael Cunningham: "My nemesis is dead. Now what?" Norman Mailer: Satan - Jehovah - 15 rounds. A draw."
Such stimulation made me wonder what I could come up with.
Note: For those of you who want to play the home game, it doesn’t hurt to play Weird Al’s This Song’s Just Six Words Long, the spoof of the terse George Harrison ditty Got My Mind Set on You - of which nearly half the song is composed of variations of the title (i.e. “I got my mind set on you (Set on you).” And if that’s not inane enough, you should check out the music videos for the song. There were multiple versions, but I prefer the version set in an arcade where George and his band “plays” on a jerky coin-operated video machine while a jock tries to win a plastic ballerina for his intended. It beats the version with the talking taxidermy and a break dancing bridge. Don’t ask.
Had enough audio/visual inspiration?
Well it doesn’t really matter because here we’re about to enter into my own results of the six-word short story challenge (I repeat in case you’d forgotten where we were headed with all of this).
Bad luck. Short fuse. Big ka-boom!
Father’s delight: tattoo-less son-in-law.
Determined North Pole flight. Santa’s here.
Shh! Raccoon’s back. Hide the baby.
String slipped. Balloon goes sailing away.
“Look!” “The dawn has arrived?” “Hallelujah.”
Help wanted: live-in aide. Grandma deserted.
Spiders and alligators everywhere! Spoiled vacation.
WARNING: This post may contain graphic descriptions of bodily functions in reverse digestive conditions.
“The boy ain’t doin’ so well today.”
There are few things as gripping as waking up in bed with that crawly, sweaty sensation all over paired with an over-salivating mouth.
You can go from hitting the snooze alarm habitually to a wide-eyed insomniac in two churns of the clock.
Unfortunately, this set the tone for the day.
I was a touch late for class, I briefly had to evacuate my design class prematurely while concerned about the timing of other departures (a shout out should go here for the person who stuck all those extra trash cans in the hallway. Mucho thanks), before lunch the newsroom got to me so bad that I stumbled down the back stairs and out into Peace Park where I half-passed out beneath a tree for almost an hour.
I’m not suffering from a bug, but rather one too many days of having my summer allergies belabored sinuses draining into stomach. So the good news is that I’m not contagious. Either that, or I’m the Victim Alpha of some bad outbreak movie who chalks up his symptoms up to something relatively harmless until he finally succumbs to the disease – often in a crowded public place.
Due to reasons like that I chose not to go to the downtown Twilight Festival this evening. That and I appeared to have slept through it when I took a “quick” catnap after I finished up at the Missourian.
It may not be wise to try and wax reflective while in this current state.
The stomachache, as well as the resulting fuzziness when one can’t bring oneself to eat much, is causing me to mentally disconnect.
This has happened before.
I can vaguely recall times in the past when pain, sickness, and fatigue temporarily caused me to go even more mental than usual. I can remember getting into a verbal argument with my legs and told my complaining limbs to, “Shut up!” I also remember one paranoid night where I was trying to remember not to touch the doorknob in morning for fear it was planning to kill me.
At the end of my design class, my instructor told me how horrible I looked. Alas, my mental state doesn’t seem to be far behind my physical appearance.
Even as I type this, I can just almost start to realize I’d be better off taking an early leave this night. It would do me some good to curl up with a good book (not a horror or freaky sci-fi book, for odds are my feeble mind will incorporate the plot into sickness-driven dreams) and pass out subsequently.
Forecast from an upper-blogosphere observation satellite
I have a bad habit when it comes to reading blogs. When I’m not updating my Web site, I get jealous of sites that are regularly adding new posts (and I get a smarmy grin when I see some else hasn’t done anything new in a while too).
It’s trite, pathetic, and something I’ve had a hard time shaking.
A good habit I’ve had is my willingness to go into the archives to see what has happened - something I believe few people do (though I don’t have any specific statistics to back me up on that supposition).
Since my last posts came from mid-March, I had a bit of reading to do for some sites. I even had a new/old site to peruse: it seems an old friend re-started her bloging habit a couple days earlier than I had initiated my own reboot.
I only learned this now because I hadn’t checked my Hotmail account for over a month as well. Bad Caleb. (I thwap myself with a rolled newspaper). No biscuit!
Note: I’d include the link now, but I’m waiting for confirmation on whether or not that would be allowed. The old site was originally deep-sixed when people who weren’t supposed to view the online journal, as in parents, discovered opinions and observations they weren’t happy to learn. I guess this is a case when perusing the archives isn’t such a good thing. An additional blog link may or may not be added when I receive word.
Anyway, I only finished updating myself on what my favorite bloggers have been up to since mid-April (the last time when I did a blog crunch). Some have started internships, some have moved locations, some have graduated various colleges, some have attended spectacular concerts and sporting events (and some less striking venues [stupid last-place-in-the-standings18-39 Royals]), some have worked to explored unknown cities, some have returned to their roots (temporarily, at least), and all seem have unanswered questions about what’s to happen next.
So even amidst the constant changes in life, both short-term and longer, the haziness of the future remains the status quo. I’m not sure if this uneasiness is caused by the regularity of change or if it persists despite the current.
To corrupt an old saying by smacking it and forcing it to be more truthful: The more things change, the more they keep changing – and that’s what stays the same.
It makes one ponder what’s going to happen next.
In theory, time will tell – and if we bloggers keep up our end of the bargain, w shall also tell shortly afterwards.
Note from canon revising: This wass the last of two posts created after the new site was created. Due to technical difficulties, they never appeared. Still, I thought I'd include them as an afterlog.
You're still reading? Why?
For those of you interested, cookies and cake are being served at the wake hosted at Live Paradox, for those of you interested in cookies, cakes, wakes, or paradoxes of the live sort.
Note from canon revising: This was the first of two posts created after the new site was created. Due to technical difficulties, they never appeared. Still, I thought I'd include them as an afterlog.
For those of you interested, I think this site is dead.
Let me check... Searching for pulse... Nothing.
Yep. It's dead.
The term "legally dead" means one's primary organs (brain, heart, lungs, etc) have all been inactive for over 24 hours.
I think we've beat that by quite a bit here. Sorry.
This has been some time coming, though I apologize for not saying something sooner.
This was meant to be a college blog. It was meant to be a distraction before I took a final final my freshman year. Partway through, the computer ate the post – a scene that, while not becoming normal, would remain familiar over the years.
It took another semester and a half before I started again, but it seemed to stick that time. According to my online Blogger statistics, since October of 2002, I’ve posted 408 time, had 664 hypertext outbound links, and posted 162,366 words – not counting this post.
That’s either a passionate effort or something truly pathetic; I’ll leave that up to others to decide.
As my college days wind down (I’ve earned two undergraduate degrees and we’ll see if my post-baccalaureate student status ever changes into a master’s student designation), I feel like it’s time to make a change.
That’s not to say I’m done writing, as the freshly minted Live Paradox should show.
A friend of mine likened christening a new blog to starting a new journal. A new chapter needs to start on a fresh page.
I’ve loved working on this site – as proven by the countless hours that I poured into these entries for the sake of the handful that regularly read it (special thanks to all my close relatives who helped keep the viewing statistics inflated over the years).
Also, I’d like to send out best wishes to the lawyers of John Irving who, by choice decision or blind ignorance, never pursued legal action against this site despite the thinly veiled riff on his beloved modern classic. My double-digit checking account and I salute you. I suppose I might as well give credit to Johnny for putting the story to paper in the first place. Kudos.
The posts aren’t done yet. At least, I hope not. The burden is on me to keep it going, I know, but rest assure I pledge, to paraphrase the great naval tactician John Paul Jones - and to insert a second to last clause in this sentence before I wrap up this sentence, post, and site – that I have not yet begun to write.
In putting together a new site, it proper that in this commissioning, a new set of standards should be crafted, new goals should be target, and a fresh explanation should be broadcast.
This seems like a good place for a mission statement: We need modern allegories.
The term “allegory” is defined as “a representation of abstract ideas or principles by characters, figures, or events in narrative, dramatic, or pictorial form.” More simply put, it is “a visible symbol representing an abstract idea.”
In this day and age, we seem far removed from the great writers who employed allegory like Dante and Bunyan. Even some allegories from the 20th century, like C.S. Lewis’s Chronicles of Narnia, seem disconnected from the race most of us run in this fast-paced existence.
It doesn’t need to be this way.
I believe there are allegories to be discovered in everyday life. I believe there is always something going on beneath the surface, just out of view. It’s easy to miss, but I believe if we look closely we can discover more about the way the world is crafted.
I’ve heard professors presuppose that there is no meaning in life. I’ve always bristled at that supposition, but then again, I’ve long looked at things differently.
I recall times dating back to fifth grade when I would take up less popular opinions and stand up for them just for the sake of arguing. In essays, I’d try to figure out what most people would write about and then I’d try to argue for the under-represented view. For example, when regarding the gifts O. Henry’s beloved magi, I would argue that the gift of hair was a greater sacrifice than the heirloom watch.
In that same year, I was introduced to the tale of Don Quixote (or “Quijote” as my Spanish teacher would remind me in later years). He instantly became a hero in my eyes, and remains so to this day.
In my personal drive to be antagonistic, I took a stance to be contrary that I still man today for different reasons.
I have argued, both in the past and presently, though many would consider him a fool, Don Quixote is one of the wisest characters in fiction.
Granted, he harassed barbers, turned a cellar of wineskins into pincushions, set a group of political prisoners free who promptly turned on him, and, most famously, charged a windmill with the call to “Lay on, and cursed be him that first cries, ‘Hold, enough!”
But I would argue that he was not a man driven insane by dream, but that he possessed a noble vision regardless of the fantasies.
He saw something honorable in people that the world had given up on. He saw leadership and loyalty in lowly Sancho Panza. He could still spy innocence in the worldly-wise and world-weary Dulcinea. He believed he could make a difference in a world where chivalry and brotherhood had been abandoned in the ashes of former glory.
Don Quixote tried to shine a light in a dark, dark world. His heroism is in dreaming, no matter how impossible the visions may be.
Though I answered the call to fight for the improbable in middle school as a twisted way of rebelling, somewhere along the way it became natural. I don’t know if it was through practice or subconsciously soaking in that belief, but I truly began to look at the world in terms of daily lessons to be learned.
The peculiar become routine and life became one big after-school special.
I admit we humans in habit one great big stupid world. I describe myself as a “cynical optimist” who admits the planet is really messed up, but still holds fast to the conclusion we can do something positive about it.
This is how I normally think. Frightening, isn’t it?
I’ve deemed this site “Live paradoxes.” That refers to my belief that to have a solid, noteworthy life, one has to embrace a series of seemingly polar experiences that all lead to a better existence.
In deeming this site, “live paradoxes,” I refer doubly to “live,” the noun, and “live,” the adjective. I refer to “existing and experiencing” and the property of being “alive or sparking, crackling with life.”
One can be rich in poverty, if they know how to properly value what they have. To advance, one needs to know when to rest. To move oneself up in the world, a person should learn how to take proper care of others.
These are hard things to believe, and even more difficult to apply, but they are what I am trying to base my life (and this site) upon.
Sounds crazy?
Well, consider yourself welcomed to my world. The accommodations may be sparse, but there is always vacancy, and during your stay there will be plenty of mints to put on your pillow (as soon as I figure out where Housekeeping put the bag…)
