Boldly Serving Up Wheat Grass

Moving to Portland ASAP!

2010-07-22T09:07:00.002-05:00

Wow, it's been a while since I've updated. I thought I'd drop a quick note here about our new home town -- Portland! A few months ago, we purchased a fixer-upper bungalow in the hip Hawthorne district of SE Portland. Should be quite an adventure fixing that thing up! For now, we're still stuck in Pittsburgh, though, awaiting the sale of our home here. But, as soon as it sells, we're heading West.

A New Stone Comes to Me!

2010-01-15T14:49:00.001-05:00

Back in September, I ended my 365-day Moldavite Encounter post with:

Thoughts crossed my mind of simply replacing it -- dial one up on eBay or something. But, I know enough now to know that this isn't how it ideally works. Whether it's a crystal or an animal totem or any metaphysical symbol, I think it has to happen to you; you can't (or, really, shouldn't) force it. Yes, there is a time for proactivity in life, and such willful volition is certainly commendable and useful, but there's also much meaning in what happens to us, what crosses our path, what we're called to, what we're called by. It's great to tune into that, as all of these things are another consciousness from which we can learn and elevate. So, I guess I'll just hang with the pits for a while, until some other mystic crystal revelation occurs.

When I said, "replacing it," I was referencing the piece of Moldavite that had been with me for exactly 365 days. When I said, "hang with the pits," I was referencing two small olive pits that I'd put into the locket until such time as another stone came to me.

Well, it happened! So, I thought I'd document the story.

I'm pretty sure this happened on January 10, 2010, on the very last day of my 40th year. (Significant?) I was cleaning our bathroom and, absolutely on a whim, decided to clean out the medicine cabinet. (Significant?) It's a smallish cabinet -- a little four-shelfer built into our bathroom wall. So, I first went about empting the whole thing so I could sort through all of the contents, arranging them by type, etc. We had a ton of junk in there -- outdated cold medicines, leaky tubes of antibiotic creams, makeup goodies of my daughter's. And then I saw it -- down in the bottom right corner of the cabinet, where it had no doubt sat for many years (where it came from I haven't a clue), was a gorgeous little ball of amethyst. It was absolutely the *perfect* size for the locket, almost as though it had been formed for that purpose.

So, I washed it off (it was quite dusty) and placed it in the locket. I decided not to look up the meaning of amethyst (for now). I'd rather see what events transpire in the coming times, and then maybe after sensing that I should look into it, I will (and then compare whatever happened to the traits associated with amethyst). It does feel ... hmmm, what's the word for it. Appropriate, I guess. It feels in line with the rather expanded perception I've gained, as explained in the post immediately previous to this one.

Most of all, I'm just amazed at how it played out. I actively decided NOT to replace the moldavite and instead wait for something to come to me. And it DID!

The Tarot of Everything

2010-01-05T12:12:00.001-05:00

Ever have mystical experiences absolutely unexpectedly? I'll try to recapture something here, although I'm not sure if I'll be able to do so perfectly now that I've been out and about in the world after the experience (thus removing my thoughts and presence from the spirit of the moment in which it happened). I mean, I'm sitting behind my desk at an accounting firm at the moment. People are milling about filing things and arguing, so it's tough to focus. But, for what it's worth...

This morning, as I was showering, I was thinking about the Tarot -- but, not very intently, nor very specifically; for example, I had no particular card, suit, number, or archetypal image in mind from the Arcana. Rather, I was thinking of it in a much more passively pensive way, in terms of it being a system of divination.

I also considered other systems of divination (runes, I-ching, etc.) at the time. What's the common denominator?, I thought. Why do they all seem to provide us with answers or directions? Why do some of these methods work for some people and not for others? Does each individual have a mode of divination that resonates with him/her more than others? Why? Where do the answers or directions come from? Those were the sorts of questions I was just innocently pondering as the warm water washed over me.

From there, I guess I honed in on that question of a common denominator. My perspective broadened in a way, and I asked myself what a system of divination might really be at its essence. Not surprisingly, I came upon the thought that these pursuits are nothing more than seeking knowledge of one sort or another. In this extremely broad description, divination is not unlike other more every-day pursuits of knowledge such as science and mathematics. All of it is seeking...

What if there really is no difference between math and astrology, tarot, Rorschach blots, etc.? What if mathematics and engineering are simply more accessible to us as humans, and therefore we deem these things rational while we deem the "woo-woo" stuff (as my wife's friend says) irrational?

Around mid-shower, the notion struck me that, maybe all of these signs, these runes, these numbers and equations, aren't really answers, directions, and messages from some other unknown realm, accessible or inaccessible as it may be. Maybe they're simply tools. Maybe (and, this was an important leap for me) they're tools that humans use to put us in touch with knowledge that we already know -- which explains why so many different paths lead to the same conclusion. For larger questions beyond those solvable via mathematics, maybe you lay out a tarot deck, cast runes, meditate, read tea leaves -- it doesn't matter. What if they're all just tools to put us in touch with what we already know?

And, if that's true, then what might the implications be? One that came to me was that, if we already know this sought-after knowledge (whether it's something simple like the answer to a mathematical problem, or something more complex like what might occur in the future), then maybe we already know everything. And, if that's true, then just maybe the default state of whatever our deepest essence is, is omniscience. Maybe these are all tools, of varying degrees, to put us all more in touch with our true nature, which is onmiscience, omnipotence, omnipresence; in other words, divinity.

From here the exercise became markedly more spiritual. I can't explain it well now, as I'm removed from the time at which this happened. But, thinking these particular thoughts was like a bunch of tumblers in a lock magically aligning, and a door swinging open. There was a threshold there, and I entered that welcoming space ...

You see, for, oh, a year or more, I'd been striving to experience and understand the connectedness of all things in the universe. For many reasons I won't go into now, I honestly believed it to be representative of truth; I had simply yet to experience it on any profound level. The more I sought that experience, the more it eluded me. I don't know... maybe the form I'm in now is a little thick from time to time, but it just never hit me so powerfully before. I realized this morning in the shower that, for me, the word "connectedness" was the in fact the very barrier to understanding "connectedness."

Somewhere in my mind, I suppose I had previously envisioned that only that which is separated or distinct can ever be connected. This makes sense on some level, right? You and I can only be "connected" if we're separate. That was my line of thinking.

But, across the threshold I mentioned above, this is not the truest, deepest nature of the universe. Whether profoundly true or some kind of imagined experience, I cannot say, but in this totality, the truest, deepest nature has no separation at all. I'm not sure I can trace the leap this represents to me, but it stemmed directly from that notion of considering our divinity, which I can't intuitively suppose represents a concept of separateness.

So, I understood that we -- you and I, you and the rocks, you and those you hate -- are not "connected." That is to say, I see now what connection means, but also see that it's an incomplete description. This was my big experiential realization. So, here it is: In fact, everything is really just *one thing*!! We are never really separated to begin with. In fact, the word "we" only furthers the notion of separation. The deepest truth is I, a kind of universal, energetic singularity. I am me, I am you, I am genius, idiot, victim, savior, loser, winner, pauper, king, stone, flower, insect, aether, cosmos, nothingness.

For a good half-hour thereafter, the world glistened for me. There's no other way to describe it. I felt as though I could walk up to another person (laughing, of course, because there really is no such thing as an "other" person) and say, "Ask me any question at all," and, when "they" did, I could have answered. Nothing mattered. Everything I looked at -- the walls, myself, my wife -- was all just myself (or, really, not even me, but the "one" energy), just wonderful, playful, awake energy. It was tough to see the shallow level of form for some time. Mostly, my perceptions were energetic, almost extra-sensory. I felt peaceful, too. Very peaceful.

My 365-day Moldavite Encounter

2009-09-24T00:37:00.001-05:00

It's very interesting to me that my friend Jim just published a synchronicity tale involving a semi-precious gemstone necklace -- because I have a similar story to tell today (well, at least similar in that it's centered around what I personally view as a powerful synchronicity involving a necklace containing a special stone). A warning: This post will be at least as "out there" as any other I've posted here -- perhaps much more. See what you make of this, Jim!

* * *

Many years ago, my wife returned from a Fairy Festival bearing a gift for me -- a pendulum-shaped silver pendant with a Celtic design. It looked like this:

Inside the pendant was a small green stone. I remember thanking her for it at the time with a kind of contrived gratitude, not caring for it much. I'm not sure why -- although, looking back, I suppose perhaps I unconsciously sensed that it bore a kind of energy that was diametrically opposed to my own at the time. Had you asked me at the time, though, and had I been honest in my reply, I probably would have said that it just "wasn't me." (And, back then, it wasn't!)

I did generally appreciate the gesture, of course. But, I nevertheless put it into a jewelry box where it sat dormant for years.

* * *

Now, I've posted numerous tales of spiritual awakening here. One critical detail I seem to have left out of all of these stories was the role of this necklace. While this is something I'd personally noted quite some time ago, I never wrote about it, as it never struck me as anything more than moderately eyebrow-raising. But, things took a step into the realm of full-on synchronicity this past weekend.

You see, back when I had what I now refer to as my "awakening" (September 18, 2008), I did something extremely inexplicable the next day (September 19, 2008). For some then unknown-to-me reason, I matter-of-factly walked to the jewelry box sitting on my dresser and dug out the above necklace. Wendi happened to have a silver chain in her possession that fit it (and me) perfectly, and I simply put it on.

Looking back, this is without a doubt one of the more unusual details of all of the mystical stories I've told on these pages over the past year. There is no rational reason that exists for this action. None whatsoever. I don't even know how I might have remembered that it was even in the jewelry box in the first place! ... It's exactly as though I was called to do something on a very deep, sub-conscious level, and then I did it as though it was the most natural thing in the world to do (when, just a day before, the act of donning this necklace *never* could have occurred).

At first, I wasn't thinking of the stone inside at all. There was a small flyer that came with it, which was still there when I put it on, but I didn't pay much attention to the text at the time. I think I just viewed this whole act as my deciding to don the pendant. But, later on, I thought more about the stone and read up on it. It was Moldavite. And, when I learned about the meaning commonly associated with Moldavite (spiritual awakening), I remember thinking how "coincidental" it was that all of these unusual (for me) spiritual experiences were happening to me. (This page has some great info. I'll quote a bit here.)

Moldavite is a cardinal Storm element stone. Storm represents massive transformation, cleansing and change on all levels, and Moldavite certainly lives up to that reputation. Moldavite is perhaps the most easily felt of all minerals. It carries an intense frequency that deeply activates the entire chakra system, stimulates the kundalini, cracks open one's psychic channels and propels one into one's future with the force of a hurricane. But, don't let this scare you! Sometimes this cosmic 'boot in the butt' is exactly what is required to dislodge psychic debris from one's life and kick-start one's spiritual development. ~Naisha Ahsian

This is an eerily spot-on description, given the experiences of the past year. I didn't really know much about the stone at first. When I first put the necklace on, I just kind of intuitively knew that I should wear it, not questioning it at all. But, a little later when I read some things about Moldavite, I did begin to regard it as even more meaningful, and I often held the locket in my hands as I searched for guidance on issues I'd been working through. More than occasionally, I would go to sleep grasping the locket, or hold onto it for a while before meditating (sometimes during meditation).

* * *

A few weeks ago at the Raw Spirit Festival outside of Washington, D.C., the stone played a role in introducing me to some new friends. I'd somehow struck up a conversation with two complete strangers, Dawud and MariJane, who very soon told me that they were just at a gemstone booth searching for some Moldavite. I was a bit stunned. "Really? I'm wearing some right now!" I pulled my necklace out and showed them. They kind of freaked out (in a "whoa!" kind of way). It turns out they were both really into crystals. In fact, Dawud reached into his bag and began telling me how the vibration of Moldavite is enhanced with another specific kind of stone, Danburite. (I've since seen pendants online, such as the one on this page, purposely designed using a Moldavite / Danburite pairing.)

Of all the stones in the world, he happened to be carrying some Danburite at the time -- kind of a longish, white crystal a few inches long -- and he suggested that I hang onto it for a while as we continued to chat. So, we had a fascinating conversation, hung out for a good hour or so, and capped it all off with a quick third-eye meditation back at the camp site, just for good measure. (Yeah, it was that kind of weekend where things like that could spontaneously happen.)

A quick tangent... Later, another seemingly random act put me in their presence once again. I was walking along on my own at that fair and, out of the blue, heard a woman I know say, "Oh, here's Jim." Without saying a word, the woman simply handed me an iPhone, and another person I knew was on the line (another bizarre coincidence). He asked me if I'd seen a friend of his at the fair. I hadn't, but offered to take a look around the campsite for the person. (I'd been camping there in a special area as a fair volunteer, and this person I then set out to look for was also apparently a volunteer.)

So, I headed off to look for this guy, and wound up running into Dawud and MariJane again. In a turn of events I do not fully recall, we struck up a conversation about 2012 and the Mayan calender prophesies. They were, coincidentally, really into the Mayan calendar and a whole related astrological system. MariJane offered to look up some personal information for me, based on my birthday. According to that system, I'm a Yellow Lunar Star. You can find out your Mayan Oracle symbol here. The symbol for mine, btw, is:

My affirmation is: I polarize in order to beautify, stabilizing art, I seal the store of elegance, with the lunar tone of challenge, I am guided by the power of universal fire. (Just recording that here for future reference... MariJane actually wrote it up on an index card for me, in full color. It's totally cool. I should also note that she did one for my wife as well. I was a little concerned at first, as Wendi -- who, btw, is a galactic activation portal (certainly no surprise to anyone who knows her) -- turns out to be guided by universal water. Upon seeing this, I said in a concerned tone, "Wait a minute... I'm universal fire, and she's universal water. That's bad, right?" Dawud didn't miss a beat. "No, man, that's steam!" ... Yeah, I knew I liked that guy right from the start.)

* * *

Okay, so last Saturday, we went to a raw food meetup in Berkeley Springs, West Virginia. I'd never been there until a few weeks before on the way down to that festival I mentioned above. (I'd even written up an incredible little tale on our other blog about Berkeley Springs and its potential as an "ormus hotspot.")

So, there we were on Saturday afternoon, gathered with friends, eating delicious, nutritious foods, chatting, hula-hooping on the lawn by the gazebo ... when my friend Rawbin said to me, "Hey Jim, wasn't there a stone in your locket."

I nodded and said, "Yeah, it's Moldavite."

But then she said, "I know, but it's gone now. The locket is open."

I thought, "Open? What does she mean?" You see, I never knew it could be opened! I'd always thought it was soldered shut. And yet, now it looked like this ...

... except the cosmic, spiritual-awakening stone from outer space was gone! Turns out the whole time it was just a very simple snapping clasp that held it shut. I could have opened it at any time -- could have made actual, physical contact with the Moldavite -- but never did.

At first, I was rather bummed out to have lost something so special. But, as people began to comb the surrounding grass, Wendi said, "When did you first put that necklace on?"

It was at that moment when I stopped looking for it, even though I let the others continue their search. I realized then that it had been exactly one year to the day since I attached that stone to my person full-time, perhaps even one year to the hour, for all I knew. Somewhat saddened by its loss, I surmised that the Moldavite's departure constituted an act of consciousness. In fact, I just "know" this somehow -- even though I realize that such a statement probably sounds pretty far-out to a lot of people. It's mission complete, the stone left me. That's the bottom line here.

* * *

I have no meaningful epilogue for this tale (yet). For now, I placed two small olive pits in the pendant, just for something random to do (Wendi's half-joking suggestion, to be honest). Totally different energy...

I miss the Moldavite, feel its absence. I wish I'd known about the locket being openable all along, wish I'd had a chance to make physical contact with that powerful energy. Does it strike anyone else as peculiar that I "owned" a stone for exactly one year, wore it on my person at all times, yet never touched it -- when I easily could have at any time by simply opening a locket that I never knew opened?!

Thoughts crossed my mind of simply replacing it -- dial one up on eBay or something. But, I know enough now to know that this isn't how it ideally works. Whether it's a crystal or an animal totem or any metaphysical symbol, I think it has to happen to you; you can't (or, really, shouldn't) force it. Yes, there is a time for proactivity in life, and such willful volition is certainly commendable and useful, but there's also much meaning in what happens to us, what crosses our path, what we're called to, what we're called by. It's great to tune into that, as all of these things are another consciousness from which we can learn and elevate. So, I guess I'll just hang with the pits for a while, until some other mystic crystal revelation occurs.

Place in Bag

2009-09-15T14:00:00.001-05:00

Here's a little story from my other blog. Mostly, I use that one to ramble on, each night, about the merits of doing pushups. But this installment has a mildly interesting story that I like to call "Place in Bag." It's about how we overcomplicate our lives. I could definitely tell it better than I did in this video, but you'll get the gist, hopefully.

Life is hugely busy otherwise. My wife's battling Lyme disease, we're still trying to sell our home, we're working almost every night on so many amazing projects for our other blog and business (Pure Jeevan), we're researching the ideal town to move to (Northern CA or Southern OR most likely), we're trying to determine whether we're attending a large festival in Arizona in a few weeks -- largely depending on my wife's physical condition and our ability to secure a dog watcher, we're planning a roadtrip for next weekend, and we're continually busy planning other details of our move out West and for our future off-the-grid / out-of-the-box / free-agent lifestyle. So, life is good -- just BUSY.

Two Men & A Canoe

2009-08-07T16:04:00.001-05:00

Wow, I've been so busy with other pursuits, I haven't done much here lately (nor have I read up on friends' blogs either). We've been working hard lately on our Pure Jeevan web sites, which will be our primary income once our house sells. And I've been doing nightly video blogs documenting my quest to do 100 pushups/day, 5 days/week. Tonight will be Day 34 of that pursuit! Aside from that, there isn't much extra time in the day.

But, I wanted to quickly document one supremely interesting story developing over at Doc's blog. And, I kind of feel like I've played a small role in it, which makes me extremely happy! You see, about a month ago, Doc had himself one of those cryptic dreams -- one of those ones that scream out for interpretation. I happen to view it as some sort of near-mystical synchronicity that I happen to have had the free time that day to browse and comment on blogs in the first place. As I said, I've really been focusing on other things quite intensely lately. But, I happened to have an opinion on Doc's dream, and explained it at length. (Doc responded to my thoughts, but I actually didn't see that until just now!)

Anyway, fast-forward a week and I recall sitting there one night skimming over my blog feed. I recall laughing out loud in a joyous tone and remarking to my wife that Doc had gone and purchased himself a canoe, which was step one toward realizing a larger dream he'd had for a long time. He'd given me and another fellow a nod for, I suppose, the words we'd offered him based on the signals we'd recognized in that dream he'd had earlier. I was so very busy that night, though, that I didn't really grok the full intention he'd posted there. I think I read "canoe trip" or something, and just nodded to myself, thinking how pleasant that sounded.

But, it turns out, it's not just a simple canoe trip! This thing is monumental!!! Check it out:

... I am planning a trip that will start from my boyhood home in Newark, Ohio down the Licking river (yes, you read that right) to the Ohio and on to the Mississippi in a canoe. ... I have arranged for a week and a half vacation and I am going to live out my dream such as it is. More than anything, we are shooting for distance and the Gulf of Mexico would be nice but that might have to wait for next year.

Holy crap! This isn't some local, small-creek adventure he's talking about. I have no idea how far two people can feasible get in a canoe over a span of a week and a half. But, hey, if the current is with you, well DAMN, you just never know!

Quite interestingly, my wife and I often talk about being "in the flow," which basically means living in a kind of universal grace. It's what happens when everything you're doing comes into alignment -- your beliefs, your actions, your intentions -- with something greater. As a result, super-positive things just sort of manifest almost magically. And when they do, it's easy to recognize yourself as being in the flow. It's like having a streak of good fortune or something. Ideally, I believe you could almost live out your entire life within that flow.

So, I particularly love Doc's story because he's getting into the flow both figuratively AND literally -- and what more powerful flow than a lifelong dream coupled with the power of one of the world's most awesome rivers. However far you make it, Doc (and, I'm envisioning you guys cruising all the way into the Gulf), I'm rooting for you all the way!

Please Help Us Find the Most Amazing Place to Live!

2009-08-03T09:20:00.001-05:00

Busy busy busy these days. But, I wanted to post a link to a Pure Jeevan blog article; here, we explain how wer'e looking to move away to someplace *amazing*. In fact, if you can think of a place that meets all of the criteria listed in that article, please let me know!!! Thanks! -Jim

I Should Be An Arbiter of Nobility

2009-06-30T15:40:00.001-05:00

And what is good, Phaedrus, And what is not good -- Need we ask anyone to tell us these things? ~ Robert Pirsig's epigraph to Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

Years later [Robert Oppenheimer] would remember thinking to himself as he saw the towering cloud of the blast, "Now I am become death, the destroyer of worlds"—a quotation from his beloved Bhagavad Gita, in which the god Vishnu exhorts Prince Arjuna to do his duty and pursue martial greatness. From "The Agony of Atomic Genius" by Algis Valiunas

I have a cousin who works for Monsanto, a massive agricultural technology company that, among many other things, genetically bio-engineers living plants. As stated, I think that's a fairly objective description. It's also objectively certain that the name "Monsanto" generally calls to mind much more than just the image of a large international employer or a titanic biological R&D think-tank; depending on which side of a certain ideological spectrum from which one happens to view the company, it's likely regarded as the harbinger of either mankind's salvation or its downfall.

Quite unexpectedly, I began thinking about Monsanto today -- how some of the work being done by the scientists there has commonalities, at least in principle, to the research done by Manhattan Project scientists 60 years ago -- as I was reading a fascinating article on atomic physicist Robert Oppenheimer, from which I quoted above. Here's another quote from the same source relevant to this topic:

They shouldn't have done it, the sentiment runs; they were scientists, after all, and they should have known better than to lend their intelligence to so terrible an undertaking. But can scientists really be expected to know better—indeed, to know best? Does their understanding of the workings of nature endow them with a sounder moral understanding than the common run of humanity?

Now, my cousin is quite proud of his genetic experimentation at Monsanto. Sadly, I've fallen somewhat out of touch with much of my extended family. When I remember this particular cousin, the loosely strung-together videos that flash across my mind's eye are consistently absolutely innocent, politically-unaware, warm and fuzzy things like horsing around in our Italian grandmother's home, riding dirtbikes around his childhood stomping grounds, swimming in their pool, cracking lewd jokes, etc. Since childhood, I suppose I've visited with him less than a dozen times, which would include my attending his wedding in St. Louis back (hmm...) in the late 80s or thereabouts, and his attending mine in 1994 (at which, quite memorably, he pulled me aside and privately offered some sincere words).

Anyway, he's a good guy and, from what I surmise, an accomplished scientist. And yet here I am 20-odd years down the line and I find myself on the opposite side of the aforementioned ideology. For example, let me share a few hair-raising snippets from a recent, admittedly critical, biotech book:

In traditional breeding the integrity of the organisms themselves places limits upon what can be done -- limits you could reasonably call "natural." For example, you could not cross a strawberry with a cold-water fish in order to obtain strawberries with "anti-freeze" genes. The problem now is that we can break through these limits, but we have not replaced the safeguard they represented. From Beyond Biotechnology: The Barren Promise of Genetic Engineering (2008) by Craig Holdredge and Steve Talbott

About 1 percent of genetic transfers yeild the looked-for result; the other 99 percent are all over the map. ... If there can be immediately obvious changes [in the "new" plant] ... there can be many more unobvious ones. It's hard to test for changes when anything can happen and you don't know what you're looking for. In actual practice, almost no such testing is done. (ibid).

To me, the science of GMO is a system by which a few mega-corporations profit enormously (ostensibly / ironically via a mission of altruistic concern for humanity) by releasing horrifically unnatural, incompletely understood, inadequately tested, and potentially harmful and invasive creations into the natural world.

For most of its history Monsanto was a chemical giant, producing some of the most toxic substances ever created, residues from which have left us with some of the most polluted sites on earth. Yet in a little more than a decade, the company has sought to shed its polluted past and morph into something much different and more far-reaching—an "agricultural company" dedicated to making the world "a better place for future generations." -- Monsanto's Harvest of Fear, by Donald Bartlett and James Steele, writing for Vanity Fair, May 2008.

I don't fault the scientists, for a natural curiosity surely drives them. Were Monsanto a privately funded research lab, of worlwide proportions yet also hermetically isolated from mother nature, I'd be fine with the pursuit and cataloguing of knowledge that takes place there daily. However, monetized (and governmentally subsidized) in the ways that it currently is, GMO exposes the dark underside of a capitalism (1) unfettered by any perceptible moral code, at worst, or (2) influenced by a moral code that has itself been modified (read "perverted"), at best.

If you browse through my public writing, you'll no doubt find past, sometimes fanatical support for free-market capitalism. But I always maintained, I think (I hope), a moral code that, beneath my signature smart-ass nature, respected humanity in my own particular way. My book Tales of the Midwest, for example, documents a wildly mischievous, borderline destructive adolescence, yet never within the pages would I have dared harm a person (other than, admittedly, myself). But, indeed, after considerable refltection toward the end of 2008, I rescinded some earlier views on certain free-market capitalist luminaries, owing largely to the adoption of a more holistic, more compassionate attitude toward not only my fellow man and fellow living things, but also increased sensitivity to the living entity that is this Earth, and likewise to larger cosmic systems, both visible and extra-sensory.

That today's bio-marketers and genetic scientists proudly identify with and suckle the altruistic mega-corporate PR message is crystal clear. One need not merely sense or infer the satisfaction they surely feel regarding their contribution to world hunger; members of these groups will gladly boast about it if prompted. Yet, that intuitive sense positively screaming the antithesis ("And what is good, Phaedrus, And what is not good -- Need we ask anyone to tell us these things?") is the proverbial elephant in the lab.

Imagine the deeply buried doubt some of these Ph.D.s (especially, one hopes, the younger generation) must certainly feel over the implications of patenting plants and animals, the unrelenting RIAA-like "seed police" enforcement arm, the undeniable toxicity and unsustainability of crops that spring forth specifically awaiting their patented, Monsanto-manufactured pesticide counterparts, and all of the future nightmares to come. True altruism does not manifest as such abominations against mother nature -- just as so many prior "accomplishments" from Monsanto have proven to be (e.g., Agent Orange, DDT, Recombinant Bovine Growth Hormone, Roundup and -- oh, they must be so proud of this new one -- the so-called "Terminator" technology that prevents plants from producing their own seeds).

That GMO is now entirely market-driven, comsumer safety be damned, is ultra-clear. A while back, I was doing some research for our Pure Jeevan blog, looking into whether or not most of the papayas imported from Hawaii are GMO. I came across a document online (possibly this one, or something very similar from another government domain based in Hawaii) that essentially outlined a government-sponsored marketing plan aimed at reviving the Hawaiian papaya market, as well as specifically fostering a "a more general understanding and acceptance of GMO technology in agricultural applications." That governmental post states:

In the case of papaya, completing the deregulation process for Rainbow and SunUp in Japan is critical to assuring Hawaii's most important market niche in Japan. In addition, given the heightened level of activism opposing GM technology, using the success of transgenic papaya as a spring board for discussions with targeted clients should be very useful in assisting with acceptance of GM. (ibid).

"Success" is of course equated solely with "assuring Hawaii's most important market niche." So, let's see... The scientists are in it for the knowledge. They're paid (very well, btw) by corporate leaders who are motivated by earnings per share and other such key SEC ratios. The corporate leaders then lobby and court politicians by demonstrating that, if their GMO technology is applied, more money returns to the politicians' districts. And, hey, all anyone has to do is eat papayas, which are universally regarded as healthy!

One of the obvious bastardizations, of course, is that a GMO papaya looks pretty much exactly like an organic one. And, if it's grown without further pesticide sprays, it may also taste nearly identical. Hell, it may even taste sweeter if the scientific team responsible for its creation has artificially amped up the genes related to sweetness. The problem, of course (as stated in the quote above from "Beyond Biotechnology"), is that, while the papaya may be sweeter and resistant to whatever scourge afflicts Hawaii, those genetic changes each represent only 1% of the overall genetic expression brought about by the genetic tampering.

As there is no way to test for the safety of something when you don't even know what to test for, the consumers are rendered guinea pigs, effectively presented with a wager (not that many of them even care) each time they purchase those artificially /temptingly cheap fruits: Do you believe that the other 99% of each of the genetic changes forced upon this item of produce might possibly affect you in some negative way?

Soon, I've read, we'll be growing pharmaceuticals. One of the pieces I cited above foresaw a flue vaccine delivered via a GMO banana. Apparently, that sort of thing isn't too far off on the bio-tech horizon. Soon, we'll all be able to O.D. on polio vaccine when Grandma uses the wrong bunch of bananas in her famous sweetbread.

But, the scientists and politicians have these risks 100% covered, I'm sure. Just Google "Agent Orange" and see if any health problems arose from what was deemed a harmless defoliant by all parties involved in its production in the 1960s. "Now I am become death, the destroyer of worlds."

Okay, so I launched a Vlog yesterday...

2009-06-24T12:00:00.000-05:00

Just FYI- I launched a daily video blog yesterday. It's called Get Down And Do It (www.GetDownAndDoIt.com). The concept is this: I'm going to do 100 push-ups/day, 5 days/week, and "vlog" about it. Day 1 was yesterday. It took me forever to do 100 pushups, and I'm sore as hell today. But, I'm sticking with it. Feel free to try your hand (or, uh, arms) at the challenge, too.

-Jim

Crunchy

2009-06-07T07:47:00.001-05:00

Did you know that alternative types are deemed "crunchy"? Funny, I never heard that before. Relates to the "granola eater" stereotype. But, what are you called if even granola is too mainstream for you?

Sitting. Thinking. Emotional Desensitization.

2009-06-05T23:06:00.004-05:00

Sitting is what I'm doing right now. It's just the worst Friday night ever, really. I don't mind it so much when a night is shot to hell now and again, but tonight is just ridiculous. And it's still kind of early, too. You know what I mean about shooting a night to hell, right? --like when you just waste the whole mother-scratching night for no apparent reason and suddenly you realize you've done nothing with a span of time that could have otherwise been productive. Or at least enjoyable. Or at least "not unpleasant," I suppose.

Of course, I realize that most Americans live out their whole lives in this way -- absolutely *wasting* precious moments of our lives watching television shows designed to hold our attention long enough so that we purchase goods and services advertised during the shows. I suppose it's good for the economy that so many of us are no more awake to life than those farms of Duracell-people in The Matrix, because someone has to buy all of the useless crap. (Not YOU, of course... LOL. You have a brain. If you didn't, you probably wouldn't like it here at the ol' Wheat Grass bar. But your NEIGHBORS... all Duracell, I'd bet.)

So judgmental, aren't I? Sorry for that. I should tone it down some, show some respect. It's not their fault, really, anyway. I guess I've just never really been swept into that. Oh, I did enjoy television shows now and again over the years. When we were young, some shows were practically social events. Back in the '90s, I remember everyone coming over for Beverly Hills 90210, followed by Melrose Place. It was, after all, what we were "supposed" to be doing as 20-somethings. We were just out of college, still well-immersed in the whole "get an entry-level job utilizing your college major / chip away at those student loans / live in a garden apartment complex" thing.

We were absolutely "in the box" back then. And I only took it further. I did have a "television is useless" realization early on, but that realization was not the same as the "television is useless" realization I have today. Back then, watching television meant not doing other, more "important" things -- like making money. I was constantly freelancing in those days. Even after 20 years of professional and creative work, I still cannot easily condense my resume into any kind of believable format for prospective employers. (Not that I'm trying.) But because of all of this sideline work, it's fair to say that, starting surprisingly early in my career, I was almost always more experienced and/or more capable than most of my bosses. This isn't bragging; I'd simply done more than they had and, as a result, understood whatever needed to be done instantaneously. Most business situations, after all, are painfully mindless.

I should have had the guts to realize back then that the corporate world was the wrong atmosphere for me. But, I believed in it still. I thought someone would recognize the phenomenal resume I'd amassed and ... oh, I don't know ... offer me some absurd amount of cash to fill a corner office somewhere. Never happened. Although, I did land a veritable sinecure at the age of 32 that paid the handsome sum of $70,000 per annum. But in exchange for what? (I'll answer that one in a video I'm planning to shoot just after my home sells.)

But I digress... Television IS useless, but not because not watching it affords one time to amass cash. It's useless (quite obviously) because life is precious, and the idiot box sucks life away surely as lightbulbs (referencing an old joke) "suck darkness." Oh sure, there's always going to be that "yeah, but I really like the Discovery Channel" justification. However, I've yet to meet anyone who so retorted who also seemed like a productive human being to me.

Not that everyone has to be productive, I guess. I suppose I just value that in people and can sometimes be a little judgmental about it. It's a personal preference; I like artists, musicians, writers, teachers, visionaries. I'm drawn to people who are out there doing things, to those who are really alive -- or, awake. But the activities (which can be quite limitless) also have to be, for me, things that somehow celebrate life, in the grand scheme.

Oddly, sometimes a generalization like that leads to screwy circumstances. For example, I might be able to appreciate that a professional basketball player is "awake" to life -- that he or she is a one-in-a million talent doing truly what he or she was put on this Earth to do. Yet, I still view professional sports fans as, well, sheep. Don't feel particularly insulted if you're a sports fan. I believe we're ALL sheep in our own way, myself included. Trust me, though, it's a weird perspective for a Pittsburgh resident to have -- as my home town currently prides itself as home of the Superbowl champions and, quite possibly, the Stanley Cup champs.

I think television is, like many foods, an emotional numbing agent. It's no different than that Philly cheesesteak you crave a little too often; both provide you with what you perceive as enjoyable sensory stimulation, yet neither is actually good for you. Both offer an escape -- but from what? My answer: From the deepest inner knowledge, the just-out-of-our-reach awareness, that we all have of our Duracell natures. "I'm doing," your truest conscience is attempting to tell you, "nothing of consequence with my life. I have no purpose."

This hurts. It hurts desperately. And thus we respond with self-administered anesthesia: We eat crap, we watch crap, we espouse acidic political philosophies, we go to war. I understand this clearly now, though I didn't before.

The way out -- well, part of it -- is to eliminate those things that would block access to our natural human emotions. This is where television is tricky because it replaces your genuine emotions with its own corporate-designed simulations. It offers what deceptively feels genuine, but what is actually a cheap cubic zirconia stand-in for the Hope diamond blazing beneath your breastbone. (Hey, I kind of like that -- another pull quote for the print version.)

* * *

Opinions Sought on Emotional Chart

2009-05-21T16:43:00.001-05:00

So, I threw this chart together over the past 5 minutes, and just wanted to talk a little bit about it. A lot of people talk about the "now" or the "moment" -- specifically, about the benefits of living within it as much as possible. This is something that people have been thinking quite seriously about for ... well, forever. I know that many people, most notably Eckhart Tolle, have popularized the idea in recent years (although I've never read his book).

Prior to my own awakening vis-a-vis some of these areas of enquiry, I never gave the matter much thought at all. In a way, I look back and feel as though I were almost purer in a way for it. Ignorance, as they say, is bliss, right? I'm not sure how it is that I got to be nearly 40 years old, always highly philosophical in nature, and never explored this particular avenue of human existence. Most likely, I was just hung up on other philosophical issues like free will versus determinism and whether we're responsible for our actions (a related notion).

Anyway, that chart captures some of my current thinking on the topic (having decided to just think on it all myself rather than reading the work of others -- mostly because I just don't have time to read books these days and, if I did, I have too many others on deck, both fiction and nonfiction). While the chart is pretty much self-explanatory, and likely conveys rather obvious/rudimentary/possibly erroneous concepts to anyone schooled on the topic, I still am currently interested in thinking about it out loud here, for a moment.

So, the "now" is this moment in time. It's when I'm typing this. When I'm thinking about writing this sentence, the story goes, I'm arguably incapable of experiencing any of the problematic domains shown above. I began thinking of the now as the intersection between two axes: (1) the axis of time, and (2) the axis of emotion.

This scenario offers four distinct non-now domains:

(1) When you're in a "positive" emotional state and thinking on the past, I call that "nostalgia." I toyed with a few of words -- not for long enough, probably -- but nostalgia seemed apropos. Nostalgia, after all, implies a certain bitter-sweetness, and maybe that's the best we can do when it comes to our past because, by definition, it's gone. When you remember your child as a toddler, your wedding day, your interactions with past loved ones who've moved on... Those are all sweet memories, for sure. But, there's always the undeniable truth that these things are past moments. So, again, bitter-sweet nostalgia. And maybe that's not so bad. I have wonderful, wonderful memories within me that, although they're tempered by my current reality, I still am able to cherish in, I believe, a positive way.

(2) Goal setting. Let's stay positive, first, shall we? I could have gone down to "depression" next, but I think goal setting is more exciting. This domain also provides perhaps the easiest-seen red flag that the chart needs some work still because, certainly, dwelling on the future, even for goals, can probably be viewed as damaging to one's psyche. For example, there is "good" ambition and there is "bad" ambition, right? So, perhaps a third axis should be added in the future... perhaps a "quality" axis or something. But, for now, keeping to two dimensions, let's just assume that when I say "goal setting," I'm speaking of "good" ambitions -- things like setting out to find your passion or mission in life. That's good, right? Envisioning your future, doing vision boards, working toward those noble goals that you have. Those are all good uses of visiting that domain.

... okay, let's enter the lower domains ...

(3) Fear. To me, this is when you're existing in your imaginary future, only in a negative way. It's all confusing because your future fears are based on your past reality, right? (Or, at least your past perception of reality.) For example, few people fear dogs who have not previously encountered dogs in some negative way (and that could be an actual, physical encounter, a story you heard or read, a dream, a movie, or whatever.) While much of this topic is actually spiritual in nature, fear seems to stem from our rational minds -- and there's nothing wrong with that, as fear likely keeps us alive in many practical situations. You probably wouldn't approach a lion (especially a hungry-looking one) in the wild out of good old fear that it might eat you. Rationally, you know that lions are carnivores and, historically, you've heard of other human-lunch incidents. So, leaving the fear domain open for business can't be all bad. It can just be unhealthy, as all of these domains can, when you linger there too long.

Last night, I re-watched "What Dreams May Come." (Great flick.) There's a scene (in the afterlife part) in which Robin Williams' mentor tells him not to visit his wife's spirit for too long. She'd committed suicide and, in this movie, suicides become hopeless cases of self-absorption, from which there is no return. If Robin Williams' character would have stayed too long, he's warned, then his wife's reality may become his own and he, too, would be doomed to stay there forever.

(4) Depression. To me, this is when you're existing in your past, or your perceived past, in an unhealthy way. And when I say "you," of course, I probably really mean "me," but just want to sound more universal in nature here. And, when I say "in an unhealthy way," I think, for now, that I mean "for too long." Whether it's healthy at all to visit these domains is perhaps a topic of another post. I could be beneficial for us (certainly it's perfectly human behavior) to experience some mild to moderate longing from time to time. I'm sure great art is borne from that, among other things. But, somewhere, there's a line, and true clinical depression is clearly past that line.

Wow, it's time for me to leave, so maybe I'll just post this little thought experiement as it is, for now, and return to it later for refinement. Feel free to share some thoughts on this, as I'm still interested in discussing it further. What do you think of my model, though? I'd planned, given more time, on getting more personal with this, perhaps self-analyzing where some of my problems are within these four modes.

For a brief example, you have only to look at the image atop this blog -- to some text there that, I believe, states something about my attempting to feed to good wolf in my life. I don't always do that, sometimes knowingly so. There was a span today when I did not, when I fed the bad wolf within, knowingly so. And, as awful as it was, I had an interesting insight from the experience. I said to myself, "You know what you're thinking will only hurt you. So, why are you doing it?" You probably think I'm really stupid for having such obvious thoughts, but to me it really was a profound moment. Why would I want to hurt myself? I need to think more about that because, frankly, I do not know the answer to that question. Any suggestions?

Flossing @ Work

2009-05-18T15:20:00.000-05:00

Flossing @ Work. Somehow, it never occurred to me to bring a roll of dental floss into my office. I'm not sure why... I mean, I eat all sorts of stuff here. And, when people eat, they get stuff caught in their teeth. And that's uncomfortable. Probably leads to gingivitis or something, right? (Hey, I'm no dentist.) So, what's a guy to do?

Well, let me tell you: I've tried using scotch tape. It just doesn't work. You'd think it would, though, right? I mean, it's got that sticky side and all. Maybe you thought what I did: Just get a piece in between your teeth somehow, and the sticky side might even help catch onto whatever's in there, right? Wrong. Tape breaks. I've even had a few really unpleasant times (yes, I've tried it more than once -- using different brand tapes) when a piece gets caught in between two teeth in a rather painful manner. When this happens, you NEED to find a way out if it, fast!

Enter the plastic bag. (You know, like a plastic grocery bag... or even a piece ripped from a waste basket bag.) Bags seem flimsy compared with tape, right? I know... But somehow, they're SO damned thin that they actually work pretty well. And there's nothing more satisfying than using a trash bag to remove a piece of lodged scotch tape from between your teeth.

Hey, that was pretty deep. I bet no one's ever written that before. Hang on, I better bold that sentence. You think anyone will quote me on that? Feel free. Perhaps in a future post, I can review additional at-the-desk personal care tips. Some are quite advanced, though (e.g., the old swab your ears with a paper clip trick), and might require a medical disclaimer.

I Pulled a Will Hunting Last Week and Didnt' Even Know It!

2009-05-05T12:05:00.000-05:00

Last week, I had a rare melt-down at work. It just sort of came at me with no warning when one of the owners blew up at me for no logical reason. Basically, the dude went apoplectic at me for something that was his own fault. When I did not accept responsibility for his error (and why should I?), he escalated his rage. Still not backing down, I became angry and escalated things in return.

It nearly got irreparably ugly until I finally decided to back off, if only to salvage my job for the moment. I'd definitely entered dangerous waters, though (standing up to an owner being unheard of in this industry). I figured the chances were reasonable that, upon arriving at work the next day, I'd be fired. (I wasn't. Turns out most of the other management sided with me.)

Although it's kind of an interesting story, what's more interesting to me is what *almost* happened. Prior to my firing off my "backing off" email, I'd nearly sent out a further escalation in which I attempted to "read" the guy beyond the argument we were having at the moment.

Ever see "Good Will Hunting"? Remember that scene where Matt Damon deconstructs Robin William's life based solely on that painting hanging in his office? I totally did that to this guy. I looked into his anger and saw so many things wrong with his life that I'm so glad now I did not throw out there -- because everything I "saw" was spot-on. Turns out his wife *just* left him. I mean... I was *this* fucking close to typing that very thing into an email.

Thank god I kept a level head about this. Can you imagine the level of rage that might have sent the poor guy into? And what good could possibly have come out of my letting him have it, anyway? This is all yet another reason for me to leave the toxic corporate world once and for all. I don't want to put myself in situations in which my newfound mental clarity is used for negative purposes.

But, what interests me is: Is *this* going to be my superpower? I'm not usually like this. Normally, this kind of intuition is unavailable to me. But, as I've been saying for the past several months (on those rare occasions when I actually post something), I feel more in tune with this than ever. This was just the latest affirmation of it, even though it was an uncomfortable experience.

Intuition. Damn, I was hoping for levitation or invisibility. Oh well... maybe we get more than one superpower. We'll see, in time.

Anyone Got Tips on Selling a House?

2009-04-29T10:29:00.001-05:00

If anyone has tips on how to sell a house, I would greatly appreciate them! Here's what we've done so far:

* Hired a realtor in October

* Built great web site for the house (www.TheLuckHouse.com)

* Fired realtor in April

* Hired new "listing broker" agent dude in April
($299 flat fee for MLS and local MLS listings, 0 commission)

* Offering buyer agents 3.5% commission. (Enough??)

* Routinely post the home site on Craigslist

* Have been mailing brochures to local agents

* Have been dropping brochures off at local real estate offices

* Have been hanging fliers at various public places (libraries, etc.)

* Tried calling some corporate/bank relocation departments (but was not treated very well by them).

What else should we be doing? Should we advertise in local papers? Any ideas from experienced sellers (esp. people who did it themselves)?

Interesting Horse Tale

2009-03-30T11:18:00.001-05:00

Gipsy gold does not chink and glitter. It gleams in the sun and neighs in the dark.
~Attributed to the Claddaugh Gypsies of Galway

Twenty years ago, not too long after I'd met my wife (then girlfriend), we went out to her mom's place about an hour north of Wilkes-Barre. Wendi's cousin Brenda, who lived nearby, offered to take us out horse riding. I don't know about my wife, but I'd only been on a horse a few times. I'm pretty sure that, each time, I'd fallen or been thrown. But hey, I was adventurous and said what the hell... So, we went out riding.

Each of us had an incident that day. For Wendi, it was more serious. Her horse became tangled up in some barbed wire and, somehow, Wendi was thrown. She landed pretty hard, square on her right shoulder. Hurt like hell, she said.

In fact, for years afterward, she experienced awful pain in that shoulder from time to time. Then it pretty much went away for a good while after Wendi changed her diet a few years back. That's great news, right? No more pain!

Then just the other day, it returned. She wondered if anything could be done about it and began asking around on the internet. One woman suggested that there could be some emotional issue there, and said maybe Wendi should think back and see if she can figure out if that's the case.

So, she apparently took some time and thought back to the incident, examining it from all sorts of angles. I mean, hell, it was 20 years ago... What important, new detail could anyone remember about something like that, you know!? But it turns out she DID remember an important detail: she didn't cry. She said she recalled not crying about it because her cousin was there, and she'd have felt rather weak or ashamed to cry in front of her cousin. (Brenda was a rather tough country girl. So, this is understandable.)

So, she became absolutely present in that moment some two decades past, and began feeling that pain anew. She felt it so strongly that she actually began to cry! And then, guess what?... Her shoulder pain disappeared!

Well, that alone is an incredibly interesting story, right?! Twenty years of pain, and maybe all she ever needed to do was release the emotion properly! It's amazingly awe-inspiring, and thought provoking. But, after she told me this, I began to laugh to myself rather hysterically.

"What's so funny?" she asked me.

"Well," I said, "You just needed to cry all those years. But remember that horse *I* was riding? I had a little incident that day, too, when the damn thing started galloping out of control. ... That horse damn near scared the shit outta me that day! So, I wonder what that means *I* need to do?!!"

Psychology is Fun! Encouraging Fellow Nutcases to Seek Help

2009-03-17T21:49:00.001-05:00

Who has seen the wind?

Neither I nor you.

But when the leaves hang trembling,

The wind is passing through.

Who has seen the wind?

Neither you nor I.

But when the trees bow down their heads,

The wind is passing by.

~ Christina Rossetti

A while ago (when I started this draft), I experienced two hesitations about mentioning here any experiences I've had as an official mental health patient. So, naturally, I'm making a special effort tonight to specifically call attention to this. Yes, I have some "issues." But, hey, what's the big deal, really? Why is it that certain people -- for example, celebrities like Woody Allen or Howard Stern -- can make remarks about their therapists and not seem to call any disgrace whatsoever upon themselves, yet, if the average Joe mentions therapy, people clear away from him as though they might catch a disease?

If anything is truly crazy in this world, THAT is, right? I mean, if you broke your arm, and you consulted an orthopedic surgeon, that would be considered prudent. If you chipped a tooth and consulted a dentist, that might be a good idea. So, why is it that, when we face mental issues -- which, let's face it, are certainly more commonplace than broken bones and chipped teeth -- suddenly there's a stigma attached to it? Is it because we cannot see depression or anxiety or phobias? Oh, but surely we can, as easily as we can see the wind, through simple inference.

And, let's face it: I know a lot of you out there and, as nutty as I am, y'all have some serious issues, okay? I mean, let's be honest here. A few of you desperately need a Thorazine drip. (LOL... jussssst kidding, 'k? Easy there, don't get yourself all worked up. I was just joking around... That's right... sit back down, inhale deeply, exhale slowly. It's all going to be okay. I didn't mean YOU. I meant that OTHER creepy blog reader of mine.)

Maybe this notion of "seeing depression" ties in a bit with what I was saying a few posts back about living more intuitively -- about my starting to understand my own emotions and also starting to develop an ability to connect with other people more deeply than I ever have before, to sense their moods and, through that, glimpse a bit of their life's joys and problems. My wife is a true master of this, btw. To me, it's a totally new, unexplored thing.

I'm not suggesting that I can look at someone and say what, specifically, troubles that person. But, I can at least know that something's wrong. I mean, we can all do this much, right? (I'm focusing here on the pain, btw, instead of the happiness and joy, because it's those with pain that need help.) Much of this "ability," I think, comes from the related fact that I seem to care more now than I used to. Some of that stems from my exploration into the human (and, specifically, my own) ego. And I've also read many accounts of this sense lying dormant within people until the time of a traumatic event, perhaps similar to what happened to me six months ago. Whatever happened, for whatever reason, maybe I touched on it above: I just care more.

And I sense that many of you are nutcases. So, look, let me clear up this whole therapy thing for anyone who hasn't experienced it, but thinks maybe consulting a pro might be worthwhile. Basically, here's what happens:

1. You go to the therapist's office and sit in a waiting room. All of the magazines are boring, and many months outdated -- and, after a few visits, you've read them all anyway. So, you just sit there dreading the coming session. They have quiet music playing in the waiting room, or maybe one of those "white noise" machines, just loud enough to ensure that you can't accidentally overhear anyone else's session.

2. When it's your turn, you go inside and they begin with small talk. How's life? How're the kids? etc. Yes, there is a couch, but it's not like in the movies. It seems like, if you want to lie down, you can. I prefer to just sit normally. There are mints and chocolates and tissues there, and a few other things put there, I think, in case you'd like to fidget with them. I'm a bit of a fidgeter, I think. I don't do it consciously, but I'm fairly certain I've rearranged all of the above items on occasion. The woman I see also usually has a candle burning, which actually is quite calming.

3. Then they want to know how you're doing. So, you tell them anything newsworthy as it relates to the crap you're dealing with. Sometimes you have relevant things to say; other times you don't. Like last time... She said, "So, where are you at now?" I answered, "Well, I'll tell you where I'm at now. It's a good place, but it took me some time to get there, so I'll go ahead and tell you the whole story." And then I rambled on for 15 minutes through various tangents and so forth, arriving back at a point at which I repeated my initial statement about being in a "good place."

Please note that, if you're in therapy, you won't always be in a good place. Sometimes you'll be angry or sad or confused or in any number of other emotional states. This "being in a good place" was a bit of a new one for me. In the beginning, there were many times when I'd fear the appointment. Looking back, I think it was because things were boiling in my head and I knew they'd come out during my session. And they always did. And I usually felt much worse for going and quite often felt that this whole therapy thing was actually doing me more harm than good. I'm told this is normal, but who knows?

However, there were just as many times when she said something like, "Well, Jim, your thinking on this issue is absolutely fucking batty" (though employing the somewhat more distinguished lexicon of a Ph.D.). Then, she'd go grab a handout of some kind or drop some psychologist's name for me to Google later, thus daylighting my cognitive disorder du jour. Those times are, in my opinion, productive. At least they offer you a temporary distraction as you think to yourself, "Do I really do that? Do I really think the way she's suggesting that I think? If so, is that necessarily bad?"

Other times they catch you off guard. You go in thinking you're going to have an "easy session" and damn if something doesn't get touched off that you didn't see coming. So, while I probably shouldn't warn you about the sucker punch -- it being a time-honored standard, I'm sure, within the therapist's toolbox -- it's a reality that they do employ these methods from time to time. I suspect they only do it if they feel you can handle it. So, maybe it's a good sign?

4. They usually don't attach the electrodes until around 40 minutes into the session.

5. Okay, number 4 is a lie. I was just seeing if anyone is actually reading this far. Basically, you downshift into smalltalk again after about 50 minutes, and then you leave. Sometimes you're upset, other times you're relieved, other times you're confused more or less than before. There are no real rules or norms.

6. After sometime between 6 months and 40 years of this (or until such time as you quit your corporate marketing job and opt out of the COBRA coverage), you're deemed sane again and can resume life without a therapist.

Honestly, of all the nutjobs my therapist sees, I'm fairly certain that she regards me as one of the more sane -- and I'm not just saying that to provide further evidence toward my diagnosis as a full-on narcissist. I can tell because the sessions are mostly pleasant interactive discussions. I get the sense that her whole day isn't as pleasant. Last time in, for example, as I was leaving, I politely smiled and said I'd see her in a few weeks. As I exited, I heard her next patient in the waiting room angrily mutter, "Well, you're not going to get a smile from me today." I felt so sane hearing that. Does that make me a bad person?

A Synchronicity Story for Jim B.

2009-03-02T11:19:00.001-05:00

The other day, my old friend Jim Banholzer sent me a link to a blog devoted to synchronicities. This has long been an area of interest for me, but never more than lately. "Synchronicity" is my preferred word for describing certain events that, to me, are unquestionably meaningful beyond their base coincidental properties.

In fact, the word "coincidence" has a certain dismissive quality about it, don't you think? Calling something a coincidence, no matter how mind-blowing it might be, instructs others to think nothing of such occurrences, to write these events off as nothing more than peculiar experiences that, aside from their entertainment value, bear neither depth nor meaning.

The word "coincidence," to me, simply means: I cannot explain that, therefore it's meaningless. The word "synchronicity" means: You don't always have to explain it or interpret it. If it's a particularly positive synchronicity, maybe it just means something general, like "you're on the right path" -- an affirmative, perhaps even appreciative, nod from the universe that, to it, is subtle beyond any measure while, to you, it's life-alteringly amazing. If there is meaning beyond the appreciative nod, you'll know it intuitively at some point. For now, just be it, just experience its beauty.

So, here's the latest interesting "synchronicity" I've taken note of in my life. It's a long story, but fortunately, I've told most of it already. A few posts back, I discussed an out of body experience I'd had not too long ago. In order to keep it focused, I omitted a rather interesting aspect of that story.

If you recall, my wife had suggested, just after I'd "returned" to my body, that we write down the details of what had happened. So, there we were in the dark, in the middle of the night, scrambling around for a pen and paper. None were to be found. However, as I'd said a few posts prior to that story, I'd been reading a book called "Way of the Wizard" by Deepak Chopra. Since that book was still on my nightstand, my wife grabbed it and began flipping through the pages to try and locate one with a lot of blank space on which to write the details of my experience. She found a page and began writing as I relayed the story.

Okay, rewind a bit... A while prior to this tale, my wife and I had been interviewing a relatively new friend and mentor, Kevin, for a promotional event on one of our raw food web sites, the All Raw Directory. When I say "interview," I mean literally interviewing him -- making audio recording of a telephone conversation, the MP3 of which will be one of the "giveaways" we plan to offer with this promotion.

We'd been working with this guy for a while by then and had quickly become friendly with him and his wife, Annmarie, beyond the level of simple business stuff we'd been working on together. They'd visited our home once many months prior, and my wife had met and hung out with him and his wife again in Arizona. But, that had been the extent of our in-person interaction to date.

Anyway, during one of those interviews, Kevin told a personal story. I don't remember it now, or what the context of it was, but I do recall vividly his saying that he has a favorite personal mantra: "I am a child of the universe and I am safe." It wasn't simply something he said; he actually focused on that for a while and discussed its particular significance in his life.

Prior to the uncanny spiritual experience I'd had, Kevin and Annmarie had never stayed overnight in our home. But they were in the house that night, when it happened. I didn't tell them what had happened, but naturally, the next day, I tried reading some of the notes my wife had hastily written in the dark on that blank page of the Deepak Chopra book. It wasn't until much later, perhaps weeks after their overnight stay, that I began to wonder what else appeared on that page. What was the subject matter Deepak was discussing on that particular page of Way of the Wizard -- that page that my wife had flipped to in the dark and chosen based only on the fact that it seemed like there was enough white space to write on, that page that presented itself on the only occasion we'd had Kevin and Annmarie in our home overnight?

Ready for the hair raising finale? Here's the quote that ends the text of that page of Way of the Wizard, just above the white space now inscribed with the tale of my mystical experience:

"In the light of trust, as it develops slowly over time, you will find that you are a privileged child of the universe, entirely safe, entirely supported, entirely loved."

Synchronicity. Just be it, just experience its beauty.

Help Jim or Wendi Win the BEST JOB EVER!

2009-02-23T10:30:00.001-05:00

So, you all read about that awesome contest, right? --the one where the prize is the "Best Job in the World"? If not, the web site is www.islandreefjob.com. (It's too late to enter, but the contest is going on at the moment.) Here's the deal: The winner gets paid $100k to go to an island off the Great Barrier Reef in Queensland, Australia, and live there for six months as the official island caretaker. You get a huge house with a pool & other great amenities. Your only real responsibility for this "job" is to have a blast every day and do written & video blogs about your experiences.

Seemed *perfect* for us... So, we threw together some video entries (60-second clips telling why we're "the one"). Competition will be tough. I think 20,000+ people entered! And YOU can help us win by visiting our video pages and rating us with 5 stars! Just click the screenshots below!

Jim's video:

Wendi's video:

Thanks for your help! If you entered, let me know & we'll go visit your video & rate you a 5, too!!!

Got a Nose for Intuition?

2009-02-23T10:18:00.001-05:00

[Here's a post I wrote up last week during some downtime. It's not as cohesive and polished as I'd like in areas, but seems generally done enough let loose on the world.]

I wanted to share a quote with you from a fascinating book called Aromatherapy, Scent & Psyche by Peter & Kate Damian:

To give some idea of the brain's immense operational power and activity: A computer having the same number of "bits" as the average human brain weighing three pounds would stand a hundred stories high and cover the state of Texas.

That's a great visual statement. Of course, that book was printed in 1995. Today, the same computer would likely cover only an average-sized state like Alabama, and would be likely10-20 stories tall. But, either way, it's still one hell of an immense computer.

The point is that our brains are unimaginably complex. And so are our noses. In fact, that entire aromatherapy book can be viewed as a book-length statement portraying the complexity of the human olfactory system. It's doubly interesting in that, as complex as our human sense of smell is, it absolutely pales in comparison with some of the more advanced noses in the animal kingdom. Consider this quote about human pheromones:

Pheromones secreted by the apocrine glands of human feet can linger for as long as two weeks. Every barefoot step, leaving as little as four-billionths of a gram of odiferous sweat substance, appears like a roadmap to a bloodhound; indeed, that minute amount is enough to penetrate shoes and be detectable by a good tracking hound. (ibid)

So, if our nose pales in comparison to a bloodhound's in terms of sensitivity, and if we assume that a bloodhound's brain similarly pales in comparison to a human brain in terms of overall capability and higher thought, then how unfathomably complex we all are -- each sensory experience and memory from throughout the course of our entire lives swirling together in our grey matter, any of which might demand our bloodhound-esque sense of attention and alter our entire outlook on life, at any time. What conceit to think we truly understand human psychology.

But, hey, we can always ponder the subject...

This sheer complexity of the human brain is the kind of thing that always had me wondering how much free will we actually have. But, I don't want to discuss free will versus determinism at the moment. Whether free will is an illusion or not does not matter to me. I have argued both sides of that issue as thought experiments and, during my pro-free-will arguments, I often liked to discuss volition -- our acts of consciously doing things. (Or, if you're a deterministic person, then just read that as our "apparent" acts of consciously doing things.)

Lately, my focus is on adopting a new way to exist. No, I've already adopted it; it's more a matter of acclimating myself to it, getting a feel for it, etc. It's fundamentally different than I've done previously (at least, on a consistent basis). It's not objectively better or worse than my previous mode of existence. But, obviously, I view it as subjectively "better" in the sense that I find it more fulfilling, more rewarding, and more in alignment with my sense of compassion (which I have yet to write about at length, though that's coming). In short, I find it more "right" in kind of a zen sense.

My therapist calls this changing one's "schema" (see works of Jean Piaget). Rarely do people do this, apparently. It seems it's human nature to just "stay pretty much who you are" your entire life -- although, I suppose if "who you are" is "someone who changes schema from time to time" then you aren't really changing schema. (I'd run that past the shrink if I weren't afraid of her throwing me into a padded cell.)

Okay, so what's this all about? Well, let me quote a brief paragraph from an email I'd sent my wife earlier last week. That'll explain some if it:

... I'm learning that seeing with intuition is something that takes practice. While it seems straightforward enough, it's really not. It's really almost counterintuitive at times because you have to make sure that you're truly experiencing a true version of your intuition and not seeing through some other vehicle of the human psyche -- for example, the ego, which can and does mask itself, I believe, as intuition.

So, wow, there's true intuition, and then there's what you only think is intuition. How do you learn the difference? (My answer: Same way, as the old story goes, that you get to Carnegie Hall: "Practice, man, practice.") So, that's where I'm at, at the moment.

I'm sharing all of this because, at least in my experience, few people I've met actually live full-time from a place within the heart (which is, to me, the essence here). I've been in Corporate America for far too long, I think. Peppered among the many, many assholes, there are nice, decent, well-meaning people here and there, too. That's the way I used to be -- the refreshing, grounded, normal guy down the corridor who'd get your campaign out the door on time or whatever. But this schema I'm speaking of -- living intuitively -- is something different; this mode of existence isn't about making decisions based on cost-benefit analyses or even just being polite and professional toward others.

You see, I've realized that that isn't really life. It's not *quite* death, either. (And I'm talking about the nice people you know -- not the asshole types.) It's like purgatory, or something -- kind of a half-life. It's what people mean when they say they have a "nice" or "pleasant" life. We have ourselves so conditioned to this that we respond to that sort of thing positively. We say, "Hey, I'm glad you're doing well!" We say, "I'm glad you seem happy."

But close your eyes and concentrate. Smell harder -- because there's a ripe sadness to these words, driven below the surface and perhaps as faint as that four-billionths of a gram of human pheromone detectable only to a bloodhound. In fact, those words ("I'm basically happy" "I'm a nice guy" "I'm largely happy" "I'm a pleasant, polite person") do produce a similar pheromone -- the pheromone of unfulfillment. The question is: Can your "nose" detect it? Honestly, I never used to be able to, but now it's like ammonia. And that's why I'm so psyched to be leaving Corporate America and heading out into the world to help people develop their own bloodhound superpowers.

Please note: I'm not asserting that I've got the universe all figured out. God knows, "I got headaches and toothaches and bad times too, like you" (from the musical, Hair, "I Got Life"). I'm merely saying that, at least insofar as this stuff goes -- this new sense I'm feeling out -- I've glimpsed a truth that, as far as I can tell, few truly see (or, uh, smell). (Damn, Dee, get your metaphors straight!)

So, maybe that's what I'm saying -- that we can develop a nose for these things. And, when we do, we also become in tune with much more than we bargained for because we start sniffing out other things we'd never experienced before. In my case, these new scents are the bouquets found when you walk the path of intuition. I will practice it, I will encourage it in others (hopefully without being annoying). I suppose this post simply documents my realization that using a new superpower, while wonderful, takes a bit of practice. Whether I'll perfect living intuitively remains to be seen but, intuitively, I sense it's the right path and look forward to where it takes me.

* * *

Note: The writer in me naturally gravitates to metaphor. The bloodhound, in retrospect, may or may not have been an ideal vehicle here. Rationalists may rightly point out that there's nothing intuitive about a bloodhound's nose -- that, while four-billionths of a gram is tiny and therefore the bloodhound's nose sensitivity is impressive, there's really nothing extrasensory happening. Well, that's not how I meant it, of course. That's not a whiff of gloom I detect in you, is it?

Flying 2 the Florida Keys!

2009-02-05T22:29:00.001-05:00

Taking a break for a while... heading to the Florida Keys until the Feb 13! Looks like an internet-free, trip, too. Could be the longest I've been away from the net since 1995... Now, what is it humans did before the internet??? Oh, yes, we lounged at the beach. Yeah, that's what we did. I need to get back in touch with that. Maybe you should, too -- what else are Discover cards good for? Still planning a raw foodie shin-dig @ my place around the 21st or 22nd. Email me if you want to attend. But, like, don't expect a reply until after the 13th -- cuz I'll be blissfully off-line, watching the sun set from Key West. [A big grateful thank-you to the universe for hooking us up with the cheapest FL Keys rental house ever heard of via Craigslist. It's cheaper than the hotel I'm staying in right now -- the "Kalahari" resort in Sandusky Ohio. Kalahari's an interesting place, btw. A random kid here called me a hippie, gave me a hug, and then invited me to a sleep-over in his room. I politely declined, but was genuinely touched. Weird story...]

Friend Me on Facebook!

2009-01-30T17:11:00.001-05:00

I'm new to Facebook. I always had a Patrick Hillman account, but never really went there, and never felt like friending any friends of mine because almost no one knew about "Patrick." Since I'm still employed, I'm not going to type my real name here yet, but if you look me up on there (name's in my banner atop my blog), and match the picture you see here, you'll find me. I'd be happy to befriend you! So, who among you is a Facebooker? Doc? Lemon? Sketch? Wren? Vica? Evil? GKL? Others? Facebook would be 10x cooler if you had your own short, easy URL on there -- like facebook.com/[username].

I have other posts in the works, but one's going to require more thought and another is a special treat I'm saving for the day I wash my hands of Corporate America. There WILL be pyrotechnics involved in that one, I promise!

Jim's Mystical Experience Meme

2009-01-23T21:57:00.001-05:00

[A] religious experience (also known as a spiritual, sacred, or mystical experience) is an altered state of consciousness where an individual reports contact with a transcendent reality, an encounter or union with the divine. ~Wikipedia

I was just doing a mental inventory this morning of my encounters with religious or spiritual experiences. As a young Catholic, I'd heard about these things for the first time in a sort of roundabout way. It's not like they sit 10-year-old kids down in Catholic school one day and say, "Okay, now we're going to discuss what it's like to be overcome with rapturous mystical exaltation." Rather, the knowledge is passed on through stories -- for example, St. Teresa of Ávila -- from which students, when so included, may infer their own personal lessons. Here's St. Teresa's thoughts on the topic, as nicely paraphrased by a Wikipedia contributor:

"Sense activity ceases; memory and imagination are also absorbed in God or intoxicated. Body and spirit are in the throes of a sweet, happy pain, alternating between a fearful fiery glow, a complete impotence and unconsciousness, and a spell of strangulation, intermitted sometimes by such an ecstatic flight that the body is literally lifted into space. This after half an hour is followed by a reactionary relaxation of a few hours in a swoon-like weakness, attended by a negation of all the faculties in the union with God. From this the subject awakens in tears; it is the climax of mystical experience, productive of the trance." (emphasis mine, to be discussed below)
~ from the
Wiki article on St. Teresa

As a kid, I believe I'd initially opened myself to the possibility that this sort of thing could indeed happen to anyone. However, in my case, an unusual event jarred me from that mindset. The paradigm-shifting event is described in the opening to my screenplay, "Wood's Confection": A child, looking upon an elder, believes the elder is experiencing the throes of a religious experience. However, the child immediately learns that said presumed blissfully tearful elder was in fact actually choking. So, yeah, I hit upon a strong vein of agnosticism at age 11.

While I'm certainly full of paranormal stories -- as are all Midwesterners -- nothing else that I perceived as truly mystical or spiritual happened to me until the age of 25 (though there were scattered profound and/or unexplainable occurrences along the way that, while extraordinary, did not constitute a St. Teresa-esque episode). But, at 25, I was in Colombo, Sri Lanka, on my honeymoon with my wife. I'd written about this privately before. Here's a snippet:

We'd been visiting a Buddhist temple in Sri Lanka. I believe this was in Colombo, where our friend Kamanee lives, though it could have been up in the hill stations where we also visited. But, I vividly recall standing before an enormous Buddha when Kamanee told me that I should take a private moment with my thoughts there and think about life, the universe, and everything, so to speak. Wendi and I were on our honeymoon then, traveling through India and Sri Lanka.

So, I approached the massive statue and sat for a bit. I began to consider my happiness and decided to make a mental "wish" of sorts. I thought: If reincarnation is true, then it is my wish to meet Wendi again in the next life, and return here with her so that I can make the same wish again.

It was satisfying to do. But, later, the impossibility of it all hit me hard. What are the chances I'd have even met her -- a Missouri boy meeting a small-town Pennsylania girl, all based on a chance snowstorm and a lucky snowball throw, that we'd fall in love, that she'd lead me to India, that we'd visit Sri Lanka, and that I'd think to make that wish? What struck me as the most spiritual moment of my whole life was not the emotional bond I felt with her leading me to wish that, but the notion that this was not the first time I'd been there making that wish with her by my side. I was there because I'd been there before, making that same wish. It was an incredible feeling.

Others may not, of course, view that story as a spiritual experience. I suppose part of what constitutes one is subjective perception. Put two people on a crowded Manhattan street and one may view that environment as stressful or frightening while the other is moved beyond words by the sheer magic of it all. So, sure, it's partly subjective.

I've touched on all of this stuff before, so I won't explore it too deeply again now. But, I did want to simply record something that happened to me last Sunday evening, and also poll any passers-by with a question. First, my own experience:

It happened to me while sleeping, though, upon reflection, I still do not regard it as a dream. In this experience, I (and , when I say "I," I suppose I mean my soul, spirit, or some kind of astral representation of myself) visited a guru. I know who it was, too. It was Paramahamsa Nithyananda, an Indian guru I'd come to know of via my wife's recommendation that I watch some of his YouTube videos.

In this experience, it was as if I'd been waiting in some sort of "cue" for a while (though I wasn't aware of it). At some point, it was my turn to approach and have a consultation (it seeming perfectly reasonable to me, upon reflection, that an enlightened master might very well keep "astral office hours"). So, I sort of floated up toward him (not sure how, exactly -- it wasn't like I was purposely floating or having one of those flying dreams we all love so much) and began having an exchange.

Though our forms were spirit, they resembled human form, though mine, as I recall, seemed less solid as his. This more "solid"-appearing realm, in other words, was his; I'd traveled there to see him through a vast void, my body some kind of a nonentity, almost like a weightless physical form, slightly luminous, viewed through a scrim. Yet, we communicated normally. The world there was earthy. He was reclined on a stone, eyes closed, an ancient tree behind him. He wore only a simple pair of brown kurta pajama pants. His countenance the whole time, even as he spoke, indicated enlightenment, bliss...

Unfortunately, I no longer recall all of the exchange. There was a part during which he asked me to seek out some stones. Wish I could recall the details. I remember seeing a blue stone and maybe a red one. And there was some significance to a square stone. But what this all meant escaped me. I don't think it was like a quest or anything like that. My recollection is that there was some potential lesson I might learn by meditating on these particular items.

Toward the end of our exchange, I'd asked him one other critical question -- one that I believe I remembered upon waking but it escapes me now. He replied, "I cannot answer that because I'm not your guru." I began to drift away, but willed myself to return and ask him one more question. I said, "May I ask you one more question?" He smiled, indicating yes. I said, "If you're not my guru, who is?"

Again, the memory gets a bit hazy. I seem to recall that he sort of smiled a bit and touched my forehead. The moment his "being" (or form or whatever) made contact with my forehead, it sent me into the deepest state of meditation I've ever experienced.

I can't claim to know the depths attainable via meditation. But, I've been meditating nearly each morning for the past four months or so, so I'm at least marginally familiar with these states and have at times glimpsed the possibilities, if even from afar. This was a "whole nuther" ball game. It was intense to the point of being frightening. I felt as though my energy had dissipated into a million tiny points of light and was being reabsorbed into some kind of universal pool of energy, every last grain of ego dissolving into some great sea.

During the moment, it struck me that, if I gave in to it fully, blissfully alarming as it was, I might never return. In other words, I believed my physical body would perish. I paniced and began fighting it, pulling myself together and struggling to emerge from the trance. I saw my wife sleeping and called out for her desperately -- and then suddenly I was back in my bed. Can't recall if she woke me, of if I woke myself somehow. My heart was racing, I felt sweaty head to toe, I was trembling almost to the point of convulsing, and just kind of unabashedly sobbing.

It wasn't like a dream, though; it was more of an experience. Through the trembling, I think the first thing I said to her was, "I saw the guru." I then relayed the whole story, much as I've just written (although it was certainly clearer at the time). She thought we should write it down, so she went scrambling around in the dark (it being nearly 4:00 a.m.) for a pen. By then I'd sat up. This was a mistake, she said, explaining that you should remain in the same position you were in while sleeping in order for your recall to be optimal. So, maybe I blew it upon sitting up. Some details just left me...

Now, I DO have a lot of wonderful dreams, always in vivid color, sometimes silly, sometimes adventurous, some darker than others in theme. But, this simply wasn't dream-like at all. I know the story sounds perfectly dreamlike, but there was a whole mystical quality to it that I have not adequately captured. Usually, when I look back at a dream, there are elements of non-reality lurking here and there. This was TOO real.

I honestly believe that I did not dream, but rather had, this unusual encounter, and that this guru gave me a bit of a "push." At once, he seemed to be saying two things: First, it was clearly some kind of energy awakening, via which I was granted a glimpse of something I was clearly not yet spiritually prepared for, yet invited to experience first-hand, perhaps as a gesture of future possibilities. I don't know a lot about this topic, but my intuition tells me that, for about 5 seconds, I was falling into some kind of deep samadhi. (I could be totally wrong on that, I'll admit. But, whoa, it was like nothing I've ever experienced.)

Second, by touching my forehead, he seemed to be providing a metaphorical response to my question. I'd asked who my guru was... The answer, it seems, was to look within. In fact, I think that was probably his main point. (I think that little stunt about sending me into a deep samadhi was probably a fun little trick that gurus do from time to time to welcome aspirants to the path, as it were. But, hey, it's all good... I lived to tell the tale.)

The question: Has anyone else had a profound spiritual experience? If so, I'd like to read about it -- either told in the comments section, or via a link to your own blog or site where you talk about it at length. Consider it Jim's spiritual experience meme. Pass it on...

Wanna Buy My House?

2009-01-18T21:42:00.001-05:00

Wow, thanks for all of the comments lately. It's nice to be welcomed back to the blogosphere. I was just doing a little housekeeping on the site, tweaking a graphic or two, etc. With this post, I'm testing out 500-pixel-wide graphics! Whoa, welcome to 2009!!

So, seriously, want to buy my house? That's it, above. It can be yours for the low low price of $189,900. That's not TOO steep, right? You're thinking about it, right? ... Still can't decide? Visit the web site. Have a peek into the life of the guy you once knew as Patrick. Wanna guess what street it's on??? Hmmm, how about "Hillman St." Seriously, take a gander. You'll see all of the amenities we poured into this old gal -- sauna, yoga room, library & more!

We have GOT to sell this house. As soon as it sells, we're buying an RV, I'm quitting corporate America once & for all, and we're heading out into the world as free agents. Yes, there will be a blog about this amazing adventure!

Boldly Serving Up Wheat Grass

2009-01-12T12:44:00.001-05:00

[I started this blog a while back. Meant to post it on Jan. 11, 2009, my 40th b-day.]

"Desperate and meaningless

All filled up with emptiness

Felt like everything was said and done...

I lay there in the dark, and I closed my eyes

You saved me the day you came alive."

~ Foo Fighters "Come Alive"

Wow, where do I start? ... I think maybe it's best to put my new blog name into a little perspective. Let's start with transformations. Here's a picture of me when I began blogging -- again, my real name's Jim, not Patrick (though Patrick is actually my middle name):

Here's a picture of my wife, Wendi, at that time:

Here's me now:

And here's my wife now:

We're literally different people now than we were then -- above and beyond simple physical appearance (though we're, together, about 160lbs. lighter than before). All I can say is that we were effectively "dead" back then, but now we're more alive than ever. Want to compare those side-by-side? Take a look:

For some reason, a quote from Deepak Chopra just popped into my head:

"To break the spell requires a shift of identity from the time-bound to the timeless. Therefore the wizard sets out on a journey to discover the truth about time -- this is the real meaning behind the tale that Merlin lived backward in time. He wanted to follow time back to its roots." ~Deepak Chopra, Way of the Wizard.

What happened to me before (months ago when my blog went all haywire on you) was the first cry of a newly awakened wizard. You can take that as literally as you're able to. My physical body had simply begun a transformative process well ahead of my spirit. I think, at that moment, just as I posted what I posted months ago, I could've gone either way -- heading "forward" temporally as usual, likely untransforming physically back to that "before" photo of myself, eventually. Or, I could've accepted the many illuminations presented to me, even though some of them represented at the time perhaps a leap of faith, or something. Quite impossibly, I chose the latter course of action. But, of course...

"the moment I jumped off of it

was moment I touched down"

~Alanis Morissette, Thank You

The end result: Everything I'm involved in nowadays is a kind of reversal -- living backwards in time -- and it's literally the best time ever! I'm now aging backwards, I'm getting out of my so-called career, we're leaving our home (seriously, it's for sale -- have a look, take a tour of my home!!), we're leaving Pittsburgh, we're heading out into the world instead of being rooted, we're shedding possessions instead of accumulating, I'm appreciative of what I have instead of taking it for granted, I'm literally manifesting all kinds of miraculous stuff as we speak instead of living in doubt, I'm aware of how precious life is and not keen at all on ever wasting another moment, I'm living in awe instead of in fear, and as a result I'm experiencing effortless role-reversals resulting in my being, I think, a better individual, father, and husband... and I could go on and on with listing these things.

Philosophically, I don't know if a person requires a crisis in order to experience personal growth. I've wondered about that, though. It seems these things often do present us with opportunities to self-evaluate and make life-course corrections (if we're daring enough or driven enough to do so). Not everyone, unfortunately, will change course. "Why that is" is a question beyond the scope of this extremely long post, though I have my thoughts on it. Perhaps it's simply universal grace guiding us and, if you're ego's not too overblown, perhaps you'll listen.

(*pause for a private nod to Carolyn S.*)

For me, I time-traveled forward to my 65th birthday in kind of Albert Einstein-fueled neo-Dickensian "Ghost of the Future" scenario and was immediately, powerfully overcome with every imaginable realization a person of that consciousness might experience -- "regret" being among the most unsettling of the lot. As I posted atop my political blog in a brief essay:

... For me personally -- and, how *else* are we to judge anything, but subjectively? -- the skyscraper, the legendary-mythical taroic "tower," came crashing down in September 2008. It was revealed to me then that many of the things I'd thought were important in life (e.g., occupying an office in said skyscraper) meant absolutely *nothing* in the grand scheme. I thought of Shelley's poem: "My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings: Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!"

This stuff, this corporate BS, doesn't last. We're not meant to labor our lives away shuffling papers around uninspiring offices in exchange for a pittance. Or even for a fortune. Money is fine and dandy, but we so freely give our lives away these days, uncaringly wasting precious time that could be put to use on things much, much more rewarding. What lasts are memories, experiences, loves, spiritual development, interactions with others, journeys, laughter, music, literature, the arts, joy, light. Not "finishing the Ferguson report." God, I'm so fucking done with that.

I could imagine two awful scenarios related to all this: (1) Never having experienced the awakening I've had lately, or (2) Having had it very late in life, just prior to death. I'm not sure which would have been worse. But, fortunately, here I am at nearly 40 years old, and I'm finally "awake." Better late than never, my friends. Maybe that's my message after all.

It goes far beyond what I'm able to articulate in this single update. But, I'm telling you: I saw the world for what it truly is for a moment. Or, at least part of it. I glimpsed something enormous. It was like being in The Matrix and suddenly seeing the code instead of the virtual landscape everyone else sees. I glimpsed ... possibility ... in its widest definition. And now I'm after that vision again, knowing it's there. I want to live it and, by god, I'm going to.

Explaining the "Wheat Grass" Thing:

For one, now that I'm 40 years old (yesterday, January 11, 2009), I feel like I've Blown enough Shit Up With Gas. I haven't lost my lust for fire, of course. But, it's just time to change things up a bit. I think Ecclesiastes sums it all up well, right? -- there being a season for everything. I didn't want to get rid of the BSUWG archives, of course (though they will be pruned a bit of certain things that need to go). So, I redid the acronym's meaning ... in a clever and personally meaningful way.

It gets a bit unusual and subjective here, but stick with me... As part of this realization, I've come to recognize very clearly a relationship between physical health and numerous other aspects of our lives, including most notably our capacity for development in the realms of the mind and spirit. Some of these observations are my own. Others are things I've simply come across in my readings and immediately resonated with. You see, I have this complicated theory about ideology and belief systems that I've been kicking around for a while now. The whole theory is probably a post for another time, another blog -- maybe within a book or something. But, it has to do with our coming to a point at which we're READY for change.

Change presents itself constantly -- and, I'm talking about the "right" change, too. Change in terms of personal development, in terms of charting a course to the "next level," whatever that might be for you or me or anyone. And, the cool thing is that there's *always* a next level. At least, it seems that way. I don't think we're ever "done" -- unless that's what nirvana is.

Compassion descended upon me suddenly and profoundly during the past four months while away. I'm not sure I can articulate that concept fully yet, as it's knowledge within the heart realm and therefore somewhat ineffable. Was it the crisis I faced? Was it my adoption of 100% raw veganism as a lifestyle? (If you don't know what that is, and are truly interested, there's a free eBook about it here at another site my wife and I maintain on that very topic.) Was it the perfect storm of a number of things coming together at once? I don't know the recipe for it. I just know that it happened.

* * * [I just deleted a ton of text here] * * *

I think, for now, I'll just close off this post. I'd planned to go into the topic of compassion and my personal transformative experience, but this post is getting a bit long and, if I put off posting it, it could take me a week or more before being able to finish it. So, maybe that's a topic for next time.

Grateful.

2008-12-12T10:54:00.001-05:00

Okay, if a picture is worth 1,000 words, how many words is a picture worth if the picture is a picture of additional words? Honestly, I don't know. I think there are 93 words in the picture above. So, is it worth 1,093, or does it remain 1,000? These are the types of philosophocal questions that keep me up at night. Happy holidays, friends. See you sometime in '09 as BSUWG boldly serves up wheat grass. Don't worry, I'll explain. -JD

9-18, My Personal 9-11

2008-09-19T12:59:00.001-05:00

This will be my last blog post for ... perhaps ever. I really don't know. For quite some time, anyway... So, I figured fuck it; why not allow you to put a face to the name "Patrick Hillman"? That's yours truly above, standing alone before my front door, unsure of whether I'm coming or going, unable to muster a malevolent grin for the moment. I wonder how well I fit your mental portrait.

I had a bad day yesterday, my friends. About as bad as they come. In fact, it was two of those days at once -- two pillars of my life blindsided by projectiles I could have neither foreseen nor prevented. One, as my sister well knows, was a breast cancer diagnosis for our mother. The other was a private matter I'll not discuss here, but which, believe it or not, was more devastating. And, though I'm strong -- much, much stronger than most, in fact -- these events together shook me to the very core, rendering my ongoing interest in this blog and many other things to the level of nearly nonexistent.

When I wrote "my friends" above, I want you to know that, for many of you, I truly meant that in the traditional spirit and definition of the word -- not just the generic, conversational, meaningless space-filler of which our spoken and written language is largely comprised. During my adult life, I've never participated in a circle of close (non-blogger) friends, as do many of my co-workers and casual acquaintances. I gather most "normal" people play on softball teams, attend parties and get-togethers, etc. This sort of thing can certainly keep you active, social, and sane -- though part of me also questions the depth or meaning to that. What's better: 50 generic friends, or just 2 close ones? Honestly, I'm not sure, though the latter appeals to me more.

But with writers -- and especially bloggers -- you really get to know people, which must explain the glowing reports you read from time to time about blogger meet-ups (because you're meeting with someone you've never met but already really like). I have enjoyed something of a vicarious social life through your posts, and shall continue to read and comment when time permits, though not until I shed this heavy creature known as despair.

I lack the time or energy to enhance the following list with links (or even to write it, really), but all of these people and more can be found on my blogroll, many of which I consider friends and, as part of my sign-off, merit a shout-out:

Animal Mind -- Home of M@, who, as I stated a week or so back, is the most fun you can have in the present tense.

BeckEye -- Always been an avid reader of Beck's channel, but I didn't comment as much as I should have because I rarely watch television. But, she's a hoot and likes classic rock.

Bill Stankus -- A recent addition to the blogroll, a fine writer and woodworker from whom I'd like to read much more.

Blue Wren -- A passionate political blogger friend, one I would hope to meet personally upon moving to California in the future.

Brutus' Dad -- A troubled, but genuinely thoughtful and caring soul whose stories have moved me in very personal ways.

By Neddie Jingo! -- an engaging, witty, extraordinary character, as is/was his brother Bobby. Neddie's a true multidisciplinary polymath, I believe. Read him and your IQ will thank you.

Cowboy the Cat -- Don't know you very well yet, but like what Iv'e read so far.

Culture of Beer -- Perhaps the most gifted yarn-spinner I know, and someone I'd definitely feel comfortable calling friend. Would like to Tiki sometime, bro.

Cup of Coffee -- A real-life musical encyclopaedia -- yes, spelled that way.

Evil Genius (& Red) -- A match made in outer space -- and, a thing I've liked about the universe.

Falwless -- Blogger miscreant extraordinaire. Devilishly witty. Read her, bookmark her, ask her out for drinks.

Flannery Alden -- Doc's wife and aspiring novelist. Never made it over to read your novel work, Flan, but perhaps I still will in the future. Always meant to, though.

GetKristiLove -- GKL rocks my world. She's an inspirational athlete, tough as nails, and puts the HO in hockey. (She said it, not me.) Whenever you're feeling lazy, just ask yourself: What would GKL do? She'd get off her ass and power it out, that's what.

GetKristi's Sis -- I don't think she's read this blog, but I've lurked on hers for some time. God, I'd hate to get into one of those family-political arguments with her. You can tell from her writing style that her wit is likely legendary.

Gifted Typist -- Another newer acquaintance. Writes on various topics, but always of interest to me.

Grant Miller Media -- What can I say, Grant? You're the king. I mean that, bro. Funniest destination online, consistently.

GreenVanHolzer -- A true philosopher... My old pal Jim from VA. I shall be in touch.

Hot Lemon -- I'm certain our paths will cross at some point in the future. Maybe it'll be as we're both on book tours. If you're a writer, check out the Lemon. I know your life's a little screwed up now, Cap'n, but hang in there. I'm commiserating more than you know.

I, Splotchy -- I may have to turn in Colm Meaney as my adopted actor. He can stay here for now, but can you stop in and feed him sometimes? He likes Guinness.

Inane Thoughts... -- Chris, I wish I knew more people like you. You're one of the few people I know online who will welcome a serious topic as much as a tongue-in-cheek post. I'm very much entering the darker, introspective world in which you've dared to venture so deeply. Can I borrow a flashlight?

La Vida Vica -- Heartbreaking words, but so well written. Just heartbreaking. May you find the man of your dreams, Vica. I mean that.

Leonesse -- Not sure if she still blogs, but I enjoyed the anecdotes. I've lived that nightmare (of your old town), much of which went into my Tales of the Midwest book.

Looking for Sunshine -- Thanks for all the comments!

Love Monkey -- Another fine writer. I believe she has completed a novel, too. Best of luck with that. I hope it's a bestseller, and want a signed copy! (And hi to Fatso.)

Mayor of Mitchieville -- Few people are politically right of Ann Coulter, but the Mayor has achieved it. Only, I know his nasty little secret: Beneath that sometimes harsh right-wing exoskeleton lies the bleeding heart of a caring dude. If he passed a broken down busload of hippies, he might scoff, but I'm certain he'd make sure they were safe before heading on his way.

Monstro -- Wow, another budding novelist! I'm sensing a theme here. I hope to keep in touch and hear about your progress on the epic tome -- as well as your path toward that Ph.D.

Motormouth -- Monstro's wife. Talented playwright (MFA), new mom, wonderful insightful commenter. Thanks again for your help commenting on my Tales book.

Passion of the Dale -- Ahh... tales of the Korean Bagel Lady. Indelible prose I shall never forget, my friend.

Prunella DeVille -- On behalf of all straight men and lesbians, I'd like to thank you for showing your rack to the world that one time. Or was it twice? Keep that alligator and monkey away from it.

Rocket Radio -- A newer, quite intriguing read for me. I suspect there is a lot more there to discover.

Serial Procrastination -- Ben has confirmed all of my prior reasons for never wishing to work in a hospital. I don't know how you guys do it, but am glad you're there. I wish a happy life for you, Mel & the cat. Mel's beautiful, btw. She looks just like Julie Delpy.

Suzel's Sass -- Always funny & active on the blogosphere. I sense this is one energetic woman. Thanks, Suze!

That Blue Yak -- I'm convinced this young man is borderline-insane. A new linky connection of mine and BFF of Fawlless.

The $teve Abides -- He's like the Roger Ebert of the blogosphere. Oh wait, Roger Ebert is the Roger Ebert of the blogosphere. But, $teve has SEEN some damn movies. If you like movies and witty news commentary, give $teve a visit. I think, ladies, he's also available!

When Dragons Laugh -- What can I say, Sketch? You're a damn talented young woman. I look forward to new drawings & commentary always.

Embarrassing Omission -- Okay, there really isn't a blog so entitled, but wouldn't it be a decent name for one? This goes out to all the lurkers, former blogger friends, and others I should have shouted out to but did not. Please forgive my remissness. (I checked, and "remissness" is actually a word, though I would not advise its further use.)

Wow, that list cheered me up a bit. I'm glad I did it. (*PH smiles briefly*)

Poetry being subjective, it's tempting to not just sign off with something that may be laden with personal resonance for me yet sterile to you. Yet, I'll do it anyway. And, though it's considered a cardinal sin among past, current, and future English majors to do so, I'm going to quote Eddie Vetter:

BLACK

Sheets of empty canvas, untouched sheets of clay
Were laid spread out before me as her body once did

All five horizons revolved around her soul
As the earth to the sun
Now the air I tasted and breathed has taken a turn

And all I taught her was everything
I know she gave me all that she wore
And now my bitter hands chafe beneath the clouds
Of what was everything
Oh, the pictures have

all been washed in black,
tattooed everything...

I take a walk outside
I'm surrounded by some kids at play
I can feel their laughter, so why do I sear?

Oh, and twisted thoughts that spin round my head
I'm spinning, oh, I'm spinning
How quick the sun can, drop away

And now my bitter hands cradle broken glass
Of what was everything
All the pictures have all been washed in black, tattooed everything...
All the love gone bad turned my world to black
Tattooed all I see, all that I am, all I will be

I know someday you'll have a beautiful life,
I know you'll be a star
In somebody else's sky, but why, why, why
Can't it be, can't it be mine?

I wish you all peace, happiness, and fulfillment.

-"Patrick H."

Did My Wife Return from Sedona w/ a Jesus Fetish?

2008-09-17T14:23:00.001-05:00

Gimme a head with hair, long beautiful hair

Shining, gleaming, steaming, flaxen, waxen

Give me down to there, hair!

Shoulder length or longer,

Here baby, there mama, everywhere daddy daddy...

~ From "Hair: The American Tribal Love-Rock Musical"

So, my wife just came home from a week in the desert -- huge conference, thousands of people, etc. While there, she and her one roommate made an effort to have their pictures taken with as many hot, long-haired men as possible. I'm fairly sure this was my wife's friend's particular fetish, though I suspect my wife quickly took an enthusiastic interest in the project.

They didn't hold back, either. It didn't matter whether the guy was a conference attendee or just some stranger passing through town; if it was a hot, long-haired guy, they stopped him and snuggled in close for a photo, faces beaming with delight. Only women can ever get away with this behavior, of course. I mean, it would be every guy's dream to head to a resort and have his picture taken next to every hot [fill in the blank with your eye-candy preference]. But, when guys do that, it usually ends with a visit from local law enforcement. When you're a woman, you can just approach a guy and say, "OMG, you're totally hot, can I get a picture with you?"

Twenty years ago (hell, maybe even 10), I'd probably have been actively jealous about something like this. I was pretty insecure as a youngster, just like a lot of guys. By now, I'm fairly used to it, though it's admittedly still awkward from time to time -- e.g., when *I'm* the one having to take the picture of her and the "hot pirate" or whatever. But, after a while, no matter how jealous your disposition may be, there's always the realization that, at the end of the day, who does she leave with? So, if you're like me -- one of those guys who, unfortunately, do not make women swoon just by walking by -- you learn to get over it. Jealousy is a funny emotion, and one into which I've surprisingly not applied as much philosophical enquiry as I probably should have.

Anyway, as I'm a well-documented histrionic, everything always has to relate back to me. So, I made a quasi-flip remark something on the order of, "Well, sure, when you've got a full head of hair, you can pull off that look, but with a receding hairline, long hair just looks lame." To illustrate my mental image of this, I tried to find an example online of a guy with a receding hairline up top, yet with long hair elsewhere. Frankly, either I'm searching wrong, or that coiffure just isn't too popular -- from which I would have to further infer that the fairer sex prefers either (1) very short hair or (2) the completely shaven look among men afflicted by this particular heredity. But, I did find one example:

I wonder whether women would find that guy sexy? While he strikes me as potentially dangerous, I think many women are at least partially (if not completely) attracted to so called "bad boys." I'm not sure why, though. Perhaps a female reader could elucidate in the comments section. My gut says it has something to do with a latent fantasy of being "ravished" (Harlequin-Romance-style), though I'm puzzled by this because, while the guy above might surely ravish (Harlequin-Romance-style) a woman, I simply cannot envision him doing much at all worthwhile post-ravishment (though the definition of "worthwhile" is, admittedly, a value judgment on my part).

As for the guy pictured atop my post, I suppose HIS post-ravishment duties would be to simply continue existing until such time as his Irish grandfather's genes kick in and he transitions to guy #2. At that point, I think it's time for the clippers.

Man, just once, it would be nice to hear a woman swoon... "Oh Mary... Look at HIM! He's got a neat, professional haircut and a clean collared shirt tucked into Dockers! I bet he's middle management somewhere and could provide me with witty conversation, pleasant companionship, and a nice warm, comfortable, safe, stable home for my family!!! How dreeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaammmmmmmmyyyy."

(I know... I know... not gonna happen. *Sigh.*)

Hey BeckEye, Where's Your Caption Contest?

2008-09-16T21:54:00.001-05:00

Damn, this is just begging for a smart-ass caption. The only one that comes to mind for me is: "Get that would you, Deirdre..." (obscure, sorry).

DISASTER PALIN ADVISORY NUMBER 27

2008-09-14T08:00:00.001-05:00

NATIONAL WEATHER SERVICE TPC / NATIONAL DISASTER CENTER MIAMI FL AL092008 1000 AM CDT SAT SEP 13 2008

...DISASTER WATCH ISSUED FOR ENTIRE UNITED STATES...
...PALIN CONTINUES TO GROW IN SIZE BUT HAS NOT FULLY STRENGTHENED YET...

AT 10 AM CDT...1500 UTC...A DISASTER WARNING HAS BEEN ISSUED FOR ALL 50 U.S. STATES. DISASTER CONDITIONS COULD REACH THE NATION BY EARLY NOVEMBER. PALIN FORMED AS A SMALLTOWN DISTURBANCE IN THE EXTREME NORTHWEST AND IS CURRENTLY SWEEPING THE NATION. THE DISASTER IS EXPECTED TO MOVE THROUGHOUT THE CONTINENTAL U.S. OVER THE FOLLOWING TWO MONTHS, POSSIBLY SETTLING IN THE WASHINGTON, D.C., METROPOLITAN AREA. PALIN COULD ALMOST CERTAINLY GROW TO A CATEGORY FIVE DISASTER ON THE SAFFIR-SIMPSON SCALE. FUTURE DAMAGES COULD INCLUDE FIRES (ESP. OF UNAPPROVED TEXTS), FULL-ON THEOCRACY, REDUCED RIGHTS FOR WOMEN, LEADERSHIP BY AN UNEDUCATED BACKWOODS HICK, AND CERTAIN WORLD WAR III.

AGAIN, AT THIS TIME, THIS IS ONLY A WATCH. PLEASE STAY TUNED FOR FURTHER ADVISORIES AND PASS THIS ALONG TO FRIENDS AND FAMILY. FOR INFORMATION SPECIFIC TO YOUR AREA PLEASE MONITOR REPORTS ISSUED BY YOUR LOCAL NEWS BUREAUS.

Caution: Dog Jogging Story Ahead

2008-09-12T14:41:00.001-05:00

The Jooge and I were out for our daily 3-mile run last night. On the way home (still nearly a mile out), she suddenly jumped off to the right by a yard or so and grabbed something next to the curb. At first, I thought she'd found another sandwich. (Man, does she LOVE running past the Micky D's!) But it wasn't a McGriddle this time; it was a small stuffed teddy bear.

Now, I'll concede that the blogosphere abounds with unfounded anthropomorphisms (with the notable exception of Grant Miller's cat, Bully). But, damn it, I picked up on two very human emotions that, despite the possibility of any scientific supporting evidence, I fully believe she experienced. The first was a particular mixture of pride, elation, and excitement. I tell you, her reaction actually surpassed any small kid's reaction to the same circumstance; the dog simply beamed.

The second emotion was pure determination. Though we had a mile to go, I could see it in her face; the little bear was coming all the way home with us. It's as though the Jooge reached deep within her canine self to locate that obstinate, so-called "jaw-locking" quality other breeds such as the Pit Bull have made infamous to the point of myth. Normally visibly panting after two miles, she breathed through her nose last night for the entire final mile, head held high, eyes wide with an electrified joyousness.

Once home, she even skipped her usual few minutes at the water bowl. She ran straight upstairs and stashed her treasure. I didn't get a good look at it for a good half hour or so when she finally broke it out to show off a bit. Cute little thing (the bear), and relatively new looking. Must've fallen from one of the many strollers we pass each evening. I was happy for the Jooge, and glad to let her keep it. It seemed important to her to be able to possess a thing completely realized via her own volition -- an item that she spotted and then claimed absolutely independently.

Deep Thought of the Day: Ear Popping

2008-09-11T11:24:00.001-05:00

Sometimes, I'll have a little inner-ear itch going on. Ever have that -- when the inside of your ear gets a little tingly and you absolutely need to attend to it? Somehow, my pinky often seems to be the best and safest utensil handy to tackle the job. So, I kind of jam it in there and jiggle it around a bit, though discreetly, until the itch fades. Only takes a second or two... (And, hey, I'm not some weirdo who does this like 500 times per day or anything. Could be a once/week thing, though. I'm not sure... And it's also, I believe, fairly sanitary, as I'm borderline obsessive-compulsive when it comes to daily Q-Tipping.)

Anyway, the weird part is that when I take my pinky out of my ear, it often makes a small popping noise. My deep thought of the moment is: Is that popping noise loud enough for others to hear, or do I hear it simply because I'm screwing around directly with my own ear? I suppose I could answer this question by using a tape recorder -- make a few pops and then play it back to see if it registers in the room. But that would be too much work. I'd almost rather just go on with life with that as one of the grand mysteries.

Reader's Write: Undershirts

2008-09-10T10:18:00.001-05:00

I don't know how many of you read the penguin-loving, politically independent Matt's "Animal Mind" blog -- and, if you don't, please give it a test drive today, as it's the most fun you can have in the present tense -- but I'm stealing one of his concepts today: the "Reader's Write" column. (You don't have that trademarked or anything, right M@?)

It never occurred to me to feature comments as full posts until today, for I have received a most notable response to my essay of "vital importance" posted on Monday. That's right, Tug (who is, if you didn't already know, not just any "undershirt guy" but THE undershirt guy) has taken notice of my post and has featured it in his ever-growing collection of ruminations on the undershirt:

Patrick, enjoyed your post very much and decided to share it, along with a link back, with my readers at undershirtguy.com.

I provided some additional thoughts on the "keeping you cool factor", tank tops, armpit shields, and tagless shirts that you might find interesting.

Here's a link back to the post on my site: Blog Article - Posts of Vital Importance - Undershirts

Take care,
Tug

Honestly, this is one of the coolest emails I've received here at BSUWG -- and, as a writer, it's certainly been a humbling experience. See, just when I thought I'd come up with something original and had taken it to a level no one would ever take it to, here's Tug with an entire blog devoted to that very subject. And what a blog it is! Did you know, for example, that the tank-top variety is aptly referred to as "the wife beater"?

As Tug and many others pointed out earlier this week, I apparently failed to identify one of the primary benefits of undershirts -- the obfuscation of the human nipple. Mea culpa, my friends. But, thanks so much for shining the headlights on such an important topic, as no doubt covered in-depth on Tug's site. I could envision at least one post, if not an entire series, devoted to the subject.

Thanks again, Tug. It really made my day!

-Patrick H.

"Crewneck to th' death."

RE: Combat Veterans

2008-09-09T09:46:00.001-05:00

En route to work this morning, I decided to stop at a local grocery store for an apple. I favor this particular grocery store in the morning because it's always uncrowded at this hour and has parking almost directly next to its front doors. You can purchase a piece of fruit, in and out, in literally two minutes. Well, sort of... You see, there are two ways into the store:

1) The legal way: Make a left from a side street onto a highway (requiring a stoplight wait), then make another left from the highway into the store lot (usually requiring another lengthy wait).

2) The "naughty" way: Turn from the side street into the local VFW parking lot, cross that lot, then cut through an alley into the store lot. Doing this saves approximately five minutes, yet means you'll have to ignore several prominent signs prohibiting such conduct.

Why are there signs prohibiting such traffic, though? If it's clearly more convenient to cut through the VFW lot, then many people benefit from doing it, I suppose. And the veterans don't like that. They prefer to be left alone.

But to me, the perspective is: Hey, it'll save me five minutes, no one will get hurt, and, hell, there's practically no one around to see me break this stupid "law" (if in fact the sign is even technically enforceable). So, fuck it... I routinely cut through their lot and get my apples. At least, until today...

Upon parking my car, a white sedan sped up to me, screeching to a halt. The Vietnam-era vet inside was already turning a disturbing shade of purple when he rolled down the window and chewed my ass out for 30 nonstop seconds. I don't know whether I'm ashamed or proud that my first impulse was to give him the finger and walk away. But, I stifled the urge and simply said "yeah, sure" after his angry threat of police action.

When the grocery store clerk, an older bookish woman likely in her 60s, inquired about the little kerfuffle, I responded, "Well, this is as clear of an anti-draft statement as I can think of -- a perfect example of what happens when you live in a society in which the state controls the very fate of the individual. That motherfucker isn't living 'in Pittsburgh,' like us, see? He's stuck in the bush with the yellow man prowling the perimeter in ominous, squeaky sneakers. He's watching his best buddy's head being blown off for some political cause that he neither understands nor cares about. He's returning home and being called a baby killer by those who weren't there."

She looked at me with something of an incredulous raising of the eyebrows, yet also laughed (as I'd delivered that statement in a half-joking manner). "He sure did sound pissed," she said.

"I know!" I said, "but, damn ... I wasn't the one who sent his ass half-way around the world to shoot people. How pathetic is it that his sole mission in life since the god-damn sixties is to patrol a friggin' suburban parking lot?"

She'd apparently run into trouble with the veterans herself, and had grown a bit annoyed by their seemingly ridiculous territorial nature. "You know," she began, with an evil smile (always a welcome, highly unusual gesture from an older woman), "you should do it again, just to rile him." But then she took it back, laughing to herself and covering her mouth, saying "I shouldn't have said that."

"Well, I can't say the thought hasn't crossed my mind, but it's not his fault, really -- being the asshole he is." I grabbed my apples and headed out, adding, "He doesn't know it, but it's not his fault."

So, I'll stay off your precious parking lot, Mr. Miserable Vietnam vet -- but not out of gratitude; out of pity.

Posts of Vital Importance: Undershirts.

2008-09-07T11:24:00.000-05:00

It's been a while since I've written on something truly important. But, God, I'm such a major fan of wearing undershirts. There. Now you know: Undershirts. I'm a Big Fan of Them.

One of the presumed functions of an undershirt is to act as a buffer between the upper body and the outer shirt. Any sweat, for example, theoretically goes into the undershirt, thus prolonging the life and the general well being of the outer shirt. You may be sensing some ironic point here -- namely, that adding an undershirt likely also makes us warmer, which may cause additional sweating, in which case you'd be clever to ask: Why wear one? However, in my experience, this simply isn't true. Undershirts are light-weight and do not cause noticeable increases in perspiration.

Now, if you're like me, you also put thought into the kind of undershirt you select. As with every other ridiculously esoteric issue in our society, there are options -- among them: (1) the crew neck, (2) the V-neck, and (3) the tank-top. I'm a crew-neck guy, 100%. In fact, wearing either a V-neck or a tank-top would make little or no sense to me.

Oh, sure, I suppose there is a certain logic to the V-neck, as it would likely hide the existence of an undershirt to anyone who may be interested in determining your underclothing preferences. Its existence must be related to that very thing -- the ability to wear, say, a button-down shirt with a few buttons undone, thus exposing a bit of chest. But that's trickery. It's like saying, "Hey, look, I'm not wearing an undershirt" when, in fact, you really are. I'd question the ethics, and indeed character, of anyone who makes such a choice.

The tank-top variety makes absolutely no sense. If the undershirt's function has to do with perspiration, why eliminate the very regions (the armpits) most involved in that function? If anything, there should be a reverse-tanktop model that covers only the armpits and nothing else. Novel, aye, but that would seem weird.

Undershirts are also handy as loungewear, allowing you to maintain some semblance of decency around the house without being one of those ubiquitous shirtless Yahoos native to so many neighborhoods of the great unwashed. Put a shirt on, for Crist's sake.

And, hey, there have been great strides in modern times vis-a-vis labeling. So, if that's holding you back from incorporating the undershirt into your daily routine, it's time to visit Target once again. See, they print the labels these days -- yep, right on the fabric. No more annoying, itchy tag on the back-of-the-neck! So, go out and celebrate the undershirt today. You'll be glad you did.

This has been an installment of vital importance. Thank you for reading it.

Most sincerely,

~ Patrick Hillman

One More Reason Sarah Palin Is Wrong for America

2008-09-05T13:36:00.001-05:00

While I maintain my independent political status, I may as well add my two cents to the growing list of reasons why Sarah Palin is painfully unqualified to potentially lead the nation. I say forget all of the well-known arguments against her...

* That insignificant issue of her saying "thanks but no-thanks" to Congress RE the infamous "bridge to nowhere" -- yet still pocketing the cash for Alaska? Forgiven. (With all of the billions in other governmental waste, what's a few hundred million extra bucks stashed away for the good folks in Alaska? Besides, it gets cold in Alaska; they may need to burn that money to stay warm.)

* That ridiculous hyperbolic description she gave about her "actual responsibilities" as a mayor of a town of 5,000? Forget about it. (I'm sure it was a demanding gig that neither you nor I could have handled with as much grace. After all, it takes a rocket-scientist/world-leader to decide which local asphalt contractor to hire to refill the town's most critical potholes.)

* That constant pandering to the religious right? Think nothing of it. (She's on a mission from God, after all. -- No joke there, that's pretty much what she said, I think.)

* The incessant, borderline-annoying driving-home of the McCain "war-hero" key message? Look beyond it. (We get it, okay?)

What pissed me off was another nit-picky thing: When she was Governor, the lipstick-clad pit bull reportedly fired her personal chef (the existence of such a position being a time-honored tradition of important people everywhere).

See, this irks me more than almost anything else she said or didn't say. Why? Because, if any group of people on this earth truly NEEDS personal chefs, it's people like state governors.

Look, I realize it probably costs state taxpayers another nickel (each) to hire an elite chef for the governor (and, yes this reduces each Alaskan's annual oil revenue payment to maybe $1,599.95 or something). But, what do you want your governor to be thinking about while in charge? Do you want her attending to the issues facing the state or waiting around to flip pancakes in the morning, grilled cheeses in the afternoon, and burgers in the evening for her own small but ever-growing brood? (Maybe with some sex-education, Sarah would finally figure out where all the bambinos are coming from!)

Having a personal chef doesn't mean you're better than everyone else, Sarah, it just means you have less time. I'd hate to imagine the U.S. on the brink of some critical international crisis and "Mother Sarah" simply nukes the offending country because she didn't have time to attempt a peaceful resolution -- because Todd, Track, Trig, Willow, Bristol, and Piper couldn't miss Manwich night.

(Oh, and "Piper"? Wasn' that one of the witches' names on "Charmed"? Kind of an odd selection for a fundamentalist, IMHO. How do we know she doesn't secretly worship Satan with a name-selection like that?)

What in the H-E-double-hockey-mom-sticks was McCain thinking?!

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

2008-09-03T11:36:00.001-05:00

Ahh, yes... Ten minutes prior to my always-timely departure for an extended lunch hour, I've experienced a vague notion that something of mine has gone unattended for quite some time. But, what was it?

Was there something I usually do that I haven't done lately? Did I forget something related to my at-work to-do list? My writing business development plans for each and every horn dog here at Horn Dog Enterprises (HDE)? My board committees? My extensive home-prep-for-sale list? My wife's social networking site that I coded last week? The artist's digital archive I've coded over the past two weeks? The international consulting web development project that's kicking off soon? Household chores? Jogging w/ the Jooge? My musical studies? My musical compositions? Making notes for two novels? .... No, it's none of those current projects...

Oh, wait a minute... it's my blog! I've totally neglected it! I forgot I even HAD one!

Jeez, I'll have to attend to this asap! And, my god, I haven't read others' blogs in ages, either. How the hell am I going to catch up w/ all that? Anyone have any generic comments I can use on everyone's recent posts to make it look like I've read them? No, wait, that would be bad, right? Well, thankfully, I'm at work, and can take some time this week to catch up.

ps Anyone recognize that artwork? I found it while searching for "eternal sunshine" but don't recall it from the film. Yet, it does seem like it could be from the movie. Or, was Eternal Sunshine perhaps a graphic novel first???

An Open Letter to the YouTube Legal Team

2008-08-29T14:45:00.001-05:00

Dear YouTube Legal Team:

I found a typo in your Terms of Use document today:

"10. Limitation of Liability
IN NO EVENT SHALL YOUTUBE ... BE LIABLE TO YOU FOR ANY ... DAMAGES WHATSOEVER RESULTING FROM ANY (I) ERRORS, MISTAKES, OR INACCURACIES OF CONTENT, (II) PERSONAL INJURY ... (III) ANY UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS ... (IV) ANY INTERRUPTION OR CESSATION OF TRANSMISSION TO OR FROM OUR WEBSITE, (IV) ANY BUGS, VIRUSES, TROJAN HORSES, OR THE LIKE, WHICH MAY BE TRANSMITTED TO OR THROUGH OUR WEBSITE BY ANY THIRD PARTY, AND/OR (V) ANY ERRORS OR OMISSIONS IN ANY CONTENT OR FOR ANY LOSS OR DAMAGE OF ANY KIND INCURRED AS A RESULT OF YOUR USE OF ANY CONTENT ... "

SEE? You have TWO item #4s.

Best regards,

-Patrick "Eagle Eye" Hillman

ps Yes, I actually read the whole thing.

pps: Yes, available for freelance editing gigs.

ppps: No need to thank me. Just pay it forward.

Vapid Victuals, Volume 3

2008-08-27T08:39:00.001-05:00

Last night a little dancer came dancin' to my door.
Last night a little angel came pumpin cross my floor.
She said, "Come on baby... I got a licence for love,
And, if it expires, pray help from above!"

In the midnight hour she cried, "More, more, more!"
With a rebel yell she cried, "More, more, more!"
In the midnight hour, babe, "more, more, more."
With a rebel yell, "more, more, more..."
"More, more, more!"

This page << http://26nc.org/History/Rebel-Yell/rebel-yell.html >> has a recording of an authentic confederate "rebel yell." Apparently, the guy was a 90-year-old confederate veteran when he made the recording for a radio broadcast in the 1930s. Now we all know exactly what Billy Idol meant. And, it seems he was a sick fuck.

Vapid Victuals, Volume 2

2008-08-26T09:45:00.001-05:00

Volume 2 - I didn't hold back. I looked the disinterested young clerk square in the eyes and sincerely bemoaned the store's lack of Baked Ruffles.

Vapid Victuals, Volume 1

2008-08-25T14:04:00.001-05:00

[No time this week, so I'm launching "Vapid Victuals," a catch-all category for ultra-brief observations, statements, questions, bad ideas, mathematical proofs, philosophical conundrums, cat pictures, health-food recipes, household tips, lovely snapshots of Zooey Deschanel, and whatever else. Without further adieu...]

Volume 1 -- Let me tell you something: A certain owner of Horn Dog Enterprises (HDE) better be god-damned finished with the ACME letter today because, if I see one more round of pointless changes (and, believe me, there have been MANY), I swear I'll kick his miserable ass.

Wizarding World Question

2008-08-21T11:06:00.001-05:00

Remember that oculus rapairo spell Hermione uses in Book 1 to fix Harry's glasses? Well, why isn't there a spell to correct his underlying vision problem, thus completely eliminating the need for glasses? (Yes, it took like 7 years for that question to dawn on me.)

Posts I Never Finished, Volume 13

2008-08-19T10:07:00.001-05:00

[Too much going on in my "RL" these days to blog much. So, once again, let's take a stroll through the unfinished drafts pile. Part of my hesitation for posting some of these is the fact that, in many cases, I don't know where I was going with whatever it was I was writing. With this little gem, for example, I think maybe I was just pissed off at work one day. I'm sure you can relate. So, don't take it too seriously...]

Is it just me, or do you agree that the question "Are you a team player?" is extraordinarily pointless? Here's my thinking:

First, this is something generally used only as a weeding-out question by HR administrators. Everyone wants a team player on board, right? So, you clear your throat and use your best professional interviewer voice to ask, "Tell me, Josh, do you consider yourself a team player?" In return, you're treated to a well-rehearsed, warm & fuzzy description outlining Josh's history of pitching in for the greater good. Way to go, Josh! (And if Josh hesitates or indicates a "no," well, you have plenty more resumes to fall back on.)

But, Josh's perky, textbook answer could have several meanings. Among them:

1. He's basically a decent guy, and gets along well with others. This is what most HR people are after, really. But, you have to keep in mind:

2. He could be painfully incapable of independent thought and therefore has clung to the "team" concept for dear life -- because that's all he'll ever be capable of. As a result, he'll consistently shun any personal accountability for his mediocre performance.

3. He could be bright, but years of corporate monotony and mind-fucking has ensured that any leadership capacity he once had has been stifled once and for all.

4. He could be a professional liar and is actually a total prick.

I know it'd be job-interview suicide, but wouldn't it be refreshing if, just once, some Josh somewhere out there, when asked this question, would say:

Am I a team player? No, Mr. (or Ms.) "HR Professional," I'm NOT a team player. I like to be rewarded and compensated for my *personal* successes. I welcome the responsibility of accountability for my *own* failures and dislike taking fallout for some twat upper management decision. Sure, I'm a nice guy and get along with others, but I also won't compromise my values, vision, methods, etc. in the name of making nice with others or taking on projects fairly described as pointless, irrational, unprofitable, or busywork -- which leads others to believe I'm a prick from time to time.

[LOL... bitter much, Patrick?!] Josh would definitely not get the job, of course.

But sriously, is Tiger Woods a team player? Well, he may have an entourage and a well paid advisory staff, but he's out there *alone*. Hmm, what about Venus Williams? Oh, wait, those are individual sports... Okay, well, how about Michael Jordan? Was he a team player? I don't think so. I'm sure he looked to Phil Jackson for direction, but let's face it: Michael WAS the team.

Yazoo

2008-08-18T11:01:00.001-05:00

Anyone else catch that Sirius interview w/ Alison Moyet & Vince Clarke this weekend (w/ live tracks from their L.A. show)? I was fairly sure my wife was going to sleep in the car, as that's the only place we can listen to Sirius. We listened to Upstairs at Eric's about 4,987,685 times back in the day. Would have been pretty neat to see the duo live.

The Joy of Decluttering

2008-08-14T10:32:00.001-05:00

In 1995, just before leaving the D.C. area (we lived in Alexandria, VA, at the time), we held a moving sale. By then, we lived in a "semi-detached" townhome. (Semi-detached, for those who don't know, simply means that you live in what appears to be a standalone home, but you only get half of it -- the other half going to a clutch of Section 8 alcoholics and illegitimate rugrats.) Ours had a basement, main floor, and upstairs -- three levels full of stuff to move.

We hung enormous signs simply everywhere within about a half-mile radius. The response was almost overwhelming -- like some sort of Great White feeding frenzy you might see on the Discovery channel. It was so insane, the prices we got for things sometimes surpassed what we paid for them in the first place. I recall thinking my wife was nuts for pricing a small magazine table at $25, when we paid only $15 or so at a local Ames. Still, it sold. We made a small mint, which carried us to our next destination.

Fast forward several years to Pittsburgh. Five years or so ago, we held our first attempt at a garage sale. It tanked. And, I know this kind of thing is subjective, but I always like to believe that our crap is quality crap. Still, it didn't sell. Much of it went back into our garage. Until last weekend...

Since we're trying to move out of state as soon as possible, we of course need to sell our house. We asked our realtor what needed to be done. "Get rid of the clutter," she advised. Of course, we already knew about this problem. But, prior to around a year ago, we really had no intention of ever leaving our home. So, the accumulation of "stuff" never seemed like that big of an issue, other than a certain background awareness I suppose one has about one's general inventory.

So, we staged another attempt. Things came from out of every nook and cranny we have -- the basement, the garage, the attic knee-walls. We spread shit out across the front lawn, down the driveway, and into the back. No reasonable offer refused. In fact, we'd decided to pretty much accept ANY offers, reasonable or not. You want a breadmaker for a quarter? Take it home!

I didn't screw around when it came to signage this time. I took a couple of saw horses and taped giant pieces of white cardboard ($0.39 each at the local crafts store), lettered with huge "YARD SALE >>>" messages readable from at least 150 yards in either direction from the main road near our house.

I'd estimate that we put enough crap out to fill a 20-foot truck. Traffic was decent the first day. We unloaded things so cheaply, it almost hurt a little -- sometimes giving away things for which we'd paid $50 - $100 for a buck or two. (For example, I sold a mint condition 25" color TV for $20!) We just tried to remember that the whole point was to jettison this baggage that, while nice, was holding us down. We'd been accumulators, my friends. In a major way. (Should be one of the 7 deadly sins, IMHO.)

Again, the money wasn't so great. I think we netted $350 or so over the two days. Day two, we were so desperate, we hung a sign that said, "Any item $1, all you can carry in your arms $5, fill a box with anything $10." We also offered the ability to fill your entire car with stuff for $15. Seriously, this wasn't just crap. Remember that breadmaker? It was a perfectly good one, in perfect shape, just like all of the other household items we had out there. NEVER SOLD. Not even for a buck. Not even when offered to people for free.

Day two, an ancient man showed up in a beat-up van with a brown plastic moosehead (antler rack at least 18" wide) attached as a hoodpiece. He did a lot of browsing and mumbled weird things the whole time like, "Ohhh, baloney dickens, I have to take this." I was fairly certain he was insane, in an friendly kind of way. He browsed for quite a while, taking two enormous loads of board games into the van.

Before leaving, he extemporized a no less than five-minute inspirational oration. Within the first 30 seconds, my head nearly exploded to think of how priceless this would have been if captured and placed on YouTube. I can't recall the whole thing, but it was far-reaching, deep, meaning-of-life kind of stuff -- no one really knows the inner you, your family is all you have, life is fragile. I think maybe he even quoted a Heart song at one point. Something about planting a seed and creating new life.

In the end, we had a pile of stuff leftover about 8 feet wide, 5 feet deep, and 5 feet tall. So, we called the local Veterans association, which picks up second-hand items to resell. They came and looked it all over. Oddly, they only took about 90% of it. Among the items they left: the breadmaker, a pair of perfectly good hockey skates, miscellaneous board games and books, a wooden chair.

One more weekend of work and cleaning, and I think we're ready to list our home, now thankfully a bit lighter and less cluttered than it was. Maybe we should keep the breadmaker and have it running when people are looking at the house? They say certain smells help sell homes.

A Private Message to a Certain Polish Reader

2008-08-13T09:16:00.001-05:00

Polski Czytelnik -

Wy chorzy *fuck*! nie mogę uważać was przeglądaliście do mojego położenia od *frigging* Polska (polski) po prostu (dopiero co) spojrzenie na obrazy *mannequins*. Sprawiać przyjemność (proszę) zajmują się waszym *kielbasa* w innym miejscu, *sicko*!

Z poważaniem,

*Patrick Hillman*

Selected "Jumping" Photos

2008-08-12T15:09:00.001-05:00

I just vaporized several paragraphs of shoddy prose in order to present you with something I find considerably more interesting in some abstract way. It turns out there are no less than 18 million photos online that describe the act of jumping. Now, 17,999,980 of them are absolute shite. But, I've selected 20 of the decent ones (IMHO) for your viewing pleasure. See if it doesn't brighten your day a skosh...

ROOF JUMPING:

KID JUMPING:

BABY JUMPING (sport):

JUMPING FOX:

JUMPING ARMADILLO:

JUMPING BEATLES:

JUMPING JACK:

JUMPING MARILYN:

JUMPING DONKEY:

JUMPING ASIAN GIRLS:

JUMPING COW:

JUMPING ZEBRA:

JUMPING GOAT:

JUMPING DOG (over fire):

JUMPING SUMO WRESTLER:

"JUMPING CAT" MONASTERY:

JUMPING FROG:

JUMPING STILTS:

JUMPING DOG (not over fire):

NAKED BUNGEE JUMPING:

Just FYI

2008-08-11T08:33:00.001-05:00

I'm wearing the Horn Dog Enterprises (HDE) official logo-polo today. I feel like such a dork.

Drooling Over Condi

2008-08-07T10:25:00.001-05:00

As you may have seen today, Yahoo News has clips of an interview between a Politico.com reporter and Condi Rice. Now, I've publicly admitted my own borderline-unhealthy fascination with Condi (and even, as some longtime readers might recall, brought you along on an unfortunately unsuccessful imaginary date with our sexy Secretary of State). However, I did not publicly drool over the woman. I mean, did you see that screen-grab (above)? That's real, undoctored saliva on the man's chin -- it's not like there's a "slobber" filter in Photoshop, you know? For Christ's sake, man, contain yourself!

One thing's for sure... I better land a six-figure job out in California once I'm all settled there. If drooling men can interview Condi, then dammit, I should be able to land a decent position somewhere.

Egyptologists-R-Cool

2008-08-06T13:16:00.001-05:00

From today's news story about DNA testing mummies:

"Hawass said the program could help determine Tutankhamun's family lineage, which has long been a source of mystery among Egyptologists."

I think it was just a case of bad luck for me -- a long, pathetic string of it. But, throughout all of my schooling, no one ever provided career advice. Or, even if they did and I'm just failing to recall it, I'm still 99% certain that no one ever mentioned "Egyptologist" as a career option. Damn, that would've been a cool job, too -- completely worth doing just to have that on my business card: "Patrick Hillman, Egyptologist."

Forgot to mention...

2008-08-05T11:12:00.001-05:00

Julia (aka "the Jooge") turned 1 yesterday. She's huge now, and 99% potty trained (thank God!).

Last Week's Lame Joke Explained

2008-08-04T08:34:00.001-05:00

"Though little is known about Lincoln's rumored Italian (!) ancestry (maternal lineage), fringe genealogists claim to have traced the Anana clan clear back to Palermo. True or not, it is said that the mere thought of what could have been haunted our 16th president throughout his adulthood."

See, "what could have been" haunted Lincoln because, had he been born with the (Italian sounding but totally fictitious) surname "Anana," he would have been "Abe Anana" (a banana). I told you it was a stupid joke!

Did I mention my "BS" degree in American History?

2008-08-01T10:19:00.001-05:00

Though my sister-in-law seriously doubts the truth behind my wee-hours trip to the Lincoln Presidential Library and Museum in Springfield, Illinois, a while back, I wanted to reveal yet another surprising artifact of Americana secretly gleaned during that adventure.

I'll warn you: It's somewhat heady, esoteric, silly, and brief. But, here it is, in the form of an excerpt from my yet-to-be-penned biography (because, let's face it, Lincoln's life is completely shrouded in mystery and almost nothing substantive has been written about him):

"Though little is known about Lincoln's rumored Italian (!) ancestry (maternal lineage), fringe genealogists claim to have traced the Anana clan clear back to Palermo. True or not, it is said that the mere thought of what could have been haunted our 16th president throughout his adulthood."

Hey, what do you want from me? It's Friday, after all. (And YOU!, yes YOU -- you know who you are. Please don't make me explain it. It's far too lame.)

Sometimes it's the small things in life...

2008-07-31T08:48:00.000-05:00

Returning to my desk a few days ago, I took a rare detour via the office vending machines. I'm not a regular vending machine patron, but like to do a bit of window shopping from time to time. Keeps office life interesting...

Anyway, I noticed something amiss. A bag of Muncho's had lodged itself rather precariously between the glass and the spiral chip-holding mechanism from whence it sprung. Must've frustrated the holy hell out of someone.

I gave the glass a tap. The bag seemed loose to me, but not enough to dislodge via light shaking alone. Besides, with my luck, the vending machine has some sort of "tilt" function that alerts the authorities if you get too violent.

Then I noticed a lone bag of Cheetos about four rungs higher in the machine. It seemed to me that, if one were to purchase the Cheetos, the falling bag would gain sufficient velocity to dislodge the Munchos. But, I had a problem: no change on me at the time.

So, I returned to my part of the office and flagged down an HDE consultant. After I laid out my evil plan, he offered to go in for half on the venture. We each dug 30 cents out of our desk drawers and headed straight to the vending area.

The situation remained unchanged. He immediately realized the opportunity presented to us by the junk-food pantheon. At first, he questioned the physics. Would the Cheetos in fact collide with the Munchos? Or, would we be better off going for a bag of potato chips positioned to the *left* of the Cheetos?

Ultimately, he came to see it my way: It must be the Cheetos. So we each ponied up our 30 cents and he let me do the honors. I hit A-2.

We watched it uncoil. Let the chips fall where they may, I thought to myself... I tell you, it was a beautiful thing. The Cheetos crashed powerfully, gloriously, into the Munchos, sending both of the painfully unfulfilling 1-ounce bags into the retrieval bin at the bottom.

We jumped for joy and high-fived each other. It was pretty cool.

If Katy Perry Were a Traditional Poet

2008-07-29T14:42:00.001-05:00

"Hug me, kiss me, suck my juices
Squeezed from goblin fruits for you,
Goblin pulp and goblin dew.
Eat me, drink me, love me;
Laura, make much of me."

~ from Goblin Market by Christina Rossetti

I always found Christina Rossetti's poetry rather ... um ...stimulating. Yes, that's the word. But, she may be nothing compared with the current honorary poet laureate of pop, Katy Perry.

Now, in the interests of full disclosure, I must admit finding it somewhat difficult to poke fun at a woman who clearly bears a significant resemblance to the luscious Zooey Deschanel, on whom your humble writer-friend here has a desperate crush. However, I can't help imagining the chorus of Perry's hit song recast in free verse. See what you Vogons think of this:

Shall I describe how I caressed her?
How I greedily wallowed
in forbidden Sapphic pleasure?
O how her lip balm haunts my tortured soul.
The cherry... the fleshy, blood-filled drupes
That I suckled wantonly, an
experiment in emotional aversion
gone awry -- for it sated an
inner hunger previously unknown
by me or by my lover, whose reaction
I anticipate, not with apprehension
but with the sweetest apathy of new liberation,
for what I'd previously thought taboo
I now find an irresistible decadence,
a carnal indulgence outside
the realm of spiritual love.
Shall I describe how I caressed her?
How I greedily wallowed
in forbidden Sapphic pleasure?

(Uh, an explanatory link for those unfamiliar.)

Is it really "gay" to drink decaf?

2008-07-29T09:33:00.001-05:00

Ed Begley Jr, the IT Guy here at Horn Dog Enterprises (HDE), walked into my office yesterday and, true to the Tao of HDE (meaning, ignoring any sense of professionalism at all), proudly stated his disgust with the "homo coffee around here." When I asked what "homo coffee" was, he simply replied, "decaf."

I said, "Wait a minute, you're always drinking raspberry-flavored mocha, hazelnut coffee, strawberry-scented javas..."

He chuckled. "Yeah, but those are all full-strength [caffeinated] coffees."

"Oh, so if a coffee is full-strength -- even if it's fruit flavored and doctored up with Cremora add and that bourgeois(*) designer sugar -- then it's 'less gay'," I said, making quote marks in the air, "in your book than a straight cup of decaf?"

Without hesitation: "Definitely."

So, there you have it, my friends. Decaf is apparently the gayest coffee available, according to Ed Begley, Jr.

__________

(*) Note: I didn't actually say "bourgeois" during the conversation. However, during my mental play-back, it seems I meant to.

I did mention my English degree, right?

2008-07-28T13:11:00.001-05:00

According to a news story today, McCain has started trashing Obama's character. A brief clip:

The Democrat's Achilles' heel in this model is an inchoate sense among some voters that the new arrival on the national stage with the unusual biography — who's the first black nominee from either party — isn't American enough.

Well, I'm no political pundit, but I did want to make one thing clear: I totally knew what the word "inchoate" meant in that sentence. Yep, didn't even have to look it up. I'm a writer, see? I know words. All of them. If Shakespeare were alive, he'd say, "Forsooth, that guy knows some serious-ass words." So, as soon as I saw that bad-ass MF-er, I thought to myself, "in-chote... yes, that's an adjective meaning to be inside of some chote ... no, no, wait a minute, there's no such thing as chote. What was I thinking? That's so stupid. It's inch-oat, another adjective, meaning to resemble an oat, only larger, like, to the scale of one inch. Yep, that's got to be it."

So, yeah, I totally knew that word. I absolutely did not have to refer to my American Heritage Dictionary, to the entry between inching and inchworm, which offers the pronunciation in-KO-it, meaning "initial or early stage." Glad I'm so smart. Just thought you'd like to know...

Fun Stories from HR

2008-07-23T09:41:00.001-05:00

I've been, and remain, too busy to blog this week. But, I couldn't help taking a quick moment to pass along this wonderful cover letter from today's mailbag. This is one of my all-time favorites. Enjoy!

I am [Joe Smith] and I am a recent graduate of [a local] College with a Bachelors of Science in [well, apparently not spelling -- read on...]. I would like to apply for an position with [Horn Dog Enterprises]. My resume and cover letter is attacked. Thank you for your time.

I love it!

Misc. Grammar Jokes from the Net

2008-07-18T11:27:00.001-05:00

Here are some miscellaneous grammar-related jokes culled from all over the place. Thought y'all writers would enjoy...

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

What's the difference between a cat and a comma?
One has claws at the end of its paws and one is a pause at the end of a clause.

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

A Texan professor and an Oxford professor are chilling at a conference bar. The Texan professor, bored, looks to the Oxford professor and strikes up a conversation. "So there partner, where y'all from?" Oxford prof. replies, pushing his glasses to his nose: "Well, in reply to your query, I hail from Oxford. In addition, where I come from, we never end our sentences in a preposition." The Texan prof. blinks once, shrugs his shoulders and drawls, "My apologies! What I mean to say is 'where y'all from, asshole?'"

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

Q: What's another name for Santa's elves?
A: Subordinate Clauses

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A linguistics professor was lecturing to his class one day. "In English," he said, "A double negative forms a positive. In some languages, though, such as Russian, a double negative is still a negative. However, there is no language wherein a double positive can form a negative." A voice from the back of the room piped up, "Yeah, right."

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

The teacher asked the little girl if she was going to the Maypole dance. "No, I ain't going," was the reply. The teacher corrected the child: "You must not say, 'I ain't going,' you must say, 'I am not going.' " And she added to impress the point: "I am not going. He is not going. We are not going. You are not going. They are not going. Now, dear, can you say all that?" The little girl nodded and smiled brightly. "Sure!" she replied. "They ain't nobody going."

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

Teacher: "Josephine, give me a sentence beginning with I."

Josephine: "I is ..."
Teacher: "No, Josephine. It's always 'I am...' "
Josephine: "OK. I am the ninth letter of the alphabet."

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

Harry is getting along in years and finds that he is unable to perform sexually. He finally goes to his doctor who tries a few things, but nothing seems to work. So the doctor refers him to an American Indian medicine man. The medicine man says, "I can cure this." That said, he throws a white powder in a flame, and there is a flash with billowing blue smoke. Then he says, "This is powerful medicine. You can only use it once a year. All you have to do is say '123,' and it will rise for as long as you wish" The guy asks, "What happens when I don't want to continue?" The medicine man replies: "All you or your partner has to say is 1234, and it will go down. But be warned - it will not work again for another year."

Harry rushes home, eager to try out his new powers and prowess. That night he is ready to surprise Joyce. He showers, shaves, and puts on his most exotic shaving lotion. He gets into bed, and lying next to her says, "123." He suddenly becomes more aroused than any previous time in his life - just as the medicine man had promised. Joyce, who had been facing away, turns over and asks, "What did you say 123 for?"

(And now you know why you shouldn't end a sentence with a preposition.)

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

Q: What goes zzub, zzub?

A: A bee flying backwards.

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

When I was a kid, my English teacher looked my way and said, "Name two pronouns." I said, "Who, me?"

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

Memory Flash

2008-07-16T21:50:00.001-05:00

This morning, I put on my socks -- a normal, unremarkable activity most days. But today, for whatever reason, the socks were unusually comfortable. It reminded me of an old friend, J, who was something of a sock connoisseur. We went somewhere once... could have been New York City. Wherever it was, I guess we came across a sock salesman on the street. We each bought a few pairs because they looked decent and were cheap.

While still out that afternoon, J urged me to join him in trying on the new socks. I think maybe he had some kind of sock habit or something -- liked to change his socks multiple times per day or something. I'm not sure, really. But, just like it was yesterday, I recall his looking at me after we'd gotten into our new socks. "Isn't that refreshing?" he asked, quite seriously.

I'd never really thought about it (changing one's socks mid-day) much before. But, upon reflection, I said, "You know, it really IS." It was as though I'd learned a secret that few people knew. We kind of just laughed and enjoyed our pleasant foot sensations...

Still, I didn't pick up the habit. But sometimes new socks really do feel good.

Northern CA Employment = Fish in a Barrel

2008-07-15T15:31:00.001-05:00

[I wasn't going to post this at all, as it's entirely too upbeat for the brooding blogosphere. I feared it may cause some sort of widespread implosion. However, just as I was hitting the delete key, there was an exciting update to the story that pushed it into a "whole nutha" layer of optimistic absurdity. Which of course renders it insane, and therefore suitable once again for blogcake baking, as Twist-o-Lemon might phrase it.]

So, I had a preliminary phone interview for a marketing role in San Jose. I think I made the first cut, but the l-o-n-g selection process sounded like something from a reality TV program like The Apprentice -- or maybe The Mole. The salary issue came up (though I'd hoped it wouldn't so early-on). But, dear reader, I'm happy to say that (1) I won and (2) I learned a new line of corporate-speak in the process.

Let's start with item #1 -- "I won." In most salary discussions, if the applicant mentions a salary first, that applicant is usually going to "lose" the negotiation. Simple game theory, really... In other words, if the company rep asks, "What are you looking for?" and you respond, "$50,000," then he or she may simply nod and say "that's acceptable" while the range might have gone up to, say, $75,000. So, by answering, you lost $25,000. See what I mean? (Now, I could outline a situation in which it's favorable to put your number out there first, but I'll keep this brief for the sake of readability -- uh, not that that's usually a concern here.)

So, I definitely won today. After a few volleys of verbal ping-pong, the recruiter broke down and let the cat out of the bag. "They're looking at mid-80s," she reluctantly divulged. Ummmm, yeah, right. You did see that mega-$$$-graph I posted the other day, right? (Scroll down, if not, to view the mega-salaries of Northern CA marketers.)

But fear not... Hillman was prepared; armed, even. He whipped out industry-specific salary data, local housing sales trends, charts, graphs, statistics, pornography (wait a minute, he didn't whip any of that out -- where'd that come from anyway?) ... oh, and a bad-ass attitude: "I'd need at least hundred as a base," he uttered, cool as a breezy night in the Valley. "My resume easily backs that number up."

Now, that might sound a little insane to some. After all, mid-80s is nothing to sneeze at. In Pittsburgh, you can purchase a small mansion for that sum, complete with a butler (not a very good butler, mind you, but a butler all the same). But you have to remember that I'm talking with an enormous company -- hundreds and hundreds of millions of dollars per year in revenues -- based in one of the most costly zip codes in the country. So, what's another 15k or so to them, really? It's chump change. Hell, I probably undersold myself.

Anyway, a slight pause... "I'll take it to them," the recruiter responded, decidedly. "There's room." Note the psychology behind our interaction. She had at that point actively decided to back me, even though I surpassed their range by more than 17%. She's going to sell me, in other words -- which is fantastic. If I'd have stated my salary requirement first, I'm not sure it would have been as easy to gain such an evangelist.

Anyway, on to #2, a new corporate-speak line I hadn't previously heard. "Where are you at [salary-wise] now?" she'd asked, earlier. Now, I never answered. It's tough not to answer this question, of course. But, if you spew BS for a living, you can tap dance around it. The last thing I'm going to do is divulge my Pittsburgh salary when my goal is to obtain a San Jose one, you know?!

And anyway, salary history is irrelevant. I'm telling you that after having had to learn this lesson time and MF-ing time again. Salary history is always irrelevant -- so don't tell! Okay?! (Um, unless you're telling strangers on the blogosphere. But, definitely don't mention it during an interview.)

After some light bickering on this issue, she said, "We would only really need to know your current salary for integrity verification purposes" (implying it would not be used against me in the negotiation process -- yeah, right).

But "integrity verification"? Wow, that's a new one on me. I mean, it's so deliciously evil, right? I bet 99 out of 100 people are destroyed upon hearing that one. "Wow," they must say, feeling their integrity suddenly on trial, "since you put it that way, my salary is $28,642 -- oh, and 28 cents! Wanna see my 1040??!!!" Instead, I said, "Look, if you need to verify my integrity, I'll pass along any number of personal references." She finally dropped it. But later, as I said, she caved anyway.

So, I have someone selling me at $100,000. Not bad for just putting my toes in the water, eh? Still, it's not $172,000 (or whatever that ungodly figure was I quoted the other day). Oh, and btw, I crunched the numbers. If you're making $100k, California is cheaper than Pittsburgh -- even including gas and housing costs. They have $100k jobs there, like, out the wazoo.

And now for the absurd update: So this recruiter calls her compadre and says, "Hey, I'm peddling this guy. See what else we might have for him." The compadre calls me and says, "Hey Hillman, I got this role exactly the same as the one you just talked to the other recruiter about -- a marketing position on the peninsula paying low 100s. Want me to represent you?" Ummm, hellz yea, bro!

I swear, it's almost too easy. I should have moved there ages ago.

The Downieville Gold Rush Anvil Launch

2008-07-14T08:50:00.002-05:00

A little vid for my Idahoan friend Jim B. Enjoy all 24 glorious seconds:

Honeywell's Slimy Marketing

2008-07-10T14:04:00.000-05:00

Thought I'd share a "slimy marketing" story with y'all this afternoon (short version - I promise!). See what you think...

So, I'm in the kitchen painting the other night and hear a knock at the front door. There's a guy with a clipboard and a large folder in his hands. He's from a local alarm company (representing the Honeywell brand -- Honeywell logo on his shirt, etc.). Anyway, he'd like to talk to me about alarm systems.

"Not interested," I interrupted.

"But wait," rather insistently, "I'm NOT here to sell you an alarm system."

"Then what DO you want?"

"We're just out casually talking to some of your neighbors about a promotion we're doing. We want to install alarm systems in your neighborhood for free."

Now, I won't bore you too much with the rest of the story because you and I both know he's full of shit (oh, and I *told* him so, in no uncertain terms). But here's what kind of pissed me of about the whole thing: A few weeks back, our neighborhood experienced a rare break-in, setting off a police report and certainly some degree of panic among the elder residents.

So, clearly, what Honeywell representative companies do (at least in Pittsburgh, but possibly across the nation) is actively monitor public police records for break-in activity, and then dispatch troops to fear-monger in those neighborhoods. Way to go, Honeywell! That's brilliant marketing. (Should I have just decked the guy?)

Fake Skulls

2008-07-09T13:40:00.000-05:00

D'ja read that front-page headline today on Yahoo!? Three museums' crystal skulls have turned out to be fakes! Ha ha, what losers. MY crystal skull is 100% authentic!

Posts I Never Finished, Volume 12

2008-07-09T11:48:00.000-05:00

Ever watch videos on Yahoo? They're all sponsored by Dunkin' Donuts (their new logo/branding shown above). "America," it reads, "runs on Dunkin' Donuts." In other words, Dunkin' Donuts are now being sold as a health food (running = healthy). Strangely (and, this may come as a surprise to some), the nutritional info from their web site doesn't seem exactly healthy.

Hillman = Cave Dweller

2008-07-08T16:09:00.001-05:00

Man, sometimes I feel SO painfully out of the loop. For example, just last week, I found out that Journey has a new lead singer -- and it's some dude (sort of an Asian Steve Perry doppleganger) they found on frickin YouTube! Now, I suspect there are likely some purists out there who probably hate the guy just on spec, but damn, he sounds pretty good to me. (BeckEye, what's your take?) I'm not a HUGE Journey fan, but their 70s album Infinity has been on my regular rotation since probably the mid 1980s.

Nothing else to talk about today. I've been busy remodeling the Hillman estate (pictured above) in preparation for sale, and learning Cascading Style Sheets (CSS) in my spare time. The final remodeling is going well, if not for a few setbacks. Anyone ELSE here ever dropped a gallon of paint down the stairs? Yeah, that wasn't exactly pleasant. Anytime you're having a bad day, just say to yourself, "Well, Hillman dropped a gallon of paint down the steps in his living room, so my situation could probably be worse."

You're welcome...

-PH

Bright Future in San Jose?

2008-07-07T15:14:00.001-05:00

The above graphic may not interest you as much as it interests me, but I'll explain it anyway. It shows the "basic" compensation numbers for a "marketing director" (pretty much my exact title for the past 7 years) based in San Jose, CA (which is very near one of the possible places my family and I may end up after our RV adventure later this year). Of the places we've read and learned about, we all seem to like the Los Gatos area quite a lot. (We'll have to visit and explore near there, naturally, before settling. But, the area does seem to offer what we're looking for.)

Anyway, let's get back to the chart. The median base salary for a marketing director there is $170k -- that's according to Salary.com. As a resident of Pittsburgh (a majorly -- no, severely -- depressed market), it's particularly tough for me to process numbers like that. But, for now, let's assume the figure is real. After all, that's roughly $85/hour (based on 2,000 hours/year). And, $85 hour isn't completely out of my notion of reality. I mean, I've earned $100+/hr many, many times when doing sideline web design, marketing, PR consulting, etc. But, I've never come near that kind of dough full-time.

So, for a guy like me, it'd be officially a "shitload" of cash. In all my years of writing, I doubt I could come up with a better description: $170,000 is a shitload of money (to me). It sets up a strange scenario, though. If I DO manage to get myself into some sort of negotiation with a big corporation there, it seems some creativity will be necessary. "Well, sure, $150,000 is a fine first offer, but I'd really like to see $175,000." Hmmm, could I really say that with a straight face?

Maybe I Told This Tale Already...

2008-07-03T13:41:00.000-05:00

...but, I was home today for lunch & heard the great Fountains of Wayne hit "Stacey's Mom," and that triggered a few memories. The first is the story of a woman in my office (here at Horn Dog Enterprises -- HDE) who walked around the entire place one day many years back asking everyone to vote for her in the WDVE (a local classic rock station) "MILF Contest." Gentleman that I am, I took her aside and asked if she knew what MILF meant. She didn't. It was a little awkward for a week or so thereafter (even for HDE).

Anyway, in the tune, you get the feeling that the speaker is basically a young man, probably of high school age, who finds himself enamoured with "Stacey's Mom," right? I would argue that this is the usual / traditional sense of the acronym MILF -- spoken by a young man about someone's mother. That's kind of an important distinction because, technically speaking, "MILF" could be uttered by anyone of any age about any attractive woman who has borne a child. And, of course it's a subjective descriptor; a MILF to me may not be a MILF to you. But, again, I think it's safe to call it a young man's term.

It's also pretty much solely a guy thing (e.g., there being no equivalent term "DILF"), although MILF could technically be applied in a lesbian context (though I've never heard it used that way -- which, btw, would make interesting blog fodder).

As defined above, I never found myself in situation in which the term MILF would have been applicable. And, as I'm now clinging desperately to my late 30s, I suppose the window of opportunity has long passed for the proper use of that term. But I do vividly recall one MILF, at least as far as some of my friends were concerned.

There's a guy who reads this blog sometimes called Denn The Hunter (referred to in my book, Tales of the Midwest as Alec Baldwin). Quite a few young men had a crush on Mrs. Baldwin -- especially a guy called Hero in my book. I was probably the only guy, aside from the Baldwin brothers, who didn't think of Mrs. Baldwin as a MILF, and that's probably only because I spent so much time at their house, she was kind of like a mother to me (or, well, maybe an aunt or something).

But Hero was so delusional about his MILF crush (and probably other things) that I think he actually believed he had a shot with Mrs. Baldwin. Once when we were 16 or 17, I recall him vocalizing a decision one day: "I'm gonna lay one on her," he'd said. That was typical Hero stuff, of course. I don't think he ever did, thankfully.

Happy 4th of July. See you next week!

Does anyone else ever feel ...

2008-07-02T08:43:00.001-05:00

... that if CraigsList completely disappeared from the face of the Earth, we'd all be better off?

Failed Hollywood Merchandising Efforts, Vol. 1

2008-06-30T09:05:00.001-05:00

"The High School Musical Framing Nailer"

(This post should be considered a meme. Consider yourself tagged if you feel so moved.)

Will Return Next Week

2008-06-24T06:50:00.002-05:00

Hmmm. Blogger didn't post my last two posts. I guess something's screwy.

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2008-06-24T05:59:00.000-05:00

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Comic Book Advice Sought

2008-06-23T22:44:00.000-05:00

Wow, am I busy! I'm totally overextended these days, prepping my house for sale, decluttering, selling off possessions, etc. Quick question for any comic book aficionados on the blogosphere: Is anything in the following list worth anything? I'm thinking of doing a bulk sale on eBay or CraigsList (e.g., $20 takes all, or some such nonsense), but don't want to just "give away" anything of particular value. So, here are the comic books I found in my basement. Assume VG+ condition on everything.

MARVEL COMICS

X-Factor (1985), #1 (3 copies), 2-8, 10-13, 15-16

The West Coast Avengers (1985), #1-19, 21

The Avengers (1986), #264-272, 274-278

Cloak & Dagger (1985), #1-7

Web of Spider Man (1985), #5,6, 8-14, 17

Elf Quest (1985), #1, 3-5

New Mutants (1986) #38

Nick Fury Shield (1984) #2

The Vision and the Scarlet Witch (1986), #6-9 (from the 12-issue limited series)

Peter Parker the Spectacular Spider Man (1985) #100

Dakota North Investigations (1986), #1-2

The Further Adventures of Indiana Jones (1983) #9, 15, 34

Kazar the Savage (1981) #1,4,5,6,14

The Sword of Solomon Kane (1985) #1-6 (6-issue limited series)

Conan the Barbarian (1985) #174-181, plus a "giant-sized annual #10"

The Gargoyle (1985), #1,2,4 (from a limited series)

Lords of the Ultra Realm (1986) #1

Legionnaires(1985) #3

EPIC

Epic Magazine, Feb. 1986

Timespirits (1984) #2,4,5

Starstruck (1985) #5

OTHER

Modern Comics (1977) Ghostly Haunts #40

As you can tell, I've been away from comics for 20 years, so I'm totally out of the loop. Suppose I could eBay them individually... but if anyone knows right off the bat that something should be kept from the "$20 takes all eBay list," please let me know! I should add that I've saved out just a few of my faves, most notably one limited series that totally rocked my world back then. It was called Moonshadow, with absolutely breathtaking art by Jon J. Muth. Here's a look at the first cover from the series:

My Next Hobby

2008-06-17T13:50:00.003-05:00

I hope this video embed works, as I'm not able to check from work. Anyway, this is my new favorite sport -- kite jumping. Once my house sells, I'm going to take about $400 and buy a huge-ass "power kite" and learn how to do this. According to my limited research so far, I think I'll buy a quad-line kite, as opposed to the 2-line model these kids are using. What do you think of this one? My favorite feature is how you have to sign a liability release to even purchase one!

Since I'll be a novice, I'm also planning to buy some rope and tether myself to the ground until I get the hang of it. Wouldn't want to get totally blown away on my first outing, right?

Cat Colony Saved with Desperate Phone Call

2008-06-16T14:45:00.001-05:00

Things came to an ugly head at the Hillman compound last week. In as-yet-unreported news, our feral cat colony has expanded (as cat colonies are prone to do). What started as a couple of wild kitties has blossomed into a family of six. To any normal person, this is a complete disaster. However, to my daughter, this was a wonderful development.

As soon as we found out about the kittens, we started having serious talks about spaying the females ASAP! (That's the best practice, by the way -- spay the females & you don't get more kittehs. The males, quite luckily, avoid neutering.)

With preparations already in motion to fix up / sell the house and then head off to the west coast, this cute cat colony had culminated in a complex conundrum. Pretty bad, right?

Well, it gets worse. Ages ago, I introduced the real-life inspiration for one of my favorite fictional evil character inventions, "Mrs. Pipistrello"(*). Well, Mrs. Pipistrello saw said kitties and went hysterical on my daughter. Threats were uttered, harsh words spoken, dirty glances exchanged. Then, my daughter noticed a mysterious white powder lining Mrs. Pipistrello's back porch. Yep, it seemed the ol' crank intended to poison the colony.

Action was required. So, I picked up the phone and called out to a nearby horse barn at which my daughter used to ride. I asked for the owner (a guy I'd never met) and then explained the situation.

"You called at the right time," he said. "We could use a family of cats here at the barn. As long as you fix the girl cats, we'll take 'em all." He added that, not only could they live peacefully in the barn, but that all of the riders who frequent the place usually treat the barn cats extra special -- bringing them food & treats all the time.

I'd say the odds of a satisfactory resolution to this problem were about 6.5 million to 1. The odds of addressing it via a single, on-a-whim phone call were incalculable. But, there it is. Cat problem solved. Q.E.D.

(*) Just as a footnote: In my fiction writing, I allow a few characters to pop up in various, otherwise unrelated works. This particular lady was the inspiration for "Mrs. Pipistrello" who first appears in my NaNoWriMo novella, "Pirates of Pamlico Sound" (available for download along the right side of my blog). In real life, this woman's Italian. The word pipistrello is Italian for bat, (as in, she's an old bat). Also, I should note in fairness that, upon the resolution of this problem, Mrs. Pipistrello claimed that the white powder was some kind of detergent that she'd reportedly heard cats do not like. So, her excuse was basically "cat repellent." Um-hmm... Like I'm buying that.

Posts I Never Finished, Volume 11

2008-06-12T09:07:00.001-05:00

So, you know that excellent Norah Jones tune, "Don't Know Why I Didn't Come"?

[As I said, I never finished this post. It was going in a direction that was, IMHO, too lewd for even this blog. Better to just leave this one alone, I think. I hope I didn't just ruin that tune for anyone, btw.]

Posts I Never Finished, Volume 10

2008-06-12T08:56:00.001-05:00

This one was entitled simply, "The BATFSDR"

You know the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco & Firearms? I was thinking... Why stop there? If they really wanted to have a kick-ass bureau, they'd call it the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, Sex, Drugs, and Rock & Roll. (Did you see that dude's ATF hat?)

Tango Tuesday

2008-06-10T14:34:00.001-05:00

Wouldn't "Tango Tuesday" be a great feature? Shouldn't we ALL tango on Tuesdays, really? Anyway, today I thought I'd mix things up a bit. Instead of posting my usual obnoxious brand of scatalogical humor, I thought I'd post a small treasure I unearthed while cleaning out the dark and mysterious area below my desk at home.

I came across an old piece of sheet music I'd purchased ages ago in an antique store. Looked to be mid-1920s, though there was no date listed. Complicating matters, all of the text is in Spanish. But, I loved the cover photo (which, naturally, I forgot to scan for this post -- sorry). So, I ponied up the 50 cents and bought the piece.

Technically, I'm not sure if it qualifies as a tango, even though it's subtitled, Tango Cancion. If I'm not mistaken, the rhythmic ostinati of a classical "tango" is something on the order of ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR-AND, ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR-AND, etc. A habanera, on the other hand, is more ONE (and two) AND THREE (and) FOUR (and), ONE (and two) AND THREE (and) FOUR (and) -- think Bizet's famous Carmen.

In any case, this habanera-styled tune's called "Jurame" (click to go listen to it). In Spanish, that would sound something like HOOR-uh-may. It means (I now know, after Googling) "Promise Me." Since I'm a huge fan of the habanera, I typed it into my notation program for your listening pleasure. (The link above is the resulting midi file.) I even notated the arpeggiated notes as 32nds or 64ths, depending on the situation, and added some pedaling. Came out pretty nice.

After typing it all in, I naturally began to wonder who wrote it. (There's no mention of an author on the sheet!) If you like the piece, here's some slightly edited composer bio info from the web (sorry, I forgot to save the source URL):

Maria Grever (1884-1951) was an early star of Mexican music. Born in Guanajuato, she studied in Europe with Claude Debussy and Franz Lehar (of Merry Widow fame) and eventually found her way to New York. "Jurame" ("Promise Me"), composed in the mid-1920s, was her first real success, though she would go on to compose over 800 other ballads, including "Te quiero dijiste" (another favourite of operatic stars).

800 ballads! Holy habanero peppers, batman. Interesting to note the romantic influence there as well. Makes perfect sense, right? I'll have to scan the sheet music cover picture, as it may be Grever there. The only other pic I could find on the web (pasted below) seems to be from her later years. Enjoy the midi.

Posts I Never Finished, Volume 9

2008-06-09T15:08:00.001-05:00

This one was entitled, simply, "Handy Guide to Visiting St. Louis, Missouri"

To recap: safely visiting St. Louis requires remembering nothing more than 50 geographical facts you already know -- your state names. If you find yourself on or near a street that includes a state name, remember this handy tip: GET THE FUCK AWAY ASAP OR YOU WILL GET MUGGED.

Posts I Never Finished, Volume 8

2008-06-06T22:14:00.001-05:00

I used to be a pro at rationalizing junk food. For example, I used to argue that partially hydrogenated vegetable oil probably wasn't so bad for you. It just seemed like there must have been a fully hydrogenated version out there somewhere that was much worse.

Posts I Never Finished, Volume 7

2008-06-06T22:09:00.001-05:00

This was in my "drafts" folder, too. It was simply entitled "Grapes." Must've been from my minimalist period.

Clinton / Obama, Unplugged

2008-06-06T16:12:00.001-05:00

Today, the Associated Press reported that Clinton & Obama met .... drum roll please ... WITHOUT AIDES!!!!! WOW, that's amazing news! THANKS, AP!!! You guys ROCK!!! By the way, here are some other things they did, ALL COMPLETELY WITHOUT AIDES:

* Barack rose at one point, grabbed a Poland Spring bottled water from the fridge, and returned to the sofa.

* He proceeded to open the bottle (himself!) and pour the contents into a tumbler.

* Hillary then snatched the bottle and walked it to a nearby recycling bin (all by herself!).

* After Hillary's *second* Poland Spring (each one personally retrieved and opened!), it was reported that she excused herself to use the bathroom -- again, sans aides! When one aide reportedly offered to "help," Hillary said, "No thanks, I got this one."

The Buck Stops ... Where?

2008-06-06T13:08:00.001-05:00

This is Mike Garrison, currently the lame duck president of West Virginia University -- lame duck because he has announced his resignation over a scandal involving the doctoring of records. From the AP article:

Though an independent panel found there was no evidence of Garrison's interference, it was on his watch last fall that WVU administrators added courses and grades to [the governor's daughter's] incomplete transcript, awarding her a 1998 executive master's business of administration degree she'd been claiming on her resume.

I don't have much of a reason for caring about this story. Trust me, my proximity to West Virginia is pure coincidence. Probably, I'm just interested because the dude's my own age (39), and I wonder if I would have handled it better than he did. Hell, I wonder whether my dog could have done a better job... But, the story raises a few important business-philosophical questions:

1. To what extent should leaders accept responsibility for the actions of their subordinates?

2. How could Garrison have handled this situation better?

My own answers are admittedly offered in hindsight. But, for what they're worth:

1. Individuals need to bear the responsibility for their own actions. It is impossible for a leader (someone like Garrison, in charge of hundreds of faculty and thousands of students) to foretell the future or effectively monitor the behavior and actions of all those he oversees. However...

2. He certainly could have handled the situation better by (1) acting immediately, decisively, openly, and professionally, (2) immediately firing those responsible, (3) immediately revoking the bogus degree, and (4) authoritatively communicating his decisions to his board, his administration, the student body, the press, and the community. (Clearly, the problem here was the high-profile nature of the screw-up -- i.e., the governor's daughter! So, I suspect he attempted to bury this out of fear. He gambled; he lost.)

As a HR professional, I'd like to stress how this situation underscores the importance of understanding and defining one's responsibilities (in terms of one's role, one's authoritative boundaries, and one's accountability) prior to accepting a position. While you cannot foresee every potentially negative situation on the horizon, you can probably anticipate generally unexpected circumstances and outline a general response. This is the underlying rationale, for example, of corporate "disaster planning" (all the rage after 9/11).

It's also something I think about on a daily basis here at Horn Dog Enterprises -- defining the scope of our consulting engagements. (Business 101, really...) When you're entering into a business transaction, it's critical to get the other guy to sign off on the scope. That way, you're covered in case the scope changes. And it always changes. Garrison fucked that one up bigtime.

So, accountability is important. But something also smacks of the political here, IMHO -- a forum in which accountability is paradoxically linked with much of the ugliness in today's two-party system. Not that I advocate nonaccountability, of course. But, as an independent, I routinely observe a phenomenon I think of as "blame convenience" -- which is one party's tendency to push the blame directly to the other for each problem we face in the world. No matter what side you're on, it's painfully easy to track a political problem back to someone on the other side of the aisle. Some hypothetical examples:

Republican in the Oval Office when "Some Major Problem" Arises:

Democrat Response: The problem lies with the President because he's in charge -- and besides, all Republicans are idiots.

Republican Response #1: The problem lies with the current and/or previous Democratically controlled Congress.

Republican Response #2: The problem exists because of the previous Democratic administration's policies.

Democrat in the Oval Office when "Some Major Problem" Arises:

Republican Response: The problem lies with the President because he's in charge -- and besides, all Democrats are idiots.

Democrat Response #1: The problem lies with the current and/or previous Republican-controlled Congress.

Democrat Response #2: The problem exists because of the previous Republican administration's policies.

Let's say, for a moment, that there really IS no so-called cosmological first mover for many of our problems (or that maybe there is, but we're to remain hopelessly agnostic therein -- as they're too complex or too dynamic for human comprehension). They still, however, exist.

As such, you do have to kind of admire a guy like Harry Truman, who said, "Look, I'm the guy in charge here, now. So, no matter what happens or happened, it's me who you need to see about it -- at least on my watch." So, in my mind, the question is not, "Who's fault is it?" The question is: Who's in charge now and what is he or she doing about it? One might fairly ask that very question about the current economy.

Posts I Never Finished, Volume 6

2008-06-04T14:57:00.001-05:00

[Hmm, I'm not sure exactly what was going to follow this headline, but in the spirit of this collection of posts, I'm running it:]

"Today, I Wanna Give a Big BSUWG Shoutout to All my MFin' Readaz"

Posts I Never Finished, Volume 5

2008-06-04T14:53:00.000-05:00

The technical aspects of designing a social networking system are actually quite easy compared with the more policy-oriented ones. Even a huge blog system like Blogger is actually quite simplistic from a programming standpoint, using technology that has been around in one form or another since at least the mid-1990s. You have users, posts, and comments, mainly. Plus little bells and whistles here and there. But, the database part is actually a breeze. People write up their posts, you put those posts into a database table. That gets linked to a comments table. Etc. The whole of the blogosphere (at its core level) is really about 5 rather basic SQL statements, as I see it.

And, since people can post whatever the hell they want, both visually and in writing, that makes writing a blogging system even easier -- because, again, you have almost no rules to enforce via the programming code. But, get yourself into a more formal setting (say, for example, writing a blogging application for a professional association), and it's the editorial and other "policing" policies that start to drive you mad. You have to program them all in, at some point -- which means that, at some point, a computer programmer has to ponder about which exact swear words are allowable and which ones aren't. "Fuck" is probably a no-no, as is the c-word. But, what about "shit"? That's not too bad, right?

I created a little subroutine for my site called NastyArray. Basically, it works like this:

You dimension a variable big enough to hold as many offensive words as you want, and then you keep track of how many you have identified:

Dim nastyArray(50)
nastyArray(1) = "[imagine an awful word here]"
nastyArray(2) = "[imagine an awful word here]"
nastyArray(3) = "[imagine an awful word here]"
nastyArray(4) = "[imagine an awful word here]"
nastyArray(5) = "[imagine an awful word here]"
nastyArray(6) = "[imagine an awful word here]"
nastyArray(7) = "[imagine an awful word here]"
nastyArray(8) = "[imagine an awful word here]"
nastyArray(9) = "[imagine an awful word here]"

numberofNastys = 9

So, in that case, it's 9. Don't ask me to share them because that would take an entire post to explain my choices. They're worse than George Carlin's infamous list, though.

Anyway, whenever you have some text you need to scrub, you just call a little function I like to call NastyKiller, like so:

Function NastyKiller(result)
   For x = 1 to numberofNastys
      foundNasty = InStr(lcase(result), nastyArray(x))
         if foundNasty <> 0 then result = Replace(lcase(result),nastyArray(x),"[edited]")
   Next
   NastyKiller= result
End Function

Thus, this mother[edited]ing piece of [edited] of a blog post becomes family [edited]ing friendly.

Posts I Never Finished, Volume 4

2008-06-04T14:30:00.001-05:00

[I really don't know what in the hell I was thinking on this one, but it feels good to clean out my "drafts" folder, so I'm soldiering on...]

Dear Readers,

In an effort to purge unnecessary language from my life, I'm considering changing my standard business sign-off. Right now, it's:

Best regards,

-Patrick Hillman

However, I'm gravitating toward:

Best,

-PH

Posts I Never Finished, Volume 3

2008-06-04T14:26:00.001-05:00

Test Your Trivial Knowledge:
"This man is the host of Jeopardy."

Sure, you know his name... or do you? Is he:

a) Alex Trevec

b) Alec Trevec

c) Alex Trebec

d) Alec Trebec

[I suppose this one could have been considered "done," but I ultimately didn't post it because I thought it was pretty stupid. I'm probably the only person on earth who can never remember this dude's name. BTW, when searching for his picture, I noted some anti-Jeopardy sentiment among Canadians. They call him one of Canada's Unofficial National Treasures (which ain't a good thing if you're an acronym buff). However, since I'm NOT CANADIAN, I have no beef with the dude.]

ps Answer in the form of a question! "Who is...?"

Posts I Never Finished, Volume 2

2008-06-04T14:07:00.001-05:00

"Mahmoud Ahmadinejad:
President of Iran, Midnite Toker"

This post could almost be presented as "done" for blogging purposes. However, for the record, I gave up about half-way though trying to make the thin line of vertical smoke from Ahmadinejad's jay look realistic. The general haze turned out pretty good though, thanks to an excellent "add smoke using Photoshop" tutorial I found online here.

Posts I Never Finished, Volume 1

2008-06-03T23:30:00.001-05:00

[Sometimes I start writing posts, but grow painfully bored before finishing. I'm sorry I never completed this post, as Mr. Miller may have liked it. Instead of deleting it, though, I'll just post the body of it and let it end where it did. See if you get bored before I did...]

Carly Simon hit the Billboard charts with You're So Vain about 250 years ago. But, there was no blogosphere back then, so I'm not sure how many people have taken the time to examine the song in any kind of depth. For the record,she has never divulged the identity of the "vain" subject, though many speculate Warren Beatty.

The particular pop-cultural allure of this song seems to reside in the aforementioned speculation. (Warren Beatty? Mick Jagger? James Taylor?) The world may never know. But the more interesting aspect, IMHO, is this: While the song is generally known to be about someone who is particularly vain, there is actually little lyrical evidence to support the assertion. Let's look at the subject's actions as described in the song:

You walked into the party like you were walking onto a yacht

Your hat strategically dipped below one eye

Your scarf it was apricot

("Your scarf it was apricot?" What was she, Yoda?) Anyway, fifteen years ago, I'd probably have had a field day filtering that through some Marxist literary theories. For openers, I have to admit I cannot necessarily relate to the usual manner with which one might walk onto a yacht. "Walk" seems to me a weak choice for the action. Looking back, I see that this rather weak verb is used twice in that opening line. I'd forgotten the first instance of "walking" into "the party."

How does one walk onto a yacht? Carefully, I'd guess. (You wouldn't want to lose your balance.) But, of course, she didn't mean that. Perhaps she should have said "your yacht," which could have better implied the meaning she was after -- that of a wealthy tycoon. However, logically speaking, it doesn't necessarily follow that a wealthy tycoon is vain. I'm sure there are men and women occupying respectable slots on the Forbes 400 list who have self-image issues.

It should also be noted that neither strategically dipped hats nor apricot scarves are traditional hallmarks of vanity. The hat suggests a possible Walter Mitty syndrome and the scarf implies a certain flamboyance -- but not necessarily vanity. [Perhaps it was precisely, as Sturdy Girl suggested regarding my recent questionable use of cinnamon/clove soap, metrosexuality.]

I was starting to believe that there would be no evidence whatsoever of the subject's actual narcissism. However, Simon continues:

You had one eye on the mirror as you watched yourself gavotte

Alone, it's not an entirely poor line. However, in the context of a forced rhyme scheme (yacht, apricot, gavotte), its quality is reduced considerably. Still, I'll at least admit that it implies vanity. The question is: Now that Simon has actually put forth a statement to support her premise, will she sustain her momentum, or will she let it peter out with additional weak, unrelated observations?

And all the girls dreamed that they'd be your partner

They'd be your partner, and...

Well, aside from my affinity for the anapestic meter of "all the girls dreamed that they'd be your partner," there is once again a logical flaw in this statement in that it does not support Simon's thesis. If the women desired the subject, that might make him beautiful, but not necessarily vain.

You're so vain, you probably think this song is about you

You're so vain, I'll bet you think this song is about you

Don't you? Don't you?

I won't beat this part to death, as it's been done so since 1973. Quite obviously, there is a paradox here as the tune IS about the person. And, furthermore, believing a song is about oneself is not necessarily a narcissistic action. She has, after all, cited specific events already and will follow up with additional specifics.

Any normal person, vain or not, would draw this conclusion. It'd be like... well, if Carly's next tune contained the lyrics, "ooooo, you wrote on a blog called Blowing Shit Up with Gas, and you were obnoxious and talked out your ass, and your book Tales of the Midwest was really crass .... and you're so vain, you probably think this song is about you. Don't you?!!!! Don't you?!???!!!" Well, uh, yeah Carly, I think maybe it IS about me! But anyway...

You had me several years ago when I was still quite naive

Well you said that we made such a pretty pair

And that you would never leave

But you gave away the things you loved and one of them was me

Ahh, yes... Now we finally get to the brass tacks; what the tune really addresses (which isn't, it's quite clear, a vain man).

- - - - - - - - - - - - [insert abrupt ending] - - - - - - - - -

Okay, right here is the point at which I got bored, stopped writing, and almost deleted the piece -- which is kind of sad because I hadn't even had a chance to praise Simon for the one good line in the whole song:

I had some dreams, they were clouds in my coffee,
Clouds in my coffee, and...

Clearly that's the only really interesting line in the whole tune, right? Even Simon must have recognized that because she reiterates the words "clouds in my coffee." Poets use this reiteration device from time to time. Hell, I've done it myself. I've got a whole chapbook that I'll post someday... But, while a poet does it for effect, I had the feeling that Simon's use was more pitiful, as though she were writing a bunch of crap and then suddenly accidentally produced something interesting. The reiteration becomes not a purposeful, cadenced reflection, but rather a young woman excitedly shouting to the world, "Hey, look, a metaphor!!! I made a metaphor!"

Why yes, Carly, you did. My congratulations.

List of Moderately Gay Things I've Done Lately

2008-06-02T13:17:00.001-05:00

Since a few of my blogospheric acquaintances are gay, I thought I'd share this brief list of moderately gay things I've done lately. You'll have to be the judge as to whether I'm playing for the other team, as it were.

1. Found myself browsing the designer soap aisle at our local organic food co-op;

2. Selected a bar of cinnamon-clove scented soap;

(2a. It may have cost $2.99 or more... I forgot to look;)

3. Actually used said soap & liked the smell;

4. Considering not going back to Irish Spring for a while.

Admittedly, that's pretty powerful circumstantial evidence. But, I assure you it's all perfectly straight. I'd stay and defend myself further, but I have to run. I'm late for a pedicure.

Life @ Horn Dog Enterprises (HDE)

2008-05-30T10:24:00.002-05:00

One of the consultants at HDE walked into my office this morning to ask my opinion of a camcorder. "It's got a built-in 40 jiggabyte hard drive. Do you think 40 jiggabytes is enough?"

"Oh, it'll be more than enough, my friend," I said, nodding enthusiastically. "More than enough!"

Curious Thoughts...

2008-05-29T00:00:00.000-05:00

Do you ever wonder if Otis Spunkmeyer got teased a lot as a child?

Remembering Sydney Pollock...

2008-05-28T09:40:00.001-05:00

Wait, who???

... oh yeah, that guy.

Presidential Marketing Analysis

2008-05-22T16:07:00.001-05:00

Saw a banner ad today for Barack Obama. Here's a cropped screen-grab:

I find this banner ad particularly interesting from copywriting and composition standpoints. It's true marketing mastery, really. The copy reads, "Help Elect Barack Obama President of the United States." That begs further examination...

The phrasing is interesting for at least two reasons: First, it's a subtle command (and doesn't even say "please"). Commands, of course, are powerful, time-honored, effective marketing tools. Second, it's an odd phrasing. No one would structure a command this way in normal conversation. You don't say, for example, "Help elect Tom superintendent." There's a word -- or words -- missing between "Tom" and "superintendent." Maybe you'd say, "Help elect Tom as superintendent" or "Help elect Tom to [the office of] superintendent." More commonly, it's not structured as a command at all. Rather, it's simply: "Tom for Superintendent" (itself a little odd, when you think about it, but at least traditional).

In this case, though, the mastery is in the subtext, which would be this slightly Photoshopped version:

The subtext is "Barack Obama. President of the United States." Period. Done. It's over; he won. This is the "assumptive close" approach (the salesman's term, though there's probably a more precise term of modal linguistic art) -- the subtly placing into the public psyche the "fact" of Obama's victory as a foregone conclusion. The result is (presumably) votes by people who now psychologically equate Obama as president or at least presidential.

Further reinforcing this theory, observe in the first clipping, above, how the words "Help Elect" appear in all-caps. It is as though these words are separate somehow from the key subtextual message shown in the second graphic. It's saying that the two phrases (1) "Barack Obama" and (2) "President of the United States" belong together -- even further reinforced by the perfect right-alignment of "Barack Obama" and "President of the United States" as compared with the pleasing yet unconnected placement of "Help Elect."

Masterful stuff... (Full-size original banner can be found here.)

Hope

2008-05-22T09:31:00.001-05:00

A few weeks back, I ran a piece about meeting an old stock broker during a lunch outing. We'd had a long conversation about the dire importance of approaching the market objectively, devoid of emotion. I quoted legendary broker Jesse Livermore in that piece:

"The speculator's deadly enemies are ignorance, greed, fear and hope. All the statute books in the world and all the rule books on all the exchanges of the earth cannot eliminate these from the human animal."

Now, as you may know, the Pittsburgh Penguins have made it to the Stanley Cup. As Chief Marketing Officer here at Horn Dog Enterprises (HDE), it's my job to run the company-wide Stanley Cup Contest. As of this morning, I have about 10 early entries. Guess what... So far, EVERY one of them has picked the Pens to win the cup. Kind of smacks of hope, doesn't it?

Now, I don't know whether the Pens are better than the other guys. But, I'm fairly certain that, if I have a doppelgänger in Detriot, that dude's looking at 10 early entries in HIS company's contest that unanimously favor the Red Wings.

Email from Aging Pop Stars, Vol. II

2008-05-20T09:01:00.001-05:00

_________________________________________
From: Kerr, Jim (FanMail@SimpleMinds.com)
To: Hillman, Patrick (patrick.hillman@gmail.com)
Sent: Friday, May 20, 2008 12:01 AM
Subject: RE: Clarifying Questions -- "Sanctify Yourself"

Dear Patrick,

I can tell from your urgent email that you're a troubled young lad. As such, let me put your concerns to rest once and for all. You wrote to me, "Dear Simple Minds: After many years of listening to your music, I finally took your advice and ... well ... (wow, this is tough to admit publicly) ... well, I went ahead and sanctified myself. During the process, it was naturally quite exhilarating. However, afterward, I felt a little dirty, self-indulgent, and ashamed. Plus -- and, this is the worst part -- I think maybe my neighbor may have seen me sanctifying myself through the livingroom window. What should I do?"

Patrick... To begin, it's important for you to understand that sanctifying oneself is a natural thing. As my friend George Michael says, "Not everybody does it, but everybody should!" It's certainly nothing to be embarrassed about. However, sanctifying yourself should ALWAYS be done in private (or, I suppose, in the company of one or more consenting adults). One should NEVER sanctify oneself, as you've said, in front of a living room window. (Ironically, you've created the proverbial "elephant in the living room." While I'm all for openness, I suggest you simply go on with your life as though nothing happened. Sooner or later, your neighbor will repress the visual.)

I hope this advice helps clear the matter up for you. Please feel free to write back if you have additional questions.

And hey... Don't you forget about me,

-Jim Kerr

Lead singer, Simple Minds

Handy Tip

2008-05-19T09:25:00.001-05:00

My latest "well duh!" moment... I'm loving "Bloglines" these days. Believe it or not, until last week, I used to monitor blogs one by one using just regular bookmarks (which meant never knowing if the blog I was heading to was updated or not until the page loaded). But no more! I've entered the 21st century finally, at my wife's suggestion. Bloglines is really cool. You just call up your page (a clip of mine shows above) and it shows any updated blogs in bold type. This way, you only read the updated ones. The downside -- and, there is aways a downside -- is that this is a significant time saver. I'm either going to have to considerably up the number of blogs I read or find some other novel way to screw off at the office.

Email from Aging Pop Stars

2008-05-16T08:57:00.001-05:00

I probably shouldn't share my personal emails, but...

_________________________________________
From: Eric Clapton (TheEric@GuitarLegend.org)
To: Patrick Hillman (patrick.hillman@gmail.com)
Sent: Friday, May 16, 2008 12:01 AM
Subject: RE: Clarifying Questions -- "After Midnight"

Dear Patrick,

Thank you for writing. Even after some 40+ years of world-renown, I still LOVE receiving fan mail. Your note's timing was especially auspicious, as it arrived during a time of deep personal reflection. In fact, I'm happy to address your queries directly!

To begin, you asked, "You've stated many times that, 'After midnight, we gonna let it all hang out.' My sentiments exactly, Eric. Really. But, in the interests of those with, say, small children or other early morning obligations, is it possible that we could let it all hang out *prior* to midnight? Say, tennish?"

I'm sorry, but: No, Patrick... only AFTER midnight should we (or anyone, for that matter) let it all hang out.

Your follow-up question posed, "If not, is it possible that we could let it *partially* hang out after midnight?"

Again, no (sorry :-/) ... After midnight, you see, we gonna let it ALL hang out.

I hope this clears up the matter for you. Thanks again for your support!

- Eric Clapton

ps How cool: My middle name is "Patrick"!! ;-) Write back soon!!

If I Were a Billionnairre...

2008-05-15T13:35:00.001-05:00

You know those extra-tall stools you always see in pool halls? Wouldn't it just be the bees knees to build a toilet into one of those?

Horn Dog Enterprises (HDE) Shot Down...

2008-05-14T13:59:00.001-05:00

Monday day: Drove 350 miles with two colleagues from Horn Dog Enterprises (HDE), including one owner who routinely says "asposed" (as in, "Hey, they're not asposed to do that!").

Monday evening: Arrived at our destination. Dined at a roadside dive that proudly featured six different flavors of A1 sauce. Realized I'm painfully out of touch with steak sauces.

Monday late evening: Found myself parked at a penny slot machine called "Mystical Fortune." While it certainly drained my pennies, it did so slowly and, I have to admit, in a rather entertaining way.

Tuesday morning: Met my horn-dog colleagues for breakfast at a 50s diner. Ordered the $3.50 grapefruit juice and the $9 fruit plate. (You actually get a lot of fruit for $9.)

Tuesday mid-morning: Met with the C-level execs and board committee of a nearly half-billion dollar business. One member of their board (at whose invitation we were there in the first place) had inexplicably developed a vigorous hatred for HDE well in advance of our presentation (making for the worst business meeting I've experienced in nearly 20 years). (Seriously, the board member in question interrupted our presentation, announced that her committee was done with us, motioned for us to leave, and then got up and walked out of the room).

"I'm beginning to thaw now," I'd said to the HDE owner afterward (once out of earshot from their board).

"Thaw?" he asked.

"From sitting so close to that miserable ice-cold bitch."

Tuesday day: Drove home with two HDE colleagues, including one owner who thought that board members of nearly half-billion dollar companies aren't "asposed" to be miserable ice-cold bitches.