Happiness is a Warm Gun (Bang Bang Shoot Shoot)

I feel like there's been a lot of chatter among my blogging friends about happiness lately. Maybe I should capitalize that... Happiness. Maybe it's a generation thing, but sometimes I feel like there's a dark vein of discontent running through my peer group. So many of us feel like there is something seriously lacking in our lives and without it we really cannot be happy.

I don't understand that.

Ok, I do understand the discontent. I am often very frustrated with the place my path in life has lead me. I could easily say that I was dealt a difficult hand to play. Circumstances, many of which were beyond my control, many of which were not, built up and have left me in a less than ideal situation. I'm honestly not super happy with where I am right now. But I'm working on it. I'm slowly changing my circumstances. I'm discontent and frustrated with things right now, but I'm not unhappy.

I don't really have a feeling that something is lacking. Occasionally I get all lonely and sad about my serious lack of romantic involvement. Who doesn't want love in their life? But I don't have a life without love. My family is wonderful and supportive, and they love me unconditionally. My friends are wonderful and supportive... I don't know if they love me unconditionally, but I do know they love me and are there for me when I need them. The kind of deep, empathetic, personal support you get from a partner, I can find in my friends. Yes, I would like to meet someone special. But my life is no less complete without him.

I guess that's part of my point. How can anyone expect to be content with life if they aren't content with themselves? If your happiness is dependent on something that you feel is lacking, chances are you will never be happy. Once you get that thing you think is missing, you'll find that it doesn't actually fill the hole you think you have. Something will always be "lacking."

I wish I could teach people to be independently whole. What I mean is, I wish people could understand that they are not actually "lacking" anything. There is nothing "lacking" in their life. Whatever it is they need to find Happiness, they already have. Happiness cannot be rooted in materiality, it cannot be external. There is nothing you need to be happy more than the decision to be happy.

Yes, Happiness can absolutely be as simple as a decision. Except I shouldn't say that it's necessarily simple. To be happy, you have to really truly decide to be happy and that's so much harder to do than it sounds. I think anyone can do it though.

And for the love of Baby Dinosaur Jesus, don't just sit around and complain. If there is something in your life that you can't stand, change it. I'm not saying it will be easy, but if you really want to get rid of the crap that is making you miserable, you can do it. All it takes is a little determination and a little work. Ok... maybe a lot of determination and a lot of work.

But that is just the big picture. The big picture is important, but it is absolutely not everything. There is so much joy to be found in little things; tiny, fleeting moments that are gone before you even notice. But in those moments you can find such incredibly potent joy that.... All you have to do is be open to it. Let the beauty of life find you. Soon these moments build up and compound and grow.

Anyone who can say "I haven't been happy since ______" is doing it wrong. Anyone can be happy, really truly Happy. It just takes the right mind set. Stop dwelling on what's bad. Notice what is beautiful and good. I have never gone a day without finding something to smile about. Even if it's something really stupid and small.

I don't think I've really said everything right. It's 1:30 in the a.m. and I should really be sleeping. I just had all these thoughts going through my head (prompted, no doubt, by my catching up on the blogs I've failed to read for a while) about... well about what I've been blogging about up there. Sorry if it doesn't really make sense. I'm not going back to proof-read or edit or anything. But I am going to leave you with two bits of awesome that are kind of related to what I'm talking about:

Jeremy's post about what it means to be a true optimist.

If you're having a hard time trying to find something to smile about try one of these: 1,000 awesome things.

The World Smiles With You

As I was walking home from the bus stop a few minutes ago, a remarkable thing happened. I smiled at a stranger. That in itself is not remarkable. I try to always smile at strangers when I pass them in the street. Moreover I always try to give them a good and genuine smile. I do this because I have had a few really terrible days made better by a genuine smile from a passing stranger. I like to think I might be able to make someone else's gloomy day better.

This stranger didn't exactly smile back. They don't always. He did nod, and was not unfriendly. But after he passed, I found I could not stop smiling. My face was stuck in a broad, ear to ear, expression of joy.

The really odd thing about it is that today has not been the best of days. I really didn't get enough sleep last night. Class was not particularly exciting. It wasn't terrible, but it wasn't great. I don't have anything to look forward to tonight except work. In my state of fatigue from not sleeping last night, I'm not really looking forward to work. There is nothing really spectacular in my life that has happened lately.

I was smiling for no reason. When I realized I had no reason to smile, that just made me smile more. It made my teeth cold. I almost laughed. I was experiencing pure joy just to the sake of joy. It was amazing.

As I walked along, I noticed that I felt a bit lighter. My steps were more lively. The sun felt warmer and the air felt fresher. Just the simple contraction of a few facial muscles had such a profound effect on my mood and my day.

I hope when I get old, the most prominent lines on my face are those caused by smiling.

A Fort of One's Own

I was listening to NPR on my way home from class today. The author Julia Keller was on talking about her book Back Home. The book may be interesting; I will probably never read it. I honestly wasn't paying very close attention except for one point when Keller read part of the book:

"Everybody needs a fort."

She went on to explicate; a fort is someplace we can go when we need to feel safe. When we're little, it is usual literal. It could be a fort or tree-house built in the backyard, or a tent set up in the living room. As we grow up we have tools that create a sort of metaphorical fort. We have our knowledge, our books, our experience, and these things make us feel safe in times of crisis.

This excerpt made me think of A Room of One's Own by Virginia Woolf. It's been a long time since I read that. If I recall correctly, she is basically saying that in order for a woman to write, she has to have her own space in which to do it. A room of her own - a place that is only hers where she can create under only her own influence. (I could be totally off. It's been years, and I may not have been completely paying attention when I read it)

I think these two concepts are very closely related, and I think everybody needs both. Or I do at least. For me, they're kind of the same thing. I always need to have someplace that is just mine; a place that is my sanctuary. In my old apartment and in my parent's house now (and when I was growing up), that place is my bedroom. It's my sacred ground. Here is where I am when I need to escape the world.

When I was living in the dorms and had a roommate, I didn't really have my own space. There were several places around campus, though, where I would go to write or to simply be alone. In that case my fort or my room was more metaphorical, but the feeling I got when I visited those places is the same one I get when I retreat to my room now.

I wonder if this will change when I fall in love and get married. If I'm cohabitating, can I still have a room of my own? It can't be the bedroom. Do I have the right to insist on my own room? Actually, my dream house has a little cottage or shed in the backyard that I will make my "studio." That may be taking it a bit far.

I imagine that when I find myself settled, my room will be the library (yes, any house I live in long term will absolutely have a library. It will have lots of bookshelves, a very comfy chair, possibly a desk, and at least one grand window). This room probably won't really be sacred ground - I would never be able to deny my partner the joy of books. But it would be a place for me to go and escape when I need to. It would be my fort.

Out, Out Brief Candle

My father's best friend killed himself last night. It was very unexpected, but somehow not very surprising. He had pretty progressive multiple sclerosis and... he was just in really bad shape. In his note he said that he had the right to decide when he died. My dad was probably the last person to see him - he went over last night to watch the football game with him.

The thing is, I completely understand why he did it. With a such a degenerative, incurable disease, there's not much else you can do. When you can no longer control your body, what else can you control? Given a choice of slowly and painfully wasting away to nothing or dying quickly on your own terms, what would you choose? At what point does suicide become the best cure?

This dilemma is one that I have given a good deal of thought. There's a good chance with my Wegener's Granulomatosis I could end up in a similar situation. It's not nearly as bad as MS - there are pretty effective ways to control it and I responded well to the treatments. It's also possible that I will never have a relapse and I will go on living a healthy, normal life. But what if I do have a relapse? What if next time it's much worse and I don't respond to treatment? If my lungs collapse and my kidneys shut down, if WG slowly eats away at my body... at some point quality of life is so low that it's easier on everyone to simply end things.

I'm not saying that I want to kill myself, not by a long shot. But if I've become a burden to those who love me (and I'm not saying my Dad's friend was, but... he was. They were glad to bear that burden, but still), if I can no longer do anything that I like to do, if I am slowly wasting away and the only thing I can still control about my life is how it ends....

I guess my point is that I can really understand why he did it. That actually scares me a little.

My mom is making paella for his widow (oh, wow, she's a Widow... somehow that's harder to wrap my mind around than anything else I've written today). Why does our society meet tragedy with food?

To Be or Not To Be

I was hanging out with a couple friends a few weeks ago when one of them observed “If I didn’t believe in God, I would probably kill myself.” He went on to ponder how death is the ultimate solution to life’s hardest problems. Without fear of eternal damnation, why not “take arms against a sea of troubles and, by opposing, end them.” It is the most efficient way to completely avoid problems. You certainly don’t have to deal with them if you are dead. Without an after life who cares what messes you leave behind. They ultimately become someone else's problem.

You also miss out on everything that is amazing in life. There are so many wonderful things that happen on a daily basis. Have you ever noticed how incredible life really is? There are so many moments of pure beauty and joy; surely they outweigh the “slings and arrows of life’s outrageous fortune.”

I can’t seem to help but quote Hamlet. I must admit that I have spent a good deal of time considering the famous soliloquy, and I mostly disagree with the Danish Prince. It is not fear of what lies on the other side of death that keeps me from dying. It is a strong attachment to the beauty of life. A few days ago I lay on the floor with a friend of mine laughing until we cried. If I had died the day before, I would have missed this moments of pure, unadulterated, joy.

Every day there is something amazing to experience. There are so many completely exalting experiences to be had. All it takes is a little attention to notice them. Tiny, barely significant things (raindrops caught in rose-petals, warm sand between your toes, a smile from a stranger, the way the wind plays with a skirt) are absolutely worth living for because they happen a million times a day and they add up to create pure beauty.

I then pointed out to my friend that committing suicide is absolutely the most selfish thing you could possibly do. I was considering the effect that something like that has on the people who go on living. I know a girl who’s boyfriend killed himself right after they graduated high school. The emotional trauma he put her through was phenomenal. She pretty much had a complete nervous breakdown. No matter who you are, there will always be someone who loves you enough that their entire universe will collapse if you kill yourself.

My friend, however, turned my statement back to God. Without fear of divine retribution, why not be selfish? Besides, once you're gone, you don't have to worry about the people you left behind. They are no longer your problem. I didn’t have much to say at the time, but this part of the conversation has really stuck with me. I don’t know if he intended it that way, but he kind of implied that without faith it is impossible to be a good person. The same point was brought up in the class I’m taking this summer. In More’s Utopia there is a very poignant paragraph about how Godless people cannot possibly be useful to society or have any motivation to do good things.

This view makes me extremely uncomfortable. Not only because I only believe in God sometimes, and the God I believe in is indifferent to us mortals. I like to think that I am a strong example of how a person can be a good person without believing in God. The way I see it, there is no reason to treat other people in a manner in which I would not like to be treated. What is the point in making other people suffer? Plus, when you treat others with kindness, you’re more likely to get kindness in return.

It actually terrifies me that the only thing standing between some people and selfish malignancy is fear of God. What happens if those people lose their faith? Isn’t it stronger and more meaningful if someone is good person simply for the sake of being a good person? Kindness becomes superficial when it stems solely from a fear of damnation.

I am probably simplifying the matter too much. Religion is something I really have very little experience with and probably don’t really understand. Still, I cannot believe that without God people would lose all sense of decency. I am rather glad that I have never really developed a strong belief in any deity. I like the fact that any goodness I do stems from me. I can be selfless for completely selfless reasons. Neither Heaven nor Hell come into it.

Storytelling

On my birthday I went to dinner and a movie with my parents. We saw Brothers Bloom, which was really good. It's a con-men caper reminiscient of classic movies. Of the two brothers, Stephen is kind of the mastermind - he plans cons like he's writing a story. The ending is very touching and one of the last lines is this (paraphrased probably. I'm going with memory which is not perfect):

...............What we do now is we live like we're telling the greatest story ever told.

It's a wonderful idea, and a lovely way to end the movie. But how possible is it to really live a great stroy from start to finish? Very few people have the rescources or drive to have a really fascinating plot summary. Those who do seem to die young. Take Errol Flynn, for example. He was born in Australia, got kicked out of several schools, owned a plantation, sailed around god knows where, and was a hollywood star by the time he was 30. He inspired the phrase "in like Flynn," married three actresses (not all at once), developed an addiction to morphine. Adventures ensued on and off screen until he died at 50. And that's just the bare bones of his life. Just the blurb on his book inspires excitement!

My personal plot summary will likely be pretty typical: School, Work, Marriage, Retirement. The only stand out moments will be when I was sick and if something amazing happens (like publishing a book or winning a Tony for my play). In the overall scheme of things, those are pretty small blips in an otherwise ordinary life.

I prefer to live like I'm telling a series of vingettes. The over-arching storyline is not so important. I think it's better that way; to live life like you're telling a series of short stories; a volume of poignant moments that are held together by the overall progression of life. The little moments that fall inbetween the story are the ones worth reading.

Special

Today is special because of the way the sun is shining. It's making every Japanese Maple I passed on my way to work the most extraordinary red color.

Fire and Brimstone

I've seem to be having a lot of discussions lately about Absurd plays. I helped one friend with a quick paper on Endgame by Beckett, which was really fun; I loves me some Beckett. I've also had several mini discussions about No Exit by Sartre with another friend of mine. Most of these discussions are prompted by a sign at the gym we've been going to. The sign says (this will be a big surprise) "No Exit" it big, red, cartoonish letters. Very few people, I think, would see that and think "weird existential theater." These minor events have brought to the surface thoughts of the absurd plays I've read, and general pondering of existentialism as well.

I want to talk about No Exit though. That play presents one of my absolute favorite versions of Hell. It's simple. Hell is other people. The three characters (ok, there are 4 characters in the play, but the Valet is only there for a few moments) are stuck with each other and have such personalities that it is impossible for them to get along.

The obvious question to ask now is: Who would be in your own personal Hell?

Who do you know that would make eternity complete torture if you had to spend it with them? In the play, the three people are complete strangers. It's difficult to know how you get a long with an ambiguous set of characteristics. So to answer the question, I say you have to pretty much look to people you've met. Assume that in your personal hell, it would be this person or someone almost exactly like them.

It gets more complicated actually. Not only do the two people you pick have to make it hell for you, but it has to be hell for them too. That part makes it very tricky.

I've given this question more though than I probably should have. I know who my two people would be, and I'm not going to name them here. Seems like that would bring some bad joo-joo down on me.

Person A is a girl I knew in High School. She was actually a very good friend of mine from 7th grade on. Because of our history, and a completely underdeveloped ability to mistrust my friends, I forgave her several betrayals. At some point I finally threw my hands up and cut ties with her completely. I was sick of the drama that seemed to follow her everywhere, and sick of having to watch my back all the time.

She did, however, teach me how I didn't want to be. Her blatant hypocrisy about almost everything made me loathe that in myself and in other people. I think it's impossible for people to not be hypocritical sometimes, but I do my best to avoid it. It's one of the only things I have a really hard time forgiving in other people. Throughout our whole friendship there was a sense of competitiveness with her. There were many times we would both go after the same guy. One time she made a play for a guy just because she thought I liked him. I mentioned the drama that followed her around. Plus the passive-aggressiveness that came from that girl was outstanding!

Person B is... well, it's El Douche. Yes, the ex-boyfriend. Seems too easy, doesn't it. But his appearance in my personal Hell has less to do with the whole relationship thing, and more to do with his personality. It could be him, or someone very much like him, either way, I would suffer immensely.

My biggest beef with him is his hypocrisy. When the relationship ended and when our friendship came to a close, he was incredibly critical of me. Thing is, I could have turned every criticism around and said it back to him and it probably would have been more accurate. His ego constantly twists reality to suit him. Plus, he is one of those guys who feels they have to prove their manhood to whoever they're talking to. He brags, a lot, and exaggerates. I promise this isn't bitter ex talk. Just ask other people who know him.

So I obviously don't like either of these people, but I'm pretty sure they would clash horribly with each other too. Even though I dislike them both for somewhat similar reasons, they each have one thing in common that would make it impossible for them to like each other. Both A and B are completely sure that the universe and everything in it was put here just for them*. The level of self-centeredness contained in each of them would probably rip a hole in the fabric of reality if they got together. In our Hell, they would instantly clash and start fighting about who is more perfectly the center of everything. It would, of course, be a very quiet, passive-agressive fight.

*yes, I know that I can be very ego-centric. I'm blogging from the center of the universe for fucksake. I'm often very full of myself. But I'm also aware of people besides myself. My personal selfishness would probably make things worse of all of us too. God, I hope I don't end up in this hell. Perhaps it's time to start repenting all my sins and "get religion." Or not.

Also, apropos of nothing, we've come up with an awesome band name: Samuel Beckett and the Matadors. We'll play existential indy rock and be super pretentious.

What Is This Thing Called Love?

Seems to me it’s been a while since I made my dear readers read something really long. Lucky for you, I’m feeling particularly pensive (and, apparently, alliterative) this morning. I also woke up much earlier than I intended and can’t seem to recapture sleep. So instead I will blog (and hopefully I’ll manage to fit a nap in sometime this afternoon, ‘cause I’m still kind of tired, just can’t fall back to sleep).

Love is an immense and complicated subject. Partially because the word “love” itself is so vague and subjective. As a writer, I try to steer clear of the term; the ultimate goal being to write a poem that captures the feeling of love without ever saying “love.” The big problem with “love” is it expresses a whole range of emotions from familial love to friendly love to romantic love and even the crazy, irrational, fairytale love of chick-flicks and, well, fairytales. This last version is something I usually roll my eyes at, call infatuation, and avoid falling for (all the while secretly hoping that Mr. Perfect will come breezing by and completely sweep me off my feet). I have it in my head that Love is something deeper and longer lasting than that fluttering, Hollywood, romance that implies a happily ever after, which we all know doesn’t really happen.

I have been in love, to the point that I could say “I love you” to another person, exactly twice in my life. Funny enough, both men I have loved are now married to women who are not me.

I don’t really believe in falling in love quickly. I tend to be of the philosophy that true and lasting love has to have a strong foundation and really can’t be rushed into. It baffles me that some friends of mine will date a person for just a few weeks and suddenly be “in love.” I think they fall out of love just as quickly. That kind of love, to me, isn’t really love. It’s much too fickle and cheap to really be truly meaningful.

Once upon a time, at Found Magazine, I read a “to not do” list. I don’t remember what was on it except one item: Don’t fall in love with strangers. That really resonated with me and has stuck to the edge of my consciousness. It has seemed particularly pertinent recently after a slew of failed attempts at dating and some empty liaisons (read: regular sloppy meaningless make-outs).

I, being slow to fall in love anyway, am in no danger of actually falling instantly in love with a stranger, but I take that imperative in my own way. To me it rings the truth that it is dangerous to expect too much from someone you don’t know. Though it may not be love exactly, letting my guard down early on in the dating game and giving in to twitterpation is an easy way to get hurt.

This philosophy has not always been bad, I guess. It has saved me from being devastated over some failed little romances. And thank God I was guarded enough to not fall in love with El Douche (though I will admit that I came very close). Still, with the slew of short lived, dead end, attempts at dating that has been my love life lately, I’m wondering if maybe it is, in fact, better to not hold back. Maybe a new approach is better. Could falling in love with a stranger actually work?

Right now is exactly the time for me to decide if I want to take this new approach. I happen to have a stranger who would be very easy to fall in love with. I don’t mean real Love, the kind that really lasts. I don’t think I’m wired to get that way about someone I don’t know really well. If I let myself “fall in love” with said stranger, it will be … well, I guess it would have to be the fairytale kind. Falling in love with strangers for me would mean giving in to the potential for real Love with them. It would mean putting my faith in the expectation of plenty. It would mean letting myself go into a relationship unguarded and very vulnerable to a world of hurt. The very idea is terrifying and exciting. It goes so much against the way I’m used to approaching things that it just might be worth trying. Maybe it’s my own inhibitions that are keeping me from getting into a healthy, lasting, sort of relationship.

I guess I should tell you about my stranger now. I met him dancing on a Friday, we went on a date the next Monday. So things started out rather quickly, but since then they’ve really slowed to a snail’s pace. Our date was about three weeks ago. I’ve talked to him on the phone, sporadically, since then. For a few days following our date I talked to him daily, then he vanished for a week. Finally, he called me, from a pay phone, and told me he had lost his cell phone. We talked on the phone a few times since then; just about every other day. I haven’t talked to him at all since Wednesday though because he is in Virginia for a week, visiting family for the holiday.

So here I am. I will say that our date went really well and I see a world of potential in him. Despite that, and our handful of conversations, I don’t feel like I really know him at all. Thus he still qualifies as a stranger. Still, I’m instinctively hesitant. Maybe I shouldn’t be. I wonder if it’s even possible for me to trust that this could actually go really well and let my guard down. It would almost certainly be good for me to take that approach. After all, if I expect it to fail, the chances go way up that it will… self fulfilling prophecy and all.

I haven’t decided how I want to handle things. This whole ridiculously long post was pretty much me thinking out loud...er... in type. It just barely occurred to me late last night that “falling in love with a stranger” might not be that bad. It’s a bizarre concept for me and I’m still kind of wrapping my head around it. My stranger doesn’t get back in town until tomorrow, and I’m going to be pretty busy the rest of this week, so I have some time to figure it out. Wish me luck, and feel free to put your two cents in the comments.

Google, You Crazy!

Yesterday I was playing with the webstats for this little blog o' mine. I have a thingy set up that tells me how many hits I get, where they come from, if they come from a search engine what keywords were searched, that sort of thing. I know those things aren't exactly the most accurate things, but it's kind of fun to look at once in a while.

I discovered something really freaky yesterday though. When you ask google: taoism and existentialism the very first result is This Post I did last year. That is kind of creepy, I think. That post was pretty much me just talking out of my ass. It's probably one of the best blogs I've done, but that doesn't mean that it's the first thing people should see when they're trying to figure those philosophies out.

The reason I did that search was because that page is the one with the most hits, besides my home page. I thought maybe I'd be in the first couple pages or something. It would make sense if someone who was really interested in the subject and wanted to read everything they could stumbled across my blog somewhere in their browsing. But no, I'm the very first result. What is Google thinking? It's not even a totally obscure and weird thing to ask about, really. It just goes to show you have to be very careful when you ask the internet questions.

What if there's some kid out there who, because they haven't been taught how to analyze sources or, you know, think, is using my blog as a source in a paper or something. Doesn't that just give you the heebie-jeebies? It does me. That hypothetical kid gets whatever he deserves for using me as a source because he'd have to be pretty dumb to do it. Still, the fact that it's possible is bizzar.

On the other hand, it's totally flattering. I get to pretend that I'm just a little famous on the internet. Go me.

Put This in Your Pipe and Smoke It

I'm really excited about a couple things today. I'm not going to blog about them though because I don't want to jinx anything.

Instead, I am going to give you something to ponder. It's from the brilliant Beckett play, Waiting For Godot

Mmmmm Pi

On my way home from school today I was thinking about π and the arbitrary nature of things. Π is a pretty important number. It pops up over an over in mathematics concerning the relationship of things in nature. It’s also an irrational number. Strange that something so important would be irrational.

But why is it irrational, really? Yeah, it can't be reduced to a simple fraction and has all those non-repeating decimals, but really, what it all boils down to that π is 3.14 blah blah blah because we have arbitrarily assigned our number system to be based on 1.

What if π was our basic unit? How would that change things? If our number system were set up so that π=1, or rather that 1= the Circumference of a circle divided by its diameter. For one thing, circles would be a lot easier. It could be done. Or rather, it could have been done. Once upon a time when whoever was inventing numbers and math, what if they saw that π was an important number and decided to base the entire number system on that?

One only means one to us because that's what we believe. It's what we've been taught, that's the significance that has been assigned to that particular unit by society, by people. It could have just as easily been assigned to π. If π had been assigned as our basic unit, as 1, it wouldn't actually change the world we live in much at all. Ok, it was totally fuck math, but we'd be used to it by now, and we'd have a totally rational number to explain the relationships of circles.

I wonder though, if that's how we saw the world - where π was the basis of our number system, if we would See things differently? I think this is something to think about while staring at the ceiling and just letting my mind wander. It's kind of a mind-fuck. Sadly, I don't have time. I have to do stuff for school.

Flush it Down!

Remember when the internet was still kind of novel? You know, before facebook and myspace made it that much easier to spam your friends. Back when it was really cool (or at least it passed the time) to spend hours taking personality quizzes online, and maybe even e-mail them to your friends. No? Oh. Well. Fine. But back in Jr High (or maybe it was early high school) I wasted a lot of time online taking stupid quizzes.

Most of them I don't really remember. They would ask a series of questions and then show a generic profile that omigod was, like, so totally accurate and, like, exactly what I was like. Or some of them would offer you 5 colors or something and tell you what amazing profound thing the color you picked meant. Really dumb stuff like that.

There is one quiz from all those many years ago that has actually stuck with me. You are going to laugh at me when I tell you about it. Basically, showed a diagram of a public restroom with three stalls and asked which one you would usually chose to use, assuming that they are all available and not-gross. Whichever you chose supposedly revealed something rather profound about your personality. I don't remember which I picked or what it said about me, but the idea that bathroom stall preference says something about a person's personality intrigues me.

I'm actually sort of serious about this. Every other time I use a public restroom, I wonder what my choice of stall says about me. Then I briefly ponder if you could use that choice to make behavioral changes.

Say choosing the first stall means you live life in the fast lane, always rushing from activity to activity, doing as much as you can and packing every minute with fast paced excitement, and if choosing the second stall means you think of yourself as pretty average and middling, you don't mind some attention, but your more than happy to step aside and let someone else take the spotlight, and the third stall means you are super easygoing and don't really care what other people think, you roll with the punches and just sort of float through life taking whatever comes with a zen-like sense of calm. What if you are a pretty regular first-staller, but you want to calm down a little. Could conciously making an effort to use the third stall help calm you?

If I had time I could totally make this into some weird metaphor for some philosophical principal or something. Unfortunately, it's kind of late and I still have to read for class. Yep, school has started again, and this fall I'm playing the role of Full-Time-Student again. More on that later. In the mean time, take a moment to ponder what your bathroom habits really say about you, really.

Ironic T-Shirt in Book Form

I just got home from seeing Wanted with my friend, Nick. It's an amazing movie, and one you should all check out. It is actually directed by Timur Bekmambetov, the same guy who did Night Watch and Day Watch, which I have actually mentioned here before. All three are really brilliant movies, stylistically speaking. Wanted has kind of a weak plot (and it's a comic book movie to boot) but it's done in such an amazing way that you don't mind. Pajiba described it as being a mess of Office Space and Fight Club with the awesome visual effects of The Matrix. That just about covers it.

That's not what I really want to talk about now though. Nick lives just up the street from me and we're both conveniently close to trax, so we took the train down to the theater. On the way back, we had to get off at the Library stop because that's when the Free Fare zone ends and a UTA officer happened to get on there. Nick accidentally left his pass at home and didn't want to get slammed with a ticket. So we're waiting for the next train, and this kid sits down by us and starts talking to us. He was carrying a copy of The Omnivore's Dilemma and most of the conversation involved various points included in that book.

It was fairly interesting for a random conversation you have on public transportation. A "single serving friend" who had some interesting ideas to throw out into the world. Random Stranger got off one stop before us and as we exited the train, we started discussing how amusing it is when these random conversations with strangers happen.

I blamed the book. For causing the random conversation, I mean. Or at least for creating the opportunity- for sticking something to talk about in the vacume that exists between people who have never before met. Nick, more or less, agreed. We decided that, in order to spurn more spontaneous trax discussions, we would start carrying around books that would be great conversation starters. Something en mode that our peers would have heard of, even if they haven't read it. Something that screams intellectualism - that wouldn't be at all out of place in your local college coffee shop. Something that is also relatable, that speaks to our generation and is accessible to our peers.

Nick wanted The Ironic T-shirt in book form. I suggested Dryden. I joked that I was actually carrying around Virginia Woolf with me... I'm more pretentious; I'm reading stream-of-consciousness. Seriously though, what would be the perfect book to carry around to hopefully prompt conversation? What, dear readers, would you pick to open a door to conversation with strangers who might think like you do? Would it be Reading Lolita in Tehran or The Kite Runner to bring up conditions in the middle east? Would you go with more obvious choices like Fight Club or Clockwork Orange - two books that have been the "edgy" thing to read for ages. Do you pick something by Christopher Moore to show you have a sense of humor? Or do you pick Jude the Obscure to show how bleak and hopeless your view of life is? What book would you pick, and what does it say about you?

When It Snows Ain't it Thrillin'

I think it's a shame that many people take snow for granted. When it snows people on the street tuck into their coats and rush from place to place without so much as a glance at the lovely phenomenom surrounding them.

Snow is my favorite sort of weather. Especially perfect snow, like what's falling on Salt Lake right now. The flakes are big and soft, there's no wind and it's just like the entire sky is falling down little by little. It's a perfect scene of serenity and simplicity. There is nothing more beautiful than a snow storm and the silence that comes with it.

Next time you are out rushing around in a snow storm, do me a favor; stop and take it all in for a moment. Just pause and appreciate the beauty around you. Breathe in the zen qualities of snowfall before running off to the warmth of somewhere else.

Insert a slew of "live in the moment" saws* here.




*saw: (n) a sententious saying; maxim; proverb: He could muster an old saw for every occasion.

Lost Language

Some of the things that Manic wrote about on his little website yesterday (oh, he posted it on Tuesday, but I read it yesterday) really made me think about my own Writing and how little I've been doing lately. He doesn't really talk about writing much, but he mentions his process (third paragraph) and the way he describes it made me hunger for metaphor. I suddenly realised that I've been forgoing Writing much longer than I should.

I should explain what I mean by Writing. I don't mean the silly little anecdotes and quips that I write either here or in e-mails or for school or even in my journal. I do that kind of writing everyday and while there is something to be said for getting something down on paper (so to speak), it just doesn't count. There's too much casualness and informality to this kind of writing. What I've been neglecting is really constructed, careful, meaningful, perfectly formed Writing. The sort of composition that makes the best poetry and stories.

I used to Write every day- on top of e-mails and journals and letters and such- but due to a serious case of writer's block, I got out of the habit. Now I've recovered from the block, but I'm out of the habit of getting things out of my head, so I now have a massive population of poems and words and phrases floating around inside of me. I feel like I've lost some of my talent at translating them. Whenever I pick up a pen, everything tries to come out at once and nothing is quite as good as it was in my mind. I lose my courage and walk away.

Part of the problem is that I hold myself to a very high standard. Anyone who has ever heard me rant about "poets" knows part of the reason. Poetry, especially, is so deeply personal and there are so many "poets" out there who are so posturing and pretentious that their poetry (which is usually terrible) gets lost behind their image. I'm loathe to bring an imperfect poem into the world because I want to just be someone who writes poetry. I want my image to get lost behind my poems; that can't happen if they're just a bunch of empty bullshit. So I hide from Writing even though I know all it would take is consistency and some steady work at editing to produce some satisfactory pieces. Now there's so much backlog in my head that the idea of wading through it all is absolutely daunting.

It's high time I got over this! No excuses anymore! I'm going to Write something everyday. I'll force myself if I have to (and I'm sure I will) until I get back in the habit. I'm in dire need of a language laxative (gross). They say that real Writers simply need to write- it's part of who they are. How true it is! I feel like I've lost part of myself since I haven't been Writing. It's time to find Me again.

Have You Waxed Your Philosophy Today?

I'm waxing philosophic today. (What the hell does that mean anyway, "waxing philosophic"? Well, I know what it means, but where did it come from and how does it make sense?). One of the guys I work with asked me yesterday if I was LDS (being in Utah one gets asked that question frequently) and I said no, I was atheist. Today he asked me if I believed in "all those energies" - you know, the weird energy thingies that godless heathens sometimes believe in. I told him that I kind of dabbled with Taoism but was mostly an Existentialist. Not surprisingly, he asked me what that meant. I explained it to him as best I could; existentialism is kind of a tricky and controvertial little philosophy even within the existential community and my major exposure to it has been a few plays by Sarte, Camus and Beckett.

From a shit happens perspective, Taoism says "shit happens", Existentialism says: "Shit doesn't happen, shit IS"

That conversation got me thinking that existentialism and taoism don't really go very well together. I occured to me that you may not really be able to do both; an existential taoist? Seems a little far fetched. Based on my limited exposure and what I learned today on wikipedia (mostly just refreshing my memory about the two ideas really) I will now attempt to desipher whether or not the two can work together without totally cancelling each other out.

Existentialism (really over simplified) is based on the idea that human existance is fundamental and inexplicable. A big motto of this thought is "existence precedes essence" which essentially means that there is no predefined meaning of life, people just exist, and any meaning that we find is there because we (humans) ascribe it, we define our essence through our actions, reactions, our life. We are "thrown" into existence and we simply exist until we come up with some definition of ourself. We live in a universe that is random, irrational and totally indiffernt to us. According to Sarte, rationality is "bad faith" - it is an attempt to impose structure on the structureless universe. As far a God goes there are three ideas: God is dead, belief in God is a personal choice based on faith, experience and/or observation, and Agnostic Existentialism. The last one is the one I like. It doesn't claim to know anything about the "greater picture" - about God or the grand scheme of things or whoever it is that throws us into existence or whether any of those things actually exist. Whatever the greater picture is, it's far beyond human comprehension so it's futile and useless to try to figure it out.

Enough of that, let's move on to Taoism.

I'm going to simplify Taoism even more than I did Existentialism. There are several reasons for this, one is that "Taoism" coveres a whole shit-load of philosophies, religions and interpretations there of. Second reason is my understanding of Taoism comes mostly from a religion survey class I took which really just covered the basics. I like understanding (in a limited way) Taoism like this because it really leaves the whole thing flexable and open to interpretation. The third reason is that this blog is long enough already and there simply isn't time to dive deep into the Tao.

Let's pretend that Taoism is pretty much the sum of it's parts; looking at it this way makes it easier to look at it in relation to existentialism. The parts are (more or less) Tao, De, Wu Wei, and Pu.

Tao is a concept that is really difficult to explain. Actually it's impossible- those who know the Tao don't know the true Tao (or something like that). As much as I would love to be cryptic and leave it at that, Tao is (big surprise here) a major component of Taoism and really needs to be sort of understood. Tao is the flow of the universe - it's the influence that keeps everything balanced and in order. It's kind of like "the force" in Star Wars or Chi in feng shui. It is also "the way" or the path you must follow to find the Tao. It's beyond human comprehension to fully understand what Tao is; that's not just me saying so, that is part of the definition of Tao.

Part number two: De can be literally translated as "virtue" but its meaning is different than the typical western definition. De is essentially following the Tao (as in "the way" more than as the universal force). Being virtuous by Taoist standards means doing the right thing for the right reason. De means you return someone's wallet not because you want the reward but because it is the right thing to do and in harmony with the Tao.

Wu Wei is sort of related to De. Translated it means "without action." A big part of Taoism is also "Wei Wu Wei" which means "action without action" - I dare you to try to wrap your head around that. Wu Wei doesn't mean (as the translation would imply) that you should sit around and do nothing. It means that you shouldn't fight the Tao; you shouldn't exert your will on the universe. Let's pretend the Tao is a stream, Wu Wei would be like a stick floating down the stream - it's moving and "acting" but not fighting the current. Not Wu Wei would be a big old rock in the stream which would eventually be worn away into dust.

Finally, let's talk about Pu. Pu means "simplicity" and is the true nature of the mind. Have you ever had a moment when playing an intrument or playing a sport where you're so into what you're doing that your mind is kind of blank and everything just comes together but the second you start thinking about what you're doing (really start paying attention) it all falls apart? That moment of blankness is Pu- at that moment you are one with the Tao. It's awareness without definitions, lables, knowledge or experience.

Now comes the fun part! How can Taoism and Existentialism work together? There are some bits of Taoism that work pretty easily; Pu, for example is more or less just existing without any ascribed meaning. When you are one with the Tao, you simple ARE. The Tao itself goes quite nicely with the "greater picture" Agnostic Existentialism. Of course, you run into a big problem when you look at the part of the Tao that orders the universe. A truly random, irrational universe cannot have Tao, especially since Tao is all about balance. Ah, there's the rub. Taoism is a way of structualising the random universe; this is a problem. Another problem is that Taoism is essentialy giving a pre-existence meaning to life; we exist to follow the Tao. I could then argue that the Tao isn't there to follow until we define it or create it or chose it as an essence.

At this point, I'm a bit flummuxed. I don't really know that anything I just wrote actually makes sense. I would like to point out to any readers that I really don't know what I'm talking about. This blog has been me just thinking aloud (in a typing sort of way). I think I'm going to simply continue to exist and if I happen to follow the Tao along the way, good for me!

Efil

I'm not sure where this came from, but it's got a very good point:

The unfair thing about life is the way it ends. I mean, life is tough. It takes up a lot of your time and what do you get at the end of it? a death. What's that, a bonus? I think the life cycle is all baskwards. You should die first, you know, start out dead - get it out of the way.
You wake up in an old age home feeling better every day. You get kicked out for being too healthy, go collect you pension, then, when you start work, you get a gold watch on your first day. You work 40 years until you're young enough to enjoy your retirement. You drink alcohol, you party, you're generally promiscuous (hey, you've only got a few years left, what's the big deal?) and you get ready for high school.
You go to primary school, you become a kid, you play you have no responsibilities, you become a baby, then you spend your last nine months floating peacefully with luxuries like central heating, spa, room service on tap, larger quaters every day, and then you finish off as an orgasm.

Truly Random

Despite the title of this little blog thingy, most of what I put here is not really very random. The center of the Universe is, of course, true. Now though I'm desperately putting off studying for a French test (un examen de Francais) I have tomorrow. The internet has failed to produce anything fantastically interesting to help me in my procrastination. I'm not feeling creative enough to Google random words and see what I find. So I've turned to this blog, which I have somewhat neglected lately. Yes, I know I've posted some things, but not nearly as often as when I started. To all my devoted fans (are there 3 of you now?), you'll get over it. Tying back to the begining of this paragraph, I'm just typing whatever pops into my head. Truly random thoughts from me, the center of the universe.

Remember Mrs Lake? Only if you know who she is... East High, English teacher. One day she told my class that we should try to find one paradox every day. I think it was her (or is 'she' the proper pronoun here?) who mentioned that. I could have made it up. Anyway, I haven't. But I did stumble on quite a few today. Well, not so much stumbled; they were thrown at my head in the form of a lecture on Taoism (a philosophy that does not make any sense to me so far). The easiest is the simple form of "the liar's paradox" (or something like that):

This sentence is false

Try to wrap your mind around that one. If you Dare (insert evil laughter here). My favorite paradox that was not mentioned in relation to Taoism is probably "The Barber of Seville." I'm sure there are several versions but this is how I remember it:

The Barber of Seville shaves everyone who doesn't shave himself.

So, when he shaves himself he doesn't. But if he doesn't shave himself, he does. Very tricky that barber guy. I bet he was named Mick. Why Mick? Why not?

Blustery Day

I have mountains in my front yard. They're not really mountains but more foothills. Anyway, near the top of one of these hills there is a big rock that Highland High School has painted with an H. We call it the H rock (very original). Anyway, earlier today I decided to treck up to the H rock (quite a walk up a very steep hill). When I got up there I sat on a smaller rock and looked down at my house and out at the valley. It is really windy today and I was getting very windblown. When I decided to leave I realized that I had four choices. I could walk into the wind, with the wind, just sit there and be blown but not go anywhere or walk perpendicular to the wind and end up in a ravine or someone's back yard. What a metaphor huh? Obviously the last option is a bad one. If I walk with the wind, it's easier. There is no resistance but I have to go pretty far out of my way and probably take a good half hour longer to get home. If I walk against the wind it's harder but more direct and possibly more fun. If I just sit there, it's boring and nothing gets done. And eventually the wind turns cold and I feeze to the rock and never get anywhere ever. Any way you look at it I end up with sexy wind-blown hair though. Of course, some people think there's the fifth option of changing the direction of the wind. Seems like a good idea, but it's a lot harder than you might think. And if you're thinking straight then you're going to think that it's pretty damn hard so if it's harder than you think it's gotta be DAMN hard. I decided to walk into the wind.