Archive for the ‘ruminations’ Category

25 things about me

Sunday, March 8th, 2009

Yes, it’s self-aggrandising.  But, then again, so’s most of what I see around me every day…

1. While I value friendship over all other life’s joys, I am very strongly introverted (this fact surprises most of my friends).  That means the world only makes sense to me after I’ve had an opportunity to process it all completely on my own.  An example: weddings.  I’ve been to 103 of ‘em (including my own), and at every single one, I had to step away during the reception for at least 20 minutes to walkabout on my own and to begin to feel again like I belonged in my own skin.

2.  The first six years of my life, at least one of my parents didn’t work so I’d always have a parent around during those important developmental years.

3. For Father’s Day, when I was 10 years old, I was asked for a school project to write down some things I loved about my father.  I sat there for an hour and then began to cry because I didn’t know what to write.   My dad had gone back to school to get his Master’s degree and then, after that, worked at a job with over an hour commute in each direction.  I didn’t think I knew him.

4. I was wrong.  My dad and I are EXACTLY alike in almost every imaginable way.

5. At UC Santa Barbara, there is a bike and foot path tunnel that connects the campus to Isla Vista, the adjacent community where most of the college students live.  When I attended, on the north wall of the tunnel, there was spray-painted a single-line poem, stretching straight from one end to the other: “He silently drives me home in the rain.  He holds open the screen door while I fumble for the keys to my life.  He comes in.” It has since been painted over; I still don’t know what it means, but it’s one of the most haunting things I’ve ever read.

6. I have read the following, in their entireties, aloud: All seven Harry Potter books; Dune; all of Lord of the Rings (including the appendices); all five books of Hitch-hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, all of Raold Dahl’s short fiction and children’s books.

7. For about a third of my life, I’ve lived within a quarter mile of the ocean.  I love the ocean, but hate the beach (I really don’t like sand).

8. When I’m home alone at night, I often sing to my dogs.

9. Before I turned eighteen, I had spent over a year’s worth of nights camping.

10. On my eighteenth birthday, I was backpacking: the penultimate day of the planned trip.  I had spent the last seven birthdays away from home, and I had much earlier and emphatically told my parents, who had planned the trip with our Boy Scout troop, that I did not want to be on the trail for my birthday.  I was so upset, that I threw a fit, and pretty much forced everyone to hike out a day early.  I was a very strong hiker, and in order to achieve my goal, I went back up the mountain twice to pick up the packs of the weaker hikers in the group. That day, I hiked 37 miles and ruined the end of everyone’s trip just so I could have pizza on my birthday. I deeply regret having done this not only because it was horribly immature, but also because I haven’t backpacked since.

11. With the exception of fingers and toes, I have never broken a bone; however, when I was five years old, I was balancing on a step stool when watching TV with my parents, despite their repeated warnings to stop, lest I fall and hurt myself.  I fell off on purpose to see what it would feel like.  My parents and I ended up spending seven hours in the ER waiting room that night with a dislocated right elbow. I’ve never told my folks I fell on purpose.

12. I’ve broken both the big toe and little toe on my right foot over a dozen times collectively (not ONCE on purpose, I promise).

13. I detest bad grammar (though I’m far from perfect, myself), but if I could get away with it, I’d never use a capital letter again.

14. My corrected vision is exceptionally sharp, and I can see extremely well in the dark.  Even if it’s completely dark, I usually can navigate a house purely from memory, if I’ve spent more than 15 minutes in it.

15.  At night, I prefer to work/live in dimly lit spaces.  Dim light, to me, is like a smooth glass of red wine and a Chopin nocturne playing.  It just soothes my soul.

16. Teachers are my heroes: especially those who mirror Einstein’s great quote: “The greatest teacher is not experience; it is example.”

17. I own on DVD everything Aaron Sorkin’s ever screenwritten: All 7 seasons of West Wing; both seasons of Sports Night; the first and only season of Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip; The American President; A Few Good Men; and Charlie Wilson’s War.

18. I’ve never hit a ball with a bat.

19. Genetically, I’m an absolute orthodontic mess: for the smile I have now, I had 14 teeth pulled and wore braces for five years.

20. I recently ran a long-distance relay with colleagues from work (187 miles total); I sprained my ankle 200 feet into my last (and shortest) leg of the race.  I ran over 4 and a half miles with a sprained ankle; I could have walked it faster, but I was determined to accomplish what I’d set out to: to run the entirety of all three of my legs of the relay.  It took nearly four months for my ankle to heal.

21.  When I was eleven, I bought a copy of Roget’s International Thesaurus, 4th edition.  It organised its word and phrases by their meaning, making it what Amazon now calls “the most efficient word finder and a cutting-edge aid in stimulating thought, organizing ideas, and writing and speaking more clearly and effectively.”  I would spend many very late hours (naturally, by a dim light) thumbing through its pages, looking at the words like arcane components to a spell I might conjure, as if they possessed magical powers.  I’m still convinced that, at that age, I had perceived them quite correctly.

22. I have 9 years of higher education and no degree.

23.  One of my biggest pet peeves is when people stop the microwave before it counts down to zero without also clearing the timer.

24.  The two most important things I learned from my dad are: “Do something you love to do so much that you’ll do it for free, but do it so well that folks will pay you handsomely to do it”; and “Better is the enemy of Good.”

25.  The most important thing I learned from my mom is: “Do nice things for people who’ll never find out.”  My hope is to have learned it at least a tenth as well as she’s taught it.

The value of judiciously selecting food

Friday, January 23rd, 2009

Over the last couple weeks, my entire attitude about nutrition has changed.  A few nights ago, I observed how much time I was spending trying to buy yogurt.  In the end, there wasn’t a single one-serving yogurt container in the store I could eat (and this was at Whole Foods!).  I was momentarily dismayed, not by the lack of availability of something worth introducing into my digestive system, but rather the time I was spending making a decision.

Then I thought about how conscientious I am about other decisions that are important to me. When I buy a DVD, I make sure it’s the best edition availabile: 2-disc, commentaries, DTS, whatever.  when buying my camera, I researched it for about five weeks before making the purchase; any new piece of technology, I research and I compare (and I save up).  sometimes by the time I’m “ready” to buy, it’s no longer the best choice, and so I wait even longer (the main reason why I’ve been “in the market for a new TV” since August 2000).

I think of my folks, both of whose cars are performance vehicles: they pay more of 93-Octane gas and do it gladly, because it makes a difference; and if they had to go out of their way to find a station that supplied it, they’d do it without complaint.  shouldn’t I treat my body the same way?  Unlike my nine-year-old truck, if I treat it like a performance machine, it will actually become one.

Therefor, it’s not wasted time being judicious about what fuels I introduce into my body’s energy pipeline.

Untitled

Thursday, January 22nd, 2009

Nancy: This is not what I had in mind.
Guillermo: Act of God, baby. Fire’s part of nature.
Nancy: An act of stupidity; those are people’s  homes.
Guillermo: FEMA’s gonna set them up at the Mariot–they’re gonna get room service for two months.  Premium cable.  And they’ll come back, see it all built up, bigger, brighter. Then God’s gonna burn it down again. Cuz’ they don’t belong here in the first place. And the whole thing starts over.  It’s the circle of life.
Nancy: Hakuna Matata.  MY hosue is about to burn to the ground.
Guillermo: You got insurance?
Nancy: My weed is about  to burn to the ground; my customer base is about to burn to the ground. For that, I don’t have insurance.  Couldn’t get them to offer me a Drug Dealer Loss of Product policy.
Guillermo: Then it’s a sign.
N: Sign?
Guillermo: That it’s time to move on. That you don’t belong here.  This is not your home.
Nancy: What happened to the bikers?
Guillermo: They’re moving on, too.  But I don’t think your paths are gonna cross.
Nancy: What am I going to do?
Guillermo: Eh, you’re white; you’re smart, pretty.
Nancy: Yeah, I’ll think of somethin’, huh? Fuck you, that’s my entire life–all that.
Guillermo: “Entire life!”  C’mon… this is one tiny valley. Over the hill, there’s another one just like it. Then another hill, and then another valley… And it goes like that, just over and over. All the way south to Mexico.
Nancy (whispers): You’re facing west.
Guillermo: See, I could use you. You tell me which way is south. You could be my navigator.
Nancy: Hand off the ass. (pauses) Thanks you… for the muscle… sorry I cant–pay you. Not my fault, is it?
Guillermo: I bring a lot of morta across the border.
Nancy: No.  I’m not selling for you; I’m nobody’s bitch any more.
Guillermo: Nah… we take you off the sales floor, that’s for little people. Navigator… I get stuck in traffic a lot.
Nancy: Traffic?
Guillermo: Which one is your house?
Nancy: That one. No, it’s that one?… Idunno, it’s over there, somewhere.
Guillermo: Maybe the fire won’t get there.  You could stay here forever.

Nancy: Gotta go.

The deep memory of… things.

Sunday, January 18th, 2009

OK, here’s where I journal the crap out of a topic I’m hoping to purge as completely as I can from my life: my inability to move on from my marriage.  Expect a lot of this.

I’m doing this here because it’s becoming clear to me that as much as my friends love me, there’s only so much they want to hear. And also, there’s only so much that should be permissible for me in everyday conversational dialogue about my ex-wife.  My friend, Brian, recently likened the marriage to a zombie: something that’s dead but which still just plain won’t die: something undead.  Unholy.  Something that keeps attacking me and coming back to life no matter what I seem to do to kill it.  But of course, it’s plain to me that I’ haven’t done everything I could or should; it’s no wonder I think about her every day: I still live with her ghost.

Now, I’ll concede that there are still things in this house that belonged to her that I must get rid of.  I’ve come used to seeing them in my line of sight, but when I actually come into close interaction with them, a specific memory is triggered.  And then there are the things that belonged to her that have since become mine.  If I stop to think about it, I’ll remember that it was something that she brought into my life, but in the end, it’s mine now. Those things I can live with… for the most part.

Then there are those things which are on the border.  Like this towel hanger in my kitchen. “Huh?”, you ask.  Let me tell you the story.

Shortly after we moved in, we were unpacking, and I returned home from work one afternoon, and while I was complimenting her on her recent crock pot experiment, she asked me if I noticed anything different about the room.  Of course, it was a new place, a new space, and a new time for us :there were lots of new things each moment.  I’m also not the most visually observant person out there. She knew this, but she always managed to be disappointed if I couldn’t notice what new and wonderful decorating thing she had executed this time.

And, this time, it was the “Coffee Break” towel hanger.  The towels depicted above are towels I bought afterwards, but the hanger is still there.  I just remember how proud she was of this small thing she’d done to introduce some kind of retro artefact into our living space, to make the space that much more “ours”.  It looked great hanging there on that chocolate brown pillar (let me tell you, the colour of this wall was a big deal: brown walls in our domicile were a point of major contention between us when we were first engaged; she never forgave me for not trusting her design sense… then again, I never forgave her for not affording me an opinion contrary to hers).  But nevertheless, it was the perfect addition to the kitchen.  I credit its perfection as the reason why I didn’t notice it.  And so, small as the accomplishment was, she had right to be proud, and it’s the memory of times like that that make me really miss her in my life.

And now, today, whenever I dry my hands: I can’t help but feel her standing there, grinning at this thing that she’d done, tinged with a little disappointment that I hadn’t immediately noticed.  It reminds me how important my opinion of her was to her; how much of what she does is built around other people validating her choices, proving that she’s worth what she knows inside she is.

Anyway, this thing is a fixture in my life, now.  I can’t throw it away.  At least, not until I move out of the house (I’ll probably leave it there when I do).

But, in the meantime, there is plenty of stuff that I do need to let go of.  I’m a sentimantalist.  Memories mean something to me.  Things have stories that mean something to me.  Each thing has a story, and I feel that, in telling it, I can let it go for good.  So, expect to read some stories.

Monday.January 12, 2009

Tuesday, January 13th, 2009

So far, I haven’t really done much “personal” blogging.  Mood hasn’t struck me yet… until now.  I was drafting an email to my friend Sondra (from Flickr) and I waxed a little personal, and I figured the thoughts were worthy of being captured here (given a little editing).  I hope she doesn’t mind the repurposing of thoughts I’d crafted primarily for her consumption…

my day… was a day. i’m so tired these days. i went shopping last night for produce for the first time since i don’t know when.  as i’ve posted previously, i’m on the south beach diet.  so, i’ve been hungry all day–which isn’t supposed to happen with the diet, but i wasn’t really prepared with the making of the lunch and all… and then i had a meeting scheduled at noon, to boot.

ran home early to make sure there was still enough daylight to finish raking leaves, a neverending home project from hell.  damn wind carried leaves from someone else’s yard on over to mine, so i had to redo what i’d completed last night.

exhausted, i went to make dinner, then realised i was missing an ingredient. no prob, store’s only a couple blocks away. came home to find that Macy had nabbed the pack of chicken from the counter and eaten three of the four breasts, with the fourth one dragged all over the carpet.

so, Macy goes into the back yard as punishment (she hates being outside unless she’s on a walk) and i go back to the store again. then comes the cooking–i’m very inexperienced cook. make a gawd-awful mess of it every time. well, the food was pretty tasty, but now there’s a mess, and i don’t have the will to clean, but i have so many other things i need to finish tonight and it’s already almost 10pm.

and so i wonder: where does the day go?

there’s a phrase the french use for homework: “les devoirs“.  it basically means “have-to-do’s”–you know, obligations. and i feel like what’s left of me when work’s done gets sucked into les devoirs.

you know, i didn’t always used to feel like this: that all the obligatory activity at the end of a work day seems to consume all there is of me. i just feel spent and wasted and like i’ve done nothing worthwhile. i think a lot of it has to do with not sharing my waking (and non-waking) time with another soul to share the burden, such that the burdens aren’t burdens, but just moments to be shared and enjoyed. the time after work would stretch into moments worth inhabiting for a while as opposed to just living through them simply to get to the other side.

i miss that… where the mundane things are actually adventures because you have someone to laugh with.

Watch This Space

Wednesday, January 7th, 2009

So we beat on, boats against the current, borne ceaselessly back into the past.

–F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

TAL (speaking of a broken pocket watch)
I’ve always cherished this thing. My father kept perfect time; marked it, measured it with this: the hellos and good-byes. It keeps faltering; nobody can do anything.

MARCO (remembering)
The bittersweet thrill of high school popularity. There were days, some days, when… we’d played at a party… or we’d won a baseball game and… there was just that… thing, that… everybody loving you in that moment.

C.J.
Are you saying you’re one of those people who think like, in F. Scott Fitzgerald, their best years were 20 years prior?

MARCO
Oh, God no. No, I think the best day’s gotta be the next day. Life is all… “what’s next?” It’s like those billboards where, before the actual ad goes up, they put in, in big block letters… “Watch this space.”

–excerpts from “The Long Goodbye”, The West Wing season 4, ep. 13

I stopped being an early adopter of web technology sometime in 1999.

I taught a class in web design at UC Santa Barbara’s continuing education program and through that had an opportunity to work on training material for Lynda.com.  Strangely, I decided to focus on my career at the local Kinko’s instead.  Now I’m an IT Business Analyst for FedEx Office, focusing on new solutions for the optimised distribution of automated print manufacturing across a network of 1800 locations.  It’s one of my dream jobs: insofar as it’s the job I was meant to do for this company. But it’s been a long road.  And somewhere along the way, many important facets of my life (too many I care to count, really) have been relinquished.  It’s not really directly attributable to my career per se, but it is the consequence of the pattern of my choices.

I recall, sometime in college, still being friends with my high school sweetheart, who had recently become engaged to a fraternity brother of mine.  I callously said to a close friend that I figured I got her during her “best years”, that it would somehow be “down hill” from there.  What an awful thing to think.  Very recently through FaceBook, I’ve reconnected with them both, and I can see they have a thriving marriage and two incredibly lovely children.  Who the hell was I to think I’d know what a person’s best years might be?

I mention this because I’ve spent the last couple of years figuring I’d wasted the best years of my life on a ship that went down.  Now, I’ll grant that I’m a fundamentally different person than I was before; and for the better, I believe.  But, in this daze for these past several years, I have lost track of the mileposts.  I’m getting older and the world is subtly changing.  I invoke Ferris Bueller: “Life goes by pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around every once in a while, you just might miss it.”  Somehow, I’ve been missing it.  I don’t watch television, I don’t subscribe to the paper, I don’t date (subsequent to the long drawn out demise of a marriage that was born of a relationship that had already fundamentally blinded me to the important things around me), and my friendships are evolving in ways that don’t always make sense to me.  It’s easy to feel lost.  But the landmarks that are most important… aren’t around me, they’re within.

And so while I’m at this place where I’m regaining my bearings, I’m regaining many other things.  I suppose, most importantly: my voice.  It’s recently come to my awareness that folks have an attention for what I might have to say.  And it’s not exactly like I’m ever at a loss for words.  This is a place for words that reflect the ideas, feelings, and events that make up who I am. This will be a collective sketch of the things that are important to me (or perhaps that amuse me, at any rate).

It might take a moment or two to master the medium. Somehow in my sleep, the power and influence of Web 2.0 rose like a weed seedling from the parched soil of information-noise and suddenly came to dominate the entire landscape.  While I was looking the other way, a whole new city was built up around me.  I had a FaceBook account, but until 4 weeks ago, I had no friends (on FaceBook).  From that lonely perspective, as a venue for “social networking”, it lacked… society.  I remember, though, that Time Magazine, at the end of 2006, named their Person of the Year: “You”.  It seemed a bit of a cop-out, but in light of the voice given to the masses, from themselves and on behalf of themselves, it made sense: Wikipedia, YouTube, MySpace, FaceBook, Flickr, Digg, Found, Delicious, Slashdot, Technorati, any number of political blogs.  The voices are numerous and loud: we are Legion.  Certainly, I’d surfed most of these sites, but had not actively participated as a voice of my own.  Everywhere the online landscape was changing, and until now, I haven’t even attempted to be a part of it.  I’m only now learning how all this works: the mechanics of it, the guts, the all-encompassing interconnectedness of all things social and networked.  This isn’t your dad’s Information Age.

So, I guess I have some things to say.  And this is where you’ll hear it.

Hello, world.