"...but at least after death you're not nauseous."

 One of the best final scenes ever:

You Can Make A Crowd Clap

you can make a crowd clap by saying conservative things
you can make a crowd clap by saying liberal things

you can make a crowd clap by saying there in no god
you can make a crowd clap by saying 'god is great!'

you can make a crowd clap by being subtle
you can make a crowd clap by being blunt

you can make a crowd clap by stroking them
you can make a crowd clap by poking them

all that is fine, all that is great,
as long as you remember;

no amount of wishing can fill a christmas stocking
and a monkey with an erection is always in love.

My Negative Catechism

Inspired by a section from Sarah Bakewell's 'How To Live: A Life of Montaigne', I thought it would be fun to make a list of personal failings and things I'm no good at.

here we go:

I'm not very good at keeping up with regimens; exercise, house cleaning, reading, writing, keeping regular dates, performing regular activities, etc. I don't know anything about cars. I couldn't change brakes, spark plugs, or oil to save my life. I can change a tire, but I don't enjoy it.

I'm not good at baking things; all of my cooking acumen is reserved for the stove top. I'm bad at taking criticism, generally a sore loser, I have a hard time standing up to my appetites, and don't generally like other people's children. I don't like small talk and am not good at it. I'm not a fashionable dresser, and don't give much thought to the decorations in my environment. I don't like shaving, so I don't do it. I don't like to get haircuts, so my hair is often out of control. I bite my nails, and am a nervous eater. I pop my knuckles. I am impatient. I often vent my anger against people who don't deserve it, and am overly annoyed by bad eating habits. I am fat. I am moody. I get sick often. I don't like to take direction. I'm overly ambitious and jealous. I fart a lot. I am overly judgmental. I don't know any foreign languages. I'm bad at math. I'm no good at carpentry. I'm not athletic. I don't know the Latin names of any flowers or insects. I have terrible a terrible allergy to timothy hay that renders me basically useless for two months out of every year. I don't know the names of very many trees. I can't play any musical instruments or sing very well. I am not thrifty. I am addicted to caffeine. I don't sleep well. I can't fix electronic things. I don't like camping, partially because I feel compelled to shower every day. I don't like to play cards. I don't understand magic the gathering or pokemon, or any other card game like that. I'm no good at video games. I'm not a strong swimmer. I walk kind of funny. I often think I'm smarter than I am. I don't like to get up early. I don't like to account for anything I do, unless it's something that I want to brag about. I have bad teeth, am bored by classical music, and have no desire to go on a road trip.

I invite you to leave your own negative catechism in the comments below.

Riot Kiss

This is one of my favorite images ever:

via the elegant ape

I Kind of Sucked This Week

Now, I'm not a superstitious guy, but on Sunday night I had a dream that there was an angry rattle snake on my front porch. I knew I had to do something about it, even though my neighbor told me to leave it alone. I thought, 'If I just let this thing go, it's probably going to hide in the bushes and attack one of my kids when they're out playing'.

So I went into the house, got a chair, and came back out to...I don't know, chair the thing to death. Maybe I was going to make it sit in the corner or something. You know how dreams are.

When I raised the chair up, the snake twisted around and sprung at me, and I felt a wetness on my arm where it made contact. Then I looked at the snake, which was back in its coiled position. I noticed it didn't have any teeth. 'Thank God', I thought, but then I realized my arm was throbbing. The teeth had come out in my arm! I thought, 'I probably should keep this to myself', and then I picked up the snake (now disarmed), and put it through a paper shredder that was plugged in near the steps. It shredded just like normal paper, except it was green.

Throughout the week, I have had some bad luck, learned about some personal shortcomings that I had hitherto not been aware of, and made some mistakes. Of course, the dream didn't signify that I am actually 'snakebit' or anything, but it's hard not to entertain the thought.

There were good things this week, too. I received some good encouragement from a few respected sources, did a handful of things competently, spent some good time with my wife and kids, and got some reading and writing done. I guess it's just easier to dwell on the unlucky and bad things.

That, or I really am cursed...

Sing it, Frank:

Law School

I'm used to jumping into things, and then challenging myself to finish what I started.

It's partially why I proposed to Abby when I was eighteen, and partially why our marriage has been able to grow with us, and us with it (the other part to our success, if you're curious, is that Abby is similarly driven, and we are passionate about each other).

This cavalier attitude has gotten me in trouble, sure. But it also got me into college, was the impulse that said, 'why not?' to creating 3 beautiful children, got me into the human services, and led me to learn how to ride a unicycle.

I don't back down. It's not in my character. It's a point of pride for me to finish the things that I start. I am driven.

That being said, I am backing down from my latest proclaimed project; I will not be going to law school.

It doesn't hurt as bad as I expected it to. Although I started off in the normal way (announcing to everyone that I was going to law school), the post-manic research has led me to determine that it's not a good fit for me right now, and may not be something I can succeed at (regardless how much I enjoyed Boston Legal).

My family needs me right now, and I've been plowing through projects since I've been married. I've never 'just' been a dad, husband, and guy with a steady job. I've always had some kind of scheme up my sleeve. I've always been working on some arbitrary monument.

But I'm tired. The success demon isn't as attractive as he once was, either; I think I'm more comfortable than I'm ready to admit. But, like the guy at the shelter told me the other day, I'm not sure I know how to be comfortable.

Like all of my other projects, it will take practice.

So, I won't be applying to law school. I'm going to try to maintain what I've already got and stop trying to collect new tricks all the time. Even if it kills me.

Can it kill me?

Public Speaking

I am a decent public speaker. I think part of the reason I am a decent public speaker is that I know I am a decent public speaker. Like a good singer, I know my range; Tom Waits doesn't try to hit Mariah Carey notes, and I'm not trying to inspire the masses like Barack Obama. I'm mildly amusing, I convey information clearly, and I'm likable in my way.

The best advice I ever got as a writer is 'write the way you talk'. Similarly, I can give any aspiring public speakers out there similar advice: talk the way you talk; It's tempting to pick up a kind of speaking persona that isn't your own, but don't do it. Bravado is forgettable. Be real, and people will listen to you.

I've had the opportunity to talk a lot recently on behalf of the homeless shelter I work at, during tours and various events and meetings. It's very fun. It's fun to feel out your audience, and fun to try to get to 'tough customers' in the crowd. As a skeptic myself, I appreciate the urge to throw up a pokerface when someone is talking to you about things that may be emotional, or controversial, or unfamiliar to you. But there is a path to everybody's heart and reason, and it's fun to try different approaches to climb the craggy exterior of some hold-out's indifferent countenance.

A final rule: Believe what you say. Lying is harder work than telling the truth, and if you're insincere, most people will catch on eventually.

Whether or not public speaking is something you're interested in, the takeaway from this post is that you don't need to be a genius in order to be effective. Competence counts. Sure, maybe we'll never be absolutely brilliant at everything we apply ourselves to, but we can at least leave a few scuff marks on the wall. 'anyone can play guitar', you know, or--as my former colleague and blogging friend Malcolm Varner might say--you've got to live, learn, and apply.

Andrew Sullivan Sums Up 'Weinergate' Perfectly.

I agree with this completely. There's nothing I can add to it:

"Weiner has not resigned and, frankly, I see little reason why he should. No one, so far as I can tell, was harrassed, no one was abused, no actual sex even took place at all. I'm not sure one can even find any hypocrisy here. Moreover, if online flirting is unforgivable, why isn't off-line flirting unforgivable? And what really is the difference? Apart from pictures that can be used to humiliate - and even blackmail.

Yes, I realize that one congressman recently swiftly resigned over a Craigslist shirtless pic, but that was a stupid response then and it remains a stupid thing now. It was and should have remained a matter between him and his spouse. Given the result of NY-26, maybe even the GOP is regretting its bout of puritanism now.

...I don't view this as a partisan matter - I find it impossible to condemn Larry Craig out of hand and feel for Ted Haggard. And they were clearly acting hypocritically. There was also a shred of public reason for their humiliation. I don't see any broader argument being invoked here, except partisan revenge.

Should Weiner have done this? For an elected public official, it was unwise, inappropriate, stupid. For a human being, it remains well within the bounds of, well, human.

Yes, he absolutely should not have lied. He should never have lied. But he has now also copped to his lies. It would take a particularly pitiless person to pile on some more. And I am grateful that even Andrew Breitbart seems to have drawn the line there."

Well, maybe there is something I can add to it. I am a blogger after all.

I'm certainly not willing to abandon my support for Anthony Weiner--one of the greatest, most articulate lions of liberalism we currently have--because of our culture's voyeuristic puritanism. Not long ago, I listened to Rush Limbaugh opining the fact that there are no heroes anymore, because our culture is so invasive that it's impossible to keep our personal foibles out of the public eye. He said it destabilizes the country.

I disagree. I'm glad that we are collectively coming to realize the myth of the saint. When we believe in saints, it makes it impossible for us to do the right thing, because we leave 'the right thing' to the saints. 'Who am I to get involved?' we say, 'I'm just a normal person'.

Well, newsflash, we're all normal people, with all kinds of idiosyncrasies; someone has to get involved.

Anthony Weiner has definitely gotten involved, and the country is better for it. For what it's worth, I've got his back.

cross posted at Kos.

*UPDATE*

I have to amend my title because of this. The new title of this post will be 'Andrew Sullivan Sums Up 'Weinergate' Perfectly, before Summing It Up Terribly'.

*UPDATE 2*

Now I'm getting called out for defending Anthony Weiner:

"And now that the truth is out, now that we know that Weiner is a weiner and all the accusations against him are true, do the Kossacks berate and chastise Weiner for his misdeeds?  Do they hold him accountable? Do they admit to being willing dupes to his obvious lies?  No, instead they pretend that what he did wasn’t so bad, that he’s just human and society is being unfair to him (yeah, I’m talking about you Spencer Troxell and your “our culture's voyeuristic puritanism” bullshit. Fucking Idiot). There are the rare exceptions - well done labradog, although so many of the commentors to your diary completely and depressingly miss the point - the overwhelming majority of Kossacks have proved themselves to be Idiots."

 You've got to appreciate the guy's passion.

*UPDATE 3*

This post was the second most popular diary over at the Daily Kos yesterday. Pretty cool.

Everybody Snores

I got into work around 6 am yesterday morning, and was greeted with two big, burly guys arguing about whose snoring is worse. Excerpt:

Man 1: Motherfucker, your snoring kept me up all night! You need some of those breathing strips or something!

Man 2 (to man 3): He thinks he doesn't snore at all, but he snores louder than anybody! I just don't complain about it!

Every married couple should be able to understand where these guys are coming from.

"A Pure and Clean Confidence"

from 'How To Live: A Life of Montaigne', by Sarah Bakewell:

"Montaigne's view, on balance, was that both victim and victor should take the path that entailed placing maximum trust in the other--that is, like good Christians, the defeated party should seek mercy and the victor should grant it. But both must do this boldly, with an 'open countenance,' free of cringing and submissiveness. A 'pure and clean confidence' should characterize the situation on both sides. Montaigne would have found his ideal encounter in the scene that took place in Beijing's Tiananmen Square in 1989, when tanks moved in to supress a demonstration. One man, incongruously carrying an ordinary shopping bag, stood calm and still in front of them; in response, the first tank's driver stopped. Had the man been cowering or trying to escape, or, conversely, had he been yelling and waving his fists, it would have been easier for the driver to kill him. Instead, the man's 'pure and clean confidence' brought out a similar resolution in his opponent."

June 5, 1989, Tiananmen Square:

Hillbillies

I think all you need to know to appreciate the following is that Jack is the name of my 5 year old son.

This was my wife's most recent status update on Facebook:

"Jack just asked me if we could get a hillbilly. He said we could keep it outside & then let it in later. Kids, the things they say."

It's been a long time since I've laughed that hard.

Atheist or Agnostic?

I call myself an atheist, but the fact of the matter is a little more complicated.

I feel comfortable saying I’m an atheist, because whenever someone asks me if I believe in God, I assume they are talking about their god, so I say no. Their god is a projection. Your god is a projection. If I had a god, it would be a projection too. In fact, I have a model in my mind of the kind of god I would believe in if I did believe in god, and that god is a projection before it even gets out of the gate. So, no, I don’t believe in your god, my god, or their god. I am an atheist, but if you asked me what kind of god I would believe in I could tell you, and you wouldn’t be surprised to see that my god looks as much like me as your god looks like you and as their god looks like them. We could have fun going down that road.

There are some gods that I am not just atheistic towards in my attitudes. I become downright anti-theistic towards gods that create hells for non-believers, gods who encourage and reward faith over reason, and gods who create value systems for the world to live by out of whole cloth. Gods who allow ‘sin’ to be passed down genetically from generation to generation, gods who give us brains and then punish us for using them, gods who give us moral compasses and then ask us to believe things that we know deep inside are immoral and bad for us, and gods who are proponents of vicarious salvation all do poorly with me. I am not just an atheist to these gods: I am part of the opposition. I am nakedly hostile to them. To the god who says ‘love me...or else’, I say...

There are other gods that I feel warmer towards. These gods are nicer, like the people who believe in them. Nice people have nice gods, isn’t that strange? There are no perfectly nice gods though, because there are no perfectly nice people. We all have idiosyncrasies, dark spots, and desires to punish ourselves and people who we don’t approve of for one reason or the other. I find these gods among more socially conscious and liberal people more often than not. There are some gods that make no sense at all to me. These are often found in more socially conscious liberals as well, but usually they’ve made it a little farther along in college.

So I am an agnostic because I know about as much about the divine origins of the universe as you do. I am an atheist because all of the best guesses of all of the best (and worst) guessers seem far less likely than guesses that don’t involve any gods at all.

And I am a blogger because I feel compelled to share every random thought, idea, opinion, or hypothesis that bounces through my pretty little skull with the general public.

Eaten By Some Squirrels

My friend Christian Thompson asks the following question on facebook:

 

"Let me pose a question for you creative types: If you could create your best work ever, but it came with a 30 day deadline that would result in death if you failed, would you do it?  I got thinking about it after hearing the story of the author Oliver Sacks. He was attempting to finish a novel and caught some nasty writer's block that stumped him for 8 months. He gave himself a 30 day deadline with the promise of suicide if he didn't finish. And you know, he did finish the book."

To which he received a sock full of the kind of answers I suspect he expected;
variations on 'Art Over Life!'. And then there was my single word answer of 'No.', which he 'liked', because he gets me.

Maybe I'm being overly judgmental because I work in a different medium. Imagine the headline: 'Blogger agrees to be thrown into shark tank because he didn't finish post on how disappointed he was that the local grocery store was out of english muffins'.

English muffins are delicious, but I'm pretty sure you see the joke there.

I know what it's like to be an arteest. I did that for awhile. The problem is that the arteest lacks perspective; eventually, there will be no world for your legacy work to survive into (sun explosion), and, you're work is not as great and important as you expect it to be. This last one is true in most cases, and the first one is true in all cases. Yes, most arteest's have the needed narcissism and internal conflict down, but there's something off with the way they apply the fingerpaint.

You've got to have a realistic assessment of your talent. Once you realize and accept that your art isn't that good or important, you'll be free to make the best of it.

Just think about this: the odds are that the above statement applies to almost (if not) everyone who is or could be reading it. Myself included

So why not enjoy your art, and leave your art-messiah self crucified to his long-suffering ego? You'll be happier. Imagine yourself never doing art again. Forget what Rilke says. Say, 'I could never do art again', and mean it. It may be scary at first, especially for those of you who are banking on winning the lottery, but you'll feel better over time. Deal with some of the shit in your own life. You'll feel better. Every time you do a piece, say, 'I don't care if this is the last piece I do'. It will make the work better, and will make you feel better.

Your life is more important than your art, whatever your art is. Enjoy that.

Simon Pegg & Nick Frost's Star Wars

 

Drinking The Mortal Brew: Poor Old Granddad, I Laughed At All His Words...

"Not the youth, but the old man who has lived life well, is deemed to be happy. The youth in his prime is made distraught and baffled by fortune; the old man, as though in port in his old age, has brought safely into harbor the goods he scarcely hoped for before, and has secured them with unfailing gratitude." - Epicurus, 9th Vatican Saying

At 30, I don't feel like I've earned the right to talk about this one yet. I am hardly established, my family is young, and the line about the youth being 'distraught and baffled by fortune' sounds an awful lot like me an awful lot of the time. I look forward to being able to chuckle at the truth of this vatican saying in my old age, but, until then, I think a cautionary word from George Orwell serves me better:

"At fifty, we all get the face we deserve".

Although--to go back to Epicurus--I have known many old people who have been distraught, grumpy, and generally lost by life. Old age doesn't seem to be a guarantee of wisdom and calm. In fact, it often seems to take the uncertainty and discomfort of youth and compound it, because people are often unwilling to consider new perspectives, especially as they age. Many old people have given up. Many have settled into their opinions and comfort zones and become decidedly less interesting. And some seem to be exactly the admirable and clear-eyed types that Epicurus is describing. I've also met enough calm and composed youths to question the other half of this equation.

Whatever the case, I'll keep this one in mind, along with the reminder from Orwell, who seems to share some of my feelings on the subject.

*
I should also add that what I just did there--questioning the source of one of my ancient guiding texts--isn't something devout religious folks are free to do. If you come across a christian blogger who writes around scriptural wisdom, you probably won't find them quoting a passage from the bible and then saying, 'ah, but I'm not so sure this one is true. Let's withhold judgment for now.' It's the obligation of the faithful to force their mind to rationalize a way to accept even the most dubious scripture.

I think that's why many christian apologists are so good at sophistry. They get a lot of practice in their daily internal lives.

Nothing New Under The Sun...

"Live a good life. If there are gods and they are just, then they will not care how devout you have been, but will welcome you based on the virtues you have lived by. If there are gods, but unjust, then you should not want to worship them. If there are no gods, then you will be gone, but will have lived a noble life that will live on in the memories of your loved ones."

— Marcus Aurelius

via greater than lapsed

It's funny that this is the view I have come to embrace regarding the whole god/no god thing. And, I guess because my education is spotty, I thought it was pretty novel when I arrived at it.

Turns out people had been growing exasperated with the silliness of revealed religion long before I was born.

Mr. B's Memorial Service

Yesterday a few of my co-workers and I walked over to the memorial service of a former resident. On the way, I asked where he was going to be buried.

'He was cremated.' said someone.
'Oh. I didn't know that.' I said. 'That's how I want to go.'

'Really?' she responded. 'I can't help but think about--what if I'm alive? What if they start burning me and I'm alive?'

'What, would you rather be buried alive?' I said.

'Jeez, thanks!' she said. 'Great options'.

She then turned to another co-worker--he's a muslim--and said, 'you guys don't believe in that, right? You're religion?'

'That's right'. he said.

'What's the thinking behind that?' I said.

'The thinking' he said, 'although I'm not sure I believe it--because how could I believe god is all powerful and there are things he can't do--is that if your body is too destroyed God can't bring you back, and you just stay dead. But like I said, I question that.'

'huh. I knew Catholics thought something like that.' I said. 'Well, I'm definitely getting cremated then, because if I'm wrong about this whole religion thing, I don't think I want God bringing me back."

He laughed.

The service was lightly attended by case managers and other homeless and formerly homeless people. The guy was a pretty bad alcoholic, and was in a lot of pain towards the end. He was pretty grumpy when he stayed in our shelter, and we were constantly having to get him new clothes because he would shit and piss all over himself, and then get argumentative with us when we would ask him to clean up. He had got into a housing program not too long before the end, and I was told that he was a lot more peaceful then. Fewer accidents, better composure. The case manager that worked with him is a great person, and I admire her passion. She busted her ass to get him housing, and it brought him some final peace. I'm glad he got some.

A few people said some things that were nice, some said a few things that were funny, and there were a few prayers, and then everyone headed to the buffet table and started mixing. I'm not sure how I felt about the whole thing. Everyone in the room had been through a lot with (and for) this guy. His life was destroyed by addiction and a radically underfunded welfare system. No family could be contacted about the body, so the city is going to have to do something about it. I know some of the workers in the room really cared about the guy, but the sense that everyone was struggling for some kind of silver lining in their remarks made me uneasy. Why is it so hard for us to accept that some things are just terrible, and some lives are tragically wasted and unsupported?

I'm sad that his life went the way it went. I'm glad he's not suffering anymore, and I'm glad he got some peace at the end. I'm sorry that we couldn't do more for him, and sorry he couldn't do more for himself.

The Owl & The Pussycat

 Jerry Coyne brought back some good childhood memories for me today with this clip of an owl and a...well...pussycat playing together:



My mom used to sing The Owl & The Pussycat to me when I was a little boy. I sing it with my kids pretty regularly now too. It's an important part of Troxell culture.

No doubt this story--and my mother's habit of always reading me a bed-time story--were big contributors to my enormous appetite for books and stories.

Anyway, my relationship to the book Coyne referenced in the title of his post is what triggered me to post this video, which is cool even if you've never heard of Norman Lear.

You May Say That I'm a Dreamer

Since I spend a lot of time trying to be pragmatic about politics, I thought it might be nice to get a little idealistic for once. Now, I feel obligated to reiterate my disbelief in our ability to obtain a 'perfect state', and point out that, historically, whenever any group has decided to try a moon shot for some kind of utopia, it's always ended up in piles of corpses.

Optimal states is more my bag. I don't foresee a future where there is no more murder or discrimination, or where everyone gets a fair shake and opportunity to compete; rather, I foresee a world where maybe evolution is understood and accepted by a larger portion of the public, where the human services are adequately funded, and marijuana and gay marriage are legal. That's not pie in the sky Kumbaya stuff: that's attainable.

In that vein, I thought it would be fun to talk about attainable goals that I believe would make our world just a little bit better.

Here are a few changes I'd like to see:

1) Police officers should be required to get master's degrees in social work before they are allowed to work with the general public.

2) ethics, skepticism, and logic should be taught from elementary school all the way through college.

3) kids in public schools should be expected to memorize poems.

4)Education, healthcare, and housing should all be socialized.

5) You should have to be 25 before you can choose to join the military; if you're going to decide to go risk your life in foreign countries and be cleared to carry around big, deadly guns, your frontal lobes should at least be fully developed.

6) More green spaces. Public parks and nature preserves do everyone good.

7)In addition to the other education-related items above, kids should have to objectively survey world religions from elementary school to university.

8) Tax breaks for folks who do community service.

Those are just off the top of my head. Feel free to add your own suggestions, or challenge any of mine.

When Henry Came To Town

Henry Rollins, from his book 'A Preferred Blur':

"Damn, it was sad to see how beat up parts of Cincinnati are. There are some really rough patches we drove through to get to the record store. Stores closed, more boarded up, people hanging outside of bars and on corners, waiting for nothing as Tom Kromer used to say. It's the America that no one writes about, it's the America that doesn't vote, trade stocks, have a voice, or matter no matter what they do. It's the silent America. They just die off year after year and no one seems to know or care. It's amazing that you can drive across an American city and see stuff like this. I know it shouldn't surprise me at this point but still, I can't get over it."