A Meditation For My Birthday

"Once I thought to be human was the highest aim a man could have, but I see now that it was meant to destroy me. Today I am proud to say that I am inhuman, that I belong not to men and governments, that I have nothing to do with creeds and principles. I have nothing to do with the creaking machinery of humanity -- I belong to the earth! I say that lying on my pillow and I can feel the horns sprouting from my temples. I can see about me all those cracked forebears of mine dancing around the bed, consoling me, egging me on, lashing me with their serpent tongues, grinning and leering at me with their skulking skulls. I am inhuman! I say it with a mad, hallucinated grin, and I will keep on saying it though it rains crocodiles." ~ Henry Miller, from Tropic Of Cancer

Self Confidence

“You are all wrong.”

- Werner Herzog, in response to booing crowds at the Berlin Film Festival’s showing of Lessons of Darkness [1992]

Be Grateful When The Moment Chooses You

Yesterday night on my way home from work, I witnessed an accident. I was driving down one lane, and a car was approaching me in the other lane, going about fifty miles an hour. For a brief moment I saw a man stumble into the headlights of the car in the opposite lane. Media reports have confirmed that he was intoxicated. The only thought I registered before he was hit was the realization—I don’t even know if I could call it a thought—that he was about to be hit. The car hit him, and he flew up in the air. There was the sound of screeching tires and a sickening splattering sound as his body hit the sidewalk. I whipped my car into a nearby driveway and ran across the street to see if everyone was okay. The man was laying faced down in a puddle of blood that was pouring from his head. He was motionless. I assumed he was dead, but I checked his pulse anyway. I didn’t notice anything. I went to where the car that had hit the man had pulled off of the road. A woman nearly fell out of the driver’s seat into the road, already hysterical. I guided her to the side of the road as she wailed, horrified at what she had done. I called 911, told them what had happened, and stayed with the woman. I rubbed her back and held her hand. She said she couldn’t live with herself and collapsed on the ground. When the police arrived, they took over with the woman. I gave a brief description of what I saw and went home.

I was very calm during the event. In emergency situations—so far—I am remarkably calm. My mind takes over, and I jump into action. Who do I need to tend to? What do I need to do? How can I make the best of this moment and limit harm? I am as grateful for this trait as I am surprised by it.

 Afterwards, I begin to shake. I cry. I need to recount what I saw and felt to someone. I have a tendency to lapse back into viewing the situation objectively while I am grieving that is frustrating: I’m aware of the fact that I need to express myself emotionally, but stoicism sets in. It leaves me with a feeling that I need to do something, or fix something. It’s very hard to describe.

I’m glad that I was available during the accident last night. I have experience as a bereavement volunteer with hospice, and have experienced tragedy in my own life. I tend to view life as a struggle, so my mind is never far from considering tragedy. Mentally, I am usually on a war-footing. I am comfortable in the presence of death. If it had been someone other than me there at that moment, I can’t be sure that they would have remained calm, or would have known how to interact with the hysterical driver. If no one had been there, I don’t know what would have happened with the driver. When she came spilling out of her car, she practically collapsed on the road herself.

I don’t understand a person’s tendency to curse fate when they are present in a critical moment. I understand it, I guess, but it doesn’t resonate. What I feel now, and began to feel not long after the event is a sense of gratitude that I was able to be of some small service at an important moment in the lives of two people. Much more challenging moments have come to other people, and many more people have risen much farther than I could ever hope to; but life requires so little of us so often, and our actions (and inactions) are often ambiguous at best. It’s good to be able to say that I did all that I could have done.

We’re not entitled to live a life unmarked by tragedy, or to be left unaware of what is ugly or unfair about this world. Moments will come for all of us, and when they do, we have to respond with what is best in us. Be proud of yourself if you are able to tap into some inner reserve of calm or bravery when you are tested. Carry the knowledge that life will test you around in your heart, and never pass up an opportunity to show yourself what you are made of. When the moment chooses you, be grateful for the challenge. Let it sharpen you.

As of an hour ago, the local news outlets have the man who was hit as being in critical condition in a local hospital.

Currently Reading

The demon has left me alone for the past couple of days. I wrote up a little community organizing piece for the shelter on Friday, and yesterday I wrote a paragraph in a memoir that promises to take a long time to finish. Other than that I've been reading.

So far this year I've read Hitch-22, Tropic of Cancer, and The Dreams at the Witch House. I am currently reading The Map & the Territory by Michel Houellebecq.

Houellebecq turned me on to H.P. Lovecraft about 10 years ago. I read an article about Houellebecq while I was working at a book store in the early 2000's, and went online to find a small piece of his to read, because he interested me. I found H.P. Lovecraft: Against the World, Against Life, and it transferred my curiosity from Houellebecq to Lovecraft. Houellebecq made Lovecraft into an interesting character, or at least highlighted what was interesting about him. I usually don't read 'weird' or horror fiction, so Lovecraft and I were unlikely to cross paths unless someone intervened.

So I am finally getting around to Houellebecq. I like this book. I've already ordered a copy of The Elementary Particles, which I might read after I finish The Map and the Territory. If I don't do it that way, I might finish reading Hunter Thompson's The Great Shark Hunt, or maybe Moby Dick first. Either way I'll get around to it eventually, probably sometime this year.

Anyway, I'm mainly writing this post because I feel obligated to write something at least once every couple of days. Writing is the only way to keep alive, really.

'In the course of an investigation, as he always said to his student at Saint-Cyr-au-Mont-d'Or, it is fundamental to take notes--at this stage of his expose he would take out his own notebook, a standard 105-by-148-mm Rhodia pad. You should note, he insisted, even if the fact noted seemed to be totally lacking in importance. The rest of the investigation would almost always confirm this lack of importance, but this wasn't the essential point: the essential point was to remain active, to maintain a minimum of intellectual activity, for a completely inactive policeman becomes discouraged, and therefore becomes incapable of reacting when important facts do start to manifest themselves" ~ from 'The Map and the Territory', by Michel Houellebecq.

Getting Small

My thinking tends to be somewhat grandiose. Even when troubleshooting small problems in my life, you might be surprised to learn how high suicide ranks on the list of possible solutions. ‘The grocery store is out of vitamin D milk. I should probably order a cyanide capsule from Amazon’. Of course I’m just joking about that. Amazon doesn’t sell cyanide capsules.

There are certain common things that people spend time thinking about that I have trouble focusing on. I used to take pride in this, but now I see that my ‘big picture’ thinking is often a huge deficit in day-to-day living. There was a time when I thought people who worried about things like investing a portion of their paycheck, keeping their clothes updated, their house spotless, or understanding the inner working of their car’s engine were hopelessly terrestrial. Those were little things. Philosophy was the big thing. Art. The arc of history and our place in it; those were the things that mattered.

Well, surprise, surprise, it turns out I have very little impact on the ultimate fate of mankind, and the odds of me contributing a significant theory to philosophy, or a moment to history, or a great work of art to humanity’s creative canon, is slim. The odds of me needing to be able to change a tire or balance a check book—on the other hand—are quite high.

They say at the end of his life, Mark Twain just laid around in his bedroom, smoking cigars, rarely changing out of his pajamas, and reading, and writing. With the exception of cigar-smoking, this is the life I think I am inclined towards. Unfortunately, society at large feels it would be more appropriate for me to occupy other stations. So be it, I guess. Who am I to shirk the will of the people?

Living is a humbling experience, especially for those of us who need to be humbled. ‘You fools!’ I said under my breath to everyone around me who deigned to be interested in anything practical. ‘All of this will pass away! Only the life of the mind matters--Only the liberation of the spirit.’ What an asshole. 

So here’s to doing the dishes and washing the laundry. Here’s to changing the oil and taking out the trash. Here’s to cutting the grass, ironing the pants, and weeding the garden. Here’s to doing the taxes, here’s to vacuuming the carpet. Here’s to cleaning the toilet bowl and walking the dog. Here’s to investing in your 401k, and purchasing low-risk stocks. I am terrible, terrible, terrible, at every one of these activities, and I tip my hat to everyone who was humble enough—and had enough foresight—to pick these things up when they were in their teens and early twenties. I may be fun to have a conversation with every now and then, but when the zombie apocalypse finally arrives, you will be the folks who survive.

Proust Questionnaire

What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?

Not being ‘up to’ an important task. Knowing I have failed at something that could have helped others.

Where would you like to live?

Chicago.

What is your idea of earthly happiness?

debt free, good people to talk to and go on walks with, able to write, read, and think.

To what faults do you feel most indulgent?

I’m always sympathetic to people who try to take on more than they can handle. I understand the impulse, and think it’s noble (even if it’s shortsighted). It’s far superior to waiting around for a hero to deliver you.

Who is your favorite hero of fiction?

Satan

Who are your favorite characters in history?

Josephine Baker, Vladmir Lenin, Leon Trotsky, Christopher Hitchens

Who is your favorite heroine of fiction?

Eve

Your favorite painter?

Vincent Van Gogh

Your favorite musician?

Leonard Cohen

The quality you most admire in a man?

A deep respect for me, and an appreciation for my sense of humor and many charms.

The quality you most admire in a woman?

See above.

Your favorite virtue?

Empathy.

Your least favorite virtue, or the one you think is most overrated?

Respect for authority

Your proudest achievement?

Whatever role I have played in raising my children (who are some of the most interesting and basically good children I have ever met).

Your favorite occupation?

Lounging.

Who would you have liked to be?

Myself. Because if I was someone else, I would have liked to be someone else still. Better to stop this violent cycle before it starts.

Your most marked characteristic?

Selective enthusiasm.

What do you most value in your friends?

Loyalty

What is your principle defect?

Periodic existential despair.

What to your mind would be the greatest misfortune?

Causing some irreparable harm to my wife or children.

What would you like to be?

Effective at everything I do. Barring that, I would settle for being happy.

What is your favorite color?

I always say black, but I really think it’s yellow. Bright colors cheer me up.

What is your favorite flower?

Lilac.

What is your favorite bird?

Owl.

What word or expression do you most overuse?

‘experience’.

Who are your favorite poets?

Charles Simic, Guilliame Appollinaire.

What are your favorite names?

Langston, Jack, Spencer, Abby.

What is it you most dislike?

People who ‘tell it like it is’. I like honesty, but people who claim this as a trait are usually stupid, arrogant, vulgar, and cruel. And often wrong.

Which historical figures do you most despise?

Woodrow Wilson, Joseph Stalin

Which contemporary figures do you most despise?

Sarah Palin, Mahmoud Ahmadinijad

Which events in military history do you most admire?

Harpers fairy, October Revolution.

Which natural gift would you most like to possess?

The patience to learn a musical instrument.

How would you like to die?

At an old age, in a comfortable bed, with a clear conscience, surrounded by my wife and children, and my brother and sister.

What do you most dislike about your appearance?

I’m about 50 pounds heavier than I care to be, and way low on muscle mass.

What is your motto?

‘Life is a great balancing act’-Dr. Seuss.

Activist, Know Thyself

While the response to my piece ‘Drop Inn Center Needs Help Now’ in the Cincinnati Enquirer has been overwhelmingly positive, there have been a few people who took exception to my claim that ‘there is something sexy’ about protesting.

the section in question:

"We receive a lot of support and advocacy from our community. We appreciate it. There is a time to fight big battles, and there is a time to make public stands. When the moment to rally comes, there are always more than enough people available to hold signs and shout slogans. Rallying is exciting. There is something sexy about it.

What is less sexy – but even more necessary – is maintenance. I understand the excitement of starting a new project or fighting a big fight in the public arena. In between these capital moments, however, someone has to sweep the floors. Someone has to pay the electric bill."

In contemporary vernacular, ‘sexy’ is often used as a synonym for ‘exciting’ or ‘hip’. There may be a hint of the reproductive about protest as well, but overall, these two synonyms were what I meant.

No one does anything without ego playing some part in their actions. When the soldier goes to war, she is not just saying ‘I am doing what I need to do to protect my country’, she is also—on some level—saying ‘I am a hero’. When Gandhi was overseeing the salt march in India, on some level he was aware of the romantic image he was cutting in the mind of peace-inclined revolutionaries all around the world. Our self-definitions mean a lot to us, and we derive those definitions partly from the acts that we engage in.

Ego plays a part, and no one gets involved in anything for one motive alone. We are complicated animals; we may not even fully understand all of our motives. But ego plays a part, and there is nothing to be ashamed of in that. 

So I do believe that there is something ‘sexy’ about protesting, at least in the minds of the protesters. To ‘rage against the machine’ is viewed as heroic. At every ‘Occupy Wall Street’ protest across the country, there were countless aspiring Che Guevaras itching to pick up the bullhorn and put their own populist stamp on the national consciousness. There may have been a noble overriding goal to the protest, and the predominant motivation of most occupiers may have been admirable, but there is self-interest at play in almost every decision we make. I also think there is something literally ‘sexy’ about it too, as any honest person who has ever taken a date to a rally—or met a future lover at a rally—can attest.

There are no saints in this world, and I am glad for it. It takes a certain kind of humility to admit that we have various—and sometimes sordid—motives for the things we do. ‘Every saint should be held guilty until proven innocent’, said George Orwell. ‘If you meet the Buddha on the road, kill him’, said Lin Chi. It takes great self-awareness to interact meaningfully with this world, and no person who is adequately self-aware will ever mistake themselves—or the movements they belong to—as absolutely pure of intention. Throughout history, all movements of ‘pure intention’ have led to concentration camps, gulags, killing fields, mass graves, and performance art (all of which are terrible, terrible things). 

If we’re going to be effective in achieving our goals, we don’t need saints and messiahs. We don’t need cults of personality. We need real, flawed, self-aware people muddling through the best they can, with an appropriate dose of fear and trembling to keep them honest.

'My Family Thinks I'm Going To Hell'

The Thinking Atheist gets into one of the tougher aspects of being an atheist in a religious family:



This is a real issue for those of us with religious folk in our lives. How do you reassure your believing friends that you're not going to burn, burn, burn for all of eternity once the final curtain drops? Personally, the anxiety that my well-intentioned family & friends suffer at the thought of me going to hell troubles me. I would like to be able to ease this anxiety, but the odds of disabusing anyone of their religious beliefs is usually pretty low. It would seem disingenuous to try to convert them to more of a 'love wins' view of the afterlife, especially since it's not a view that I hold (you know, democrats are full of shit, but I think they'd be a great fit for you!).

I don't have the answer to the question, but I understand the problem.

Drop Inn Center Needs Help Now

Check out my article in today's Cincinnati Enquirer.

text:


Many Drop Inn Center supporters seem to imagine a critical moment in the future where they will lock arms in front of the building and prevent the shelter from being whisked away by nefarious developers to some alternate location.

What many of these good intentioned folks don’t realize is that the critical moment is not in the future. The critical moment is now. The critical moment is always now.

We receive a lot of support and advocacy from our community. We appreciate it. There is a time to fight big battles, and there is a time to make public stands. When the moment to rally comes, there are always more than enough people available to hold signs and shout slogans. Rallying is exciting. There is something sexy about it.

What is less sexy – but even more necessary – is maintenance. I understand the excitement of starting a new project or fighting a big fight in the public arena. In between these capital moments, however, someone has to sweep the floors. Someone has to pay the electric bill.

The Drop Inn Center is bigger than a location. It’s bigger than any one person. The Drop Inn Center exists to serve an idea: Every human being has an inherent dignity, and society owes it to itself to provide a safety net for its citizens. It is our community’s response to a system with cracks in it. The Drop Inn Center will do whatever is in the best interest of its residents and its community. If that entails moving to a new location that is better equipped to serve our population and provide them easy access to key services, then that is what we will do. If it’s determined that staying at our current location is the best way to provide for the population we represent, then so be it.

There may come a day when we need to lock arms and shout slogans. Until that day, what we really need is your money, your time and your advocacy.

Donate as much as you can afford. Canned goods, new underwear, socks, sweatpants, deodorant, laundry detergent, tooth brushes and toilet paper will make things a lot easier on our residents. Contact our volunteer coordinator to find out what volunteer opportunities are available. Advocate by inviting your friends, neighbors and business acquaintances to take a tour of our facility. Like us on Facebook. Follow us on Twitter. Tell folks what we do. Talk about us.

The Drop Inn Center vows to remain committed to its mission to be a community of residents, staff and volunteers working together to provide basic human services for men and women experiencing homelessness, with a primary commitment to shelter. Our success will be forever tied to the tangible support of folks who share our vision.

'And because it is my heart.'

“In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
Who, squatting upon the ground,
Held his heart in his hands,
And ate of it.
I said: ‘Is it good, friend?’
‘It is bitter - bitter,’ he answered;
‘But I like it
Because it is bitter,
And because it is my heart.’”

- Stephen Crane, “In the desert”

via Cock N Bull.

Langston's First Foray Into Vandalism

What does it say that I supplied him with the crayon?

The Perfect Day

I was thinking, 'what would a perfect day look like for me'? Of course, perfect days can totally catch you by surprise. The best days are usually not planned, but occur naturally; a weird and random confluence of pleasant and surprising events. That being said, I am a nerd--and a blogger (double nerd!)--so I thought I'd try to map out how a perfect day might look.

Wake up around 9 am after a night of interesting dreams and solid sleep. Take a shower, brush my teeth, get dressed. Everyone else is still in bed. Start the coffee, make some biscuits and gravy and fruit salad for breakfast. Eat breakfast with the family, and do the dishes. Sit down on the front deck with Abby while the kids entertain themselves. Alternate between talking to her and reading a book. The temperature should be about 60 degrees, and it should be Fall. Take the boys to the gym to play racquetball, then go for a hike with the family through the woods. This should culminate in ice cream somewhere. After that, write a blog post, and then have lunch with a smart person with a good sense of humor. I'm thinking a bowl of chili and a grilled cheese sandwich. Come home. Spontaneous sex with my wife. Lounge around with the family for awhile. lay in a hammock in the backyard and read some more. Maybe take a nap. There should be some kind of soundtrack throughout the day. Whatever music the day demands. Split some wood for a bonfire later in the evening.  Play a game of chess with Abby or one of the boys. Carry the baby around for awhile. Watch a movie or part of a television series I'm following. Take the family out for sushi, and then come back and start the fire. Sit around it, talk, and drink some hot chocolate. Lay in a hot bath and read. Read the kids a bed time story. I certainly wouldn't be offended by some more sex and a bedtime conversation about random things. Close with some more interesting dreams and a solid sleep.

That would be a solid day.

What would your perfect day look like?

Why I Blog

The quick answer is 'it's my hobby'.

If I settled for the quick answer though, I wouldn't be a blogger, now would I?

A friend of mine posted a link to the following list of blogging euphemisms to my facebook page the other day. Over all they were funny, but a few of the cliches were a little bit stingy. Not 'stingy' as in unwilling to share, but 'sting-y' as in sharing a trait with the rear end of a bumblebee. Bumblebee's butts are stingy, but they have to be stingy with their stingers because they will die if they ever choose to use them.

The stingy (not stingy) parts of the list were that I was made aware that I have been engaging in cliched blogging. I hate that. Everything I do should always be completely novel and brilliant, and you shouldn't be able to say, 'there goes Spencer, counting his eggs before they hatch'.

But there it was. I had been lampooned.

 'Pre-humiliating yourself': of all nerdy undertakings, blogging is perhaps the easiest to mock. There's an element of self importance involved in blogging that pisses some people off. To blog--in some people's eyes--is to say, 'I am so smart, I have all of the answers, look at how smart I am'. There is some truth to that perception. Secondly, there is an element of vulnerability in blogging that makes the  aforementioned element even juicier: bloggers need validation. Why else put stuff out for public consumption? Either they don't have the will, or don't have the talent to write for a living, yet they persist on putting their stuff out for all to read. Bloggers--like amateur musicians and stand up comedians--are saying 'judge me'. Not only are they saying 'judge me', but they are saying, 'judge me kindly. Like me.' Seeing this coupled with element one (I am so smart), you are practically inviting scorn. I know I have been gently mocked for my hobby. A few folks have indicated--usually after losing an argument to me--that they would write more in response to my stupid, evil arguments if they only had more time. 'I'm too busy to talk about this longer. I don't have all this time to sit around and blog', they say. Although I know many of these people watch sports, and many of them play video games. When all is said and done, writing this post will take me about half an hour. How long does it take to watch a football game? How long to beat Modern Warfare? Exactly. The final reason that blogging is easy to make fun of is that there is an element of intimidation in it. Bloggers--on the whole--are usually smart people. Smart people who can kick your ass in a debate. People hate to lose in debates. Especially the stupider people.

So there you have it: Arrogant, vulnerable people who can kick your ass in a debate. Who wouldn't hate bloggers?

Then there's the 'Sabotaging the job hunt' euphemism. This is a real possibility. On the whole, however, I think it's worth the risk. If someone is turned off of hiring me because of my charming, clever, intelligent blogging, then balls to them. Everyone lies on job applications and resumes. If you're turned off by seeing the inner workings of a real person unafraid to be themselves in a wide-open kind of way, who needs you? I wish more folks would blog. This is supposed to be a country that supports freedom of expression. I say 'call them on it'. You want freedom of expression? Here it is.

 'Spilling the blandest beans': That's me all over. I am capable of being very boring. Blogging is an endurance game, and they can't all be brilliant. If you're going to write one or two blogs a week, every now and then you're going to have to pull an Andy Rooney. It's unavoidable.

'Reacting to what Dad said 20 years late': We live in a patriarchal society, so I think 'Dad' is an appropriate metaphor for whatever system you grew up in. 'They fuck you up, your mum and dad', Philip Larkin said. And they do. The system fucks you up. Mom. Dad. Aunt. Uncle. Teacher. Doctor. Priest. Preacher. Laws put perimeters on our instincts, and the people who make laws sometimes misjudge which instincts need to be checked. It takes time to process some of the wounds we receive as we grow, so it makes sense that we might be 20 or so years late on some of our rebuttals.

Finally, there's 'Alienating your cousins': I link to all of my blog posts on Facebook, and the number of family members (and old elementary and high school friends) has definitely fluctuated over time. One of the joys of Facebook is that it allows people to get an insight into the lives of people they haven't talked to in years. One of the horrors of Facebook is also that it allows people to get an insight into the lives of people they haven't talked to in years.

My hobby is fun, but it's also a public service. Not because what I am saying is so wise and wonderful, but because if I didn't write, I would be cranky. And if I didn't post what I write, I think I would rant at people a lot more than I do. I am the kind of person who is only palatable in small amounts. I would exhaust you if I was up in your face all the time. Blogging allows me to say what's on my mind in a public forum without harassing anyone. If someone is interested in reading my thoughts, here they are. If not, here they are.

I Used To Be a Pacifist

I used to be a pacifist. It was one of my most important identity markers for a long while, right beneath my Christianity. I arrived at pacifism through my Christianity, actually. I wasn’t a social justice Christian exactly, although I did think that Kurt Vonnegut got closer to the true spirit of Christ in his writings than did any Christian apologist. My Christ was a turn the other cheek Christ. Mine was the Christ that told me I was to pick up my cross in this world and follow him. ‘We are just passers-through here’, said my Jesus. ‘Don’t get too comfortable’. So even though I realized how unrealistic my refusal to endorse any kind of violence—even in self-defense—I still embraced it. It was a key principle. It allowed me to suffer as Christ did, and to stand firmly on the truth as I saw it. Maybe C.S. Lewis was right, and pacifism could only lead to a world without pacifists. That was fine. I was willing to suffer for my faith and—I suppose—willing to allow others to suffer for my faith as well. 

I abandoned pacifism before I abandoned Christ, though. My friends and family would argue with me about the untenable nature of my stance. They would argue that in a world where there are people who want to hurt you, it’s okay to hurt them back, or pre-emptively. In a world where big prays on small, it’s okay to stand up for small.  

It wasn’t any of their arguments that won me to the situational endorsement of violence. It was the realization (in a moment where I saw the life of my family put in peril by the vengeful act of a stupid, bitter person) that I was capable of violence. Great violence. At the moment that this incident occurred, I realized that I could kill someone. Not only that I could kill someone, but in this person’s case, I would gleefully kill someone.

The world is a violent place, and we are a violent race. For years I had pretended I didn’t have any elements of this violence in my person. Like in William Bly’s essential essay, I stuffed my violence into a bag until it revolted. When it got out, it was an ugly and misshapen thing. I didn’t know what to do with it at first. Eventually I came to understand it as much as those kinds of things can be understood, and now I accept it as part of my person.

These days I support the death penalty; partially out of bloodlust, but mostly out of pragmatism. I do enjoy the thought of putting down a child murderer or rapist or even a drunk driver guilty of manslaughter. The main reason I support the death penalty is that I think it just makes good sense to send defective parts back to the factory. ‘You are unable to engage in society without causing harm to others. There’s no place on this earth for you’, we say to the murderer and the rapist.

I also support the idea of just wars now. Iraq was not a just war. Neither was Afghanistan, really. Definitely not the way they were executed. They were sloppy, ill-considered vulgarities that were bad for everyone involved. I do believe there’s a role for military action in the world though. I approved of our recent intervention in Libya, both in style and in substance. World War II had to be fought. So did the Civil War. The War of 1812 was necessary too, and so was our demonstration of strength against the Barbary pirates under Thomas Jefferson & James Madison. We are a warlike people, so most of our wars have been bad wars. When the drumbeat starts, Americans find it hard not to dance. We have wreaked havoc on this globe with our wars, and we need people less easily seduced by the rhythm of violence at the helm of our great military industrial complex. 

But there have been good wars, and there will be good wars. There will be good acts of violence at a smaller scale, too:  ‘Wherever you see a cop beating a guy, I’ll be there’.  As our species evolves, we seem to lose our taste for violence. This is good. But we can never forget where we came from, and never forget that violence will always be a tool in our toolbox. 

It occurs to me as I wrap this piece up that I would be disturbed to hear any of my children utter some of the sentiments I have expressed above. The way I phrased my support for the death penalty, coming out of their mouths, would be chilling. Right now my 10 year old son thinks war is always bad, and thinks the death penalty is never okay. I’m proud of him for these stances. He is one of the most humane people I know.  I’m pretty sure he’s comfortable with the idea of self-defense though, and I am glad for that.

Usually, it makes a parent feel good to hear their children echo their own beliefs. Maybe there is some cognitive dissonance from my own days as a passionate pacifist. Maybe I hope that he’s right, and one day there will be more people like him.

Unfortunately, until the day when there are more people like him, there will have to be some people like me.

An Atheist's Sermon

I enjoyed listening to this.

Art Stretches the Middle

On the one hand, I have this constant performance anxiety. I want to avoid committing atrocities, and—if possible—I’d like to perform little acts of goodness here and there. ‘Be ashamed to die until you have won some victory for humanity’*.

 On the other hand, I don’t want to be bored, and I don’t know what to do with myself. There really aren’t any instructions for life—I mean, there are, but they’re radically inconsistent and varied—so it’s really anyone’s guess. It’s like when you go to the doctor’s office and have to read the magazines in the waiting area to pass the time. They’re never magazines you’re terribly interested in, but you read them. You learn a little something about the Kardashians, and maybe read an article on managerial empowerment. The doctor’s appointment is the big deal, but it’s not like he’s going to just come out and meet with you in the waiting area. There are protocols. “Everyone, deep in their heart, is waiting for the end of the world to come”^. That’s me.

One good way to pass the time is to engage in art.

According to Werner Herzog's The Cave of Forgotten Dreams, neanderthals didn't do cave paintings. Homo sapiens did, and the movie is about a particularly wonderful and historic set of them in Chauvet cave in southern France. The paintings are beautiful, and Herzog--reliably--transfers a sense of awe to the audience.

It seems that humans have always used the arts as a tool for making sense of the world around them. That's part of the reason they're my favorite animals. It's probably part of the reason we do terrible things too: our ability to think abstractly enables us to build and to destroy in equally creative ways. It's easy to get caught up in this aspect of our nature. How terrible we can be. But if we weren't us, we wouldn't be making such assessments. We would be moving along as all of our fellow-animals do; drinking, fucking, eating, shitting, sleeping. Not that this is blameworthy. It's not. We're just gifted with the ability to take a meta-view of things when we are so inclined.

And we also get bored.  I wonder if the reason we get bored is because we know we’re going to die. I don’t know if pigs get bored. I think I remember hearing that they do. Whatever the case, they definitely don’t make art while they’re bored. Pigs on Bob Evans factory farms never leave behind bleak existential memoirs the way some survivors of Stalin’s gulags did. Or at least I’ve never heard about that happening.

From the very beginning humans have found activities that fill the time between now and the big appointment with color, as well as lending it a deeper meaning. Art is a tool for escape; we can't escape out the beginning or the end, but we seem to be able to expand the space in the middle. At least conceptually. That's cool.

*Horace Mann

^ Haruki Murakami

It's Was a Thin Posting Week at the Medicine Cabinet

But Jarvis Cocker knows where my heart is at:

The Dude Breaks It Down

Caffeine

It gives me a small joy to stand on the sidewalk outside the local Speedway at 6 am and watch caffeine-starved working folk pull up in front of the store ready for their early morning fix. The tired and desperate look on their faces is very real and beautiful.

The looks on the faces of the Speedway crowd are better than the looks on the faces of  the Starbucks crowd because they need it more. It's also better than the looks that other kinds of junkies get on their faces because it's not as tragic. As far as drugs go, caffeine is pretty benign. In a country where certain segments of our population can go through their entire live fully furnished with all of the basic requirements of survival, it's nice to see people need things every now and then, even if it's just a cheap high.