A few thoughts about something or other.

The New World Power

I have a confession to make.

Right before getting in the shower, I passed a little gas. And it was bad. But no one was done a disservice, it was just me and myself.

But this all got me to thinking… Have you ever farted in the shower? Let me rephrase that. You know when you fart in the shower and it smells like post digestion yak butter? What’s the flippin’ deal? I need Dr. Scientist So’n’so to give me an explanation. Cause that’s just not ok.

So I’m getting in and I remind myself, “Self, no flatulence.” But now the wheels on this train to revelation are beginning to turn under the burden of their own momentum. It’s e m c squared and there are no opposing forces up there, in my brain that is. And I can’t stop it. That lingering question is begging for an answer and since Bill Nye didn’t rip back my shower curtain with a chemistry set in tow, I’m the best I got.

I don’t know if I’ve ever posted something about this, but I’m my best teacher. I learn things from myself all the time. I’m not saying my answers to these types of questions are always the most scientifically concrete, but I like them. And I’m convincing enough to not let myself get away from the “truth.”

When I go about solving problems of any kind, whether as worthy as this one or not, I like to approach it from all angles. I play the devil’s advocate, I’m my own worst nightmare. But doing this allows me the detachment to appropriately solve such noble quests.

My first explanation is of course, the space. The gas is concentrated in such a confined space and I’m the only one to suffer. But this isn’t nearly scientific enough. it’s too flawed. My mirror fogs up, so heat and moisture are escaping. Surely my creation would not suffer such an ill fate as to be cooped up for its life’s entirety.

Maybe it’s the water! I mean really that’s the biggest difference between now and 5 minutes ago! The water and steam must distill any amount of tolerable particles from the concoction.  But I’ve never know water to be so picky, after all, it feels nice on my skin. But it’s not all the way of the hook, no sir, water is definitely my variable… but how then?

When else does water betray me so painfully? Electricity! Power! Conduction! That is when water is at its worst!

Just like electrocution is worse when wet, so is flatulention. Einstein and Franklin would be proud. But this has much larger, global applications. If water conducts energy and also conducts poo smell, than my natural gas must be a form of energy! Global energy crisis averted! Now all we have to develop is the means to capture, store, and harness this power.

If farts could power electronics than we’d all be walking gold mines. Your pants could be specially designed to power your cell phone and ipod. You’d never need to find another outlet when your laptop battery is dying. AND stock in Taco Bell would triple over night! I’m buying some right now!

I’m sure it’d be much more practical, however, to invest our technology in more nutrient rich environments. Dr. Scientist So’n’so would probably end up strapping these converters to the backsides of cows.

Smart. I can’t fault his logic.

Although our modern landscape would change. Instead of having slick and sexy solar panels on every corner, we’d have a cow eating from a Taco Bell stand.

The future is bright.

Break It 'til It Works

I had the lovely responsibility of taking out the trash at work today. There are two large trash bins. One is for recycled whatnots and the other is for everything else. So I collected all the trash around the store, filled up the little rolly trash can and headed out. It took me two trips which isn’t uncommon, but it’s a good amount of trash.

There’s something I enjoy about throwing trash out. Maybe it’s getting to chuck large chuckable objects into a giant metal container. Maybe it’s the kuhthud sound it makes. Maybe I like being outside, or maybe I just enjoy getting rid of unneeded things.

I like throwing away my stuff too, not just corporate America’s stuff. Whenever I actually get around to dumping out a book bag, or cleaning off a desk, or throwing away old socks, I’m a fan of it.

I think there can be all kinds of trite contrived analogies for this type of thing in your mental, spiritual, and business lives/relationships. Well I say phoofy to that, I just like throwing away junk. And if you’re American, it can pile up too easily. Between holidays, birthdays, and kids meals, we’re just given crap and expected to hold on to it cause it’s a material thing and we’re told not to waste and wasting’s bad, but everyone gives you more than you need so what else is there to do?

Freakin throw stuff away.

And I get a small pleasure from doing it.

So I’m taking the opportunity to throw away Starbuck’s trash (small pleasure still applies) and I go to close the lids. The recycling bin lid closes no problem, but everything-else-bin lid is temperamental. It does this thing where, if you’re not taking your time, the lid jams near the hinge and it’s left gapping open like that thing your mouth does when you’re looking at peopleofwalmart.com.

Now, all I have to do to get the lid to close properly is lift it slowly upward until the jam gets unjammed. Instead of doing this I break it ‘til it works. I slap the one end of the lid closed like a fat kid on a diving board. Slap, slap, slap! And the lid doesn’t close ‘cause of the stupid jam. So I keep slamming it (and torquing the plastic lid) until it does one of two things. A: the plastic flange on the lid gives enough to flip past the metal flange on the bin, or B: the lid bounces so high it unjams itself like I should have done in the first place.

Break it ‘til it works.

Enter trite and contrived analogy.

I thought (seriously now), as I walked back to the building; What else in my life do I apply the “Break-it-til-it-works” method to? My wife? My career? My business?

I don’t have an honest insightful answer. But I can’t imagine that I don’t do it. Really it comes down to- what in my life do I just force instead of taking the time and consideration to just do right?

I don’t know. Think about it. I might get back to you. Maybe you just needed to read this.

Maybe Starbucks has a crappy trash bin. Maybe.

The Happened

I just got done watching M. Night Shyamalan’s film “The Happening.”

My friend, Chris Oatley, reported to me about 13 minutes into it that he heard it was “nigh unwatchable.” He also requested that I post a review similar in style to a review I put on myspace about M:I:III (Mission Impossible 3 people, get with it).

So before I begin, let me say that it was not “unwatchable.”

I’ll move on.

The story starts off with a bunch of random people in Central Park doing things like

Which I think is sufficiently creepy and M. Night does a good job of making you feel like

is about to start. Not unwatchable, but then things start to go a little south when

shows up. But good for us, he’s much more like

with the angelic voice of

So Fra… Marky Mark and that chick that’s in a band I think, but has been in a lot of movies lately like Yes Man and something else and has those big sad eyes, but you can’t remember her name nor have the desire to IMDB it run off with

or

either one and His daughter, Ashlyn Sanchez, an adorable girl who did a good job. Then,

runs off and

then they find out that there are

after mankind and not the

like we all assumed, I guess. But to be honest it’s M. Night, so we know right off the bat it’s not

Onward. They run into a bunch of people who eat

which would be bad enough, but they learn that the

are targeting

No, not Christians or baseball fans, crowds! Come on people, stay focused!

So they run off into

but people keep

so they keep running and running until they meet

who

then the whiny science liking

The talented daughter of

and the girl I refuse to do research on decide that if they are going to

they want to

together which make me feel

Turns out they don’t die and the crisis is averted!

Then for some reason we end up watching TV and aparently

paid for the whole thing! The movie I mean not the

True to form M. Night gives us a little something for the ride home when suddenly we see some guys near

start

Fancy!

Overall, I was entertained. I’d give it a ***.5/5 if you can put up with Marky Mark’s voice. Worth a peak see, but nothing too substantial.

On a scale from “Rather eat leftovers and watch Cosby Show reruns” to “Full price plus parking and an Icee” I’d give it a “Borrow it from the Library.”

Music Fast

I tap. Not itap, I tap. As in, I’m a tapper. I tap on my steering wheel. I tap on my leg. I tap on my desk while my foot taps on the floor.

I tap on my belly (useful whilst walking).
I tap on my head.
I tap to the music, and I tap to the dryer.

I tap in my sleep and my wife frequently complains about me tapping when I’m falling asleep or waking up. I tap when you don’t. I tap when I don’t know.

Tapping begets tapping.

What I’m trying to say is that I tap. I tap without article or tense. I tapped tap tapping will tap.

I don’t, however, just tap it in. I’m not a golfer.

My problem is that I’m metronomic. I hear rhythms when others do not. I could say that a lot of this has to do with the fact that I’m a drummer, or that I’m ADHD (although undiagnosed). But I think that I’m a tapper, not because of who I am, but because of what I do. More specifically, I tap because of what I do to myself.


For those of you who don’t know, fasting is a practice in almost all religions. Buddhism, Christianity, Hinduism, Islam, Judaism, whatever; All faiths have some form of this practice. Essentially, at the heart of the matter, fasting is something you do to deprive one part of your body, the stomach, of what it needs, so that when it hurts, it serves as a reminder and concentrator of your mind onto the thing that you want to focus on.

So in a way fasting is a means to which you can concentrate your mind.

I don’t need to fast. Not food. What I need, rather, is something more like a disk defragmentation for my brain:

- - -

Last week I had a phone interview. I’ll keep a short story short; They are flying my to Connecticut for a face to face interview. In less than 14 days I will have interviewed, for the first time, for a job and then be flown on their dime (or grand) to meet them.

I feel three parts crazy, three parts excited, a dash of scared, and 100% in over my head.

I think overwhelmed is a good description of my feelings, although the meaning implies that I have a lot of work to get done in a short amount of time. On the contrary, I am “prepared,” at least as prepared as I’ll ever be.

- - -

I profess to love Jesus. Mainly because he loved me first. I could go on, but what’s important to this story is that I have promised him that my life is his to do with what he will. I sound fanatical, I know.


We’ll just go with that for now.


Weather you’re fanatical or not, Christian or not, when you’re faced with the decision to move across country, take a new job, eat french fries or asparagus, we all want to make sure we’re doing the best possible thing for ourselves. (I’m of course assuming that the majority of you want good things to happen to you. Survival of the fittest, ect.)

Since I have made this oath with this Jesus guy, I find myself in a position of freedom. As Americans, we love freedom. Mentioning the word brings joy to our hearts, there’s dancing in the streets, songs are sung as well all hold hands around a crackling fire, our bellies full of sugar and tube shaped meat. Freedom, for everyone, is freeing. I’ve come to an understanding that freedom means that you can do whatever you want. But when we’re faced with big decisions, we all want an anchor, something to root ourselves to, something that we know that if all else fails, we’ll be ok.
I’ve put myself in this same position, except that my only anchor, the only thing I refuse to surrender is my trust in Jesus. I am therefore free from everything else. My problem is then that instead of relying on a large bank account or a back up plan, I get to rely on a metaphysical spiritualistic being that I’ve never seen, touched, or heard (at least not with the senses we’re used to using).

Understand, if you will, that this is not easy for me. I am scratching my head just as hard as you are. I cannot grasp anything physical to say “this is what I believe in.” I feel like a Polish Jew in Nazi occupied territory, but instead of hiding in an attic, I’ve chosen to hide in the open streets with one those clever blinking neon signs which says “JUDEN” with its arrow pointed at the star patch on my jacket, trusting in God to keep me concealed. I’m free from the confinement of an attic. Oh joy.

I’ve made this seem super dramatic haven’t I? Yes. Yes, Joel, you’ve gone to far.

I apologize I was merely trying to paint some contrast, some chiaroscuro, if you will.

Herein, as the bard would tell us, lies the rub.

Before, when I referred to what I do to myself to induce the tapping, I meant that I am constantly listening to music. I have radio, ipod, home theatre, car radio, podcasts, audiobooks, and on and on to the point of nausea. I never stop the input. I never unplug. I use music as background I use it as a means to keep the part of my brain that’s bored entertained so that I can focus on whatever else it is that I’m doing. I never just think, I never just listen to what’s inside my head because I always am drowning it out with some form of audible pleasure.

So I’ve decided to fast. No, not food, that might kill me (I draw for a living, you know the type, pasty skin stretched over a thin boned frame, that’s me), but music. I’m going to allow myself to think. I’m going to allow my God, to direct my thoughts and speak to me. I’m going to let my brain take some time out from the metal, folk, hip hop, flamenco, jazz, and house that is consistently causing my head to bob, body to sway and fingers to itap, err I mean just tap.

I’ve actually been music fasting for two days now. I cheated this morning though because I had to wait fifteen minutes for a printer to open and I couldn’t be without something that long. Strike 1.

I plan on fasting until at least August 6th, the day after my interview in Connecticut. Should things go well (and by well I mean, I’d really like the job, and they offer it to me) I will probably continue to fast. I will have to write about any revelations, or events that occur between now and then.

If you are some one like me, which I’m guessing you are seeing as how you are on a blog site reading extraneous information that is not inherently of value, and you have something looming in your future, how about giving yourself some head space. I’m not saying you need to get rid of music, or food, or whatever else, just, you know, find a place to think. Really think. Like let your mind ask questions. Write them down and wait and meditate on the answer. Maybe you could take some inspiration of the Eames “Powers of Ten” (http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x2zuqa_puissances-de-dix-powers-of-ten_shortfilms) to examine, your decisions.

Sorry, for not being funny. If this was too boring, go watch ABC’s Wipeout at abc.com for free, it always puts a smile on my face. (oh input, there you are again)

Until next time,

Love,

Stories

I love the idea of storytelling.

I say that I love the idea because I’m not an actual storyteller. I’d love to tell stories. Stories that people would love. Stories like Finding Nemo, The Shawshank Redemption, or The Prodigal Son. I want to tell stories that people tell stories about. But I think that I mostly want to do something that I love that other people love too.

I’m not at storyteller, I’m more of a storyhearer, or storyappreciator .

What I love about good stories it the abilities of the bard to take you somewhere. A good storyteller is visual. A good storyteller would make a blind man envision the story.

I’m thinking of a time when a good storyteller friend of mine, Chris Oatley, was describing a scene he witnessed at his neighborhood starbucks. Chris is the kind of storyteller that adjust things in the room to make sure he can get the motions right. He’s the kind of guy that becomes his characters. I watched as he described a scene where a man wearing not but a red speedo came “floating” through the cafe where he was working. If you can imagine, Chris, my 6 foot flesh covered skeleton of a friend with a beard that would make Honest Abe jealous, contorted his face to hiss as he “floated” by in a sort of Michael Jackson meets Russian infantry march. This sealed it. Chris was/is my favorite friend-storyteller. I think there are definitely better in the world somewhere, but he’s the best I know.

I love when stories are colorful, when the conveyor makes you taste and smell the events as they remember them.

I aspire to inspire people to do and be better, maybe one day I can do this through a story.

Today I was driving to drop off the first disc of Lost, also a great story, at Blockbuster. My phone had died mid conversation and I was unwittingly and dangerously left with my thoughts.

Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately as your case may deem appropriate, I was inspired to write this; the first of my blog postings.

As I drove I thought about this idea of storytelling. About how I’d like my life to be more story worthy. I was thinking about how I needed to think about stories more and how I should start to develop stories in my thoughts. I also told myself that as a concession I could just try to make my life more narrative.
“He slowed for a red light.”
My story needed to be interesting. Something I was passionate about.
“He drove past a house for sale.”
I love architecture.
I want to build my own house some day.
Maybe I can find a way to buy a house and convert it into what I really want.
I’ve always loved building.
I love Legos.
I love castles and secret passage ways.
“He slowed for yet another red light.”
But the past is too boring! It’s already been done. So it’s in the future where my hope lies! no. No, the future is so overwhelmed by the Star Treks and Minority Reports. Besides, I’m not sciency enough to dream up the future. Don’t get me wrong, I love science, and the future, and space stuff and what not, but there’s something so darn romantic about the past. This is why Pride and Prejudice didn’t take place on the forest moon of Endor.

No, the future didn’t hold and hope for my story, just like the past was too out dated for it. No, what I need is the present. I need right now. I need this moment in time to be a story. The past is great, but it has happened and I can’t change it, and the future hasn’t happened so I can’t predict it. What I can make is my now.

Unfortunately for me, my present is only mildly entertaining, so i’ll have to create something that is now, but more extraordinary, more extra-ordinary.

The best stories are things that we can’t experience on our own, things that we haven’t experienced and probably won’t.

Until next time,
Love,

I’ve come to the realization that now is the best time in my life to get on a reality show.