Being that it's May -- and not November -- some of you might be puzzled as to why I'd be going there now so far in advance of The Official Day of Thanks, aka Thanksgiving. I can run it down for you in several boring, bloated paragraphs, but I can sum it up nicely by observing as follows: I am thankful for days -- and weekends -- like these, and I take every opportunity to take a step back and say so when/if applicable.
Back to the bloat.
This weekend was different and special in a multitude of ways. First, our typical Friday night hang at Little Shop of Crafty Bastages -- at 94th and Amsterdam -- was spontaneously and suddenly canceled. Several sub-groups within the group had shit happening, and while I was ready -- post-PC office upgrade -- to make my way uptown, most everyone decided to bail, so we all opted to go our separate ways. So my substitution was an especially exciting one -- finish remote upgrade of the PC, do some additional office work at home, and fall asleep at the computer.
Joy.
Saturday was a half-free day; the morning was more work, organization and some basic planning, and the afternoon was heading to Astoria to a wine bar to celebrate Kelcey & Keith's wedding shower. Food was called pot-luck optional, so I -- like several other party attendees -- whipped up a garden veggie/spinach/tomato dip and scored two bags each of yellow and blue organic corn tortilla chips. Judging by the fact that I either made way too much or people didn't dig on it -- or a combination thereof -- I got to bring some home later and enjoy my handiwork.
But more importantly, the party was a load of fun -- the entire group was mellow and the location was awesome (props to Dallas, the party planner) and it was a load of fun and really wonderful celebrating with the soon-to-be wed couple.
I got home late and made cookies in preparation for my visit to see my grandmother and the family for Sunday's Mother Day celebration, which was also a lot of fun. We don't get together often, but when we do -- and I join, schedule-permitting -- it's always great. Today was no exception. I feel badly for people who have little or no family, and even moreso for people who don't have the opportunity to kick back with some regularity with their near/far family. Today was a lot of fun, and since my mom's having surgery this week -- and the 18th is my grandmother's 90th birthday -- being thankful for these kinds of days/weekends is appropriate. Put another way, not every day is awesome -- so when I have two or three of those days -- consecutively -- I don't miss a chance to be thankful.
We're all entitled to complain -- but I try to go 2-to-1 on the complain vs. appreciation ration. And today -- and this entire weekend -- definitely skewed that ratio -- in the right direction.
-B-
Monday, May 10, 2010
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
The Screen Goes Dark
As our days become increasingly full and our responsibilities grow -- both to ourselves and to others -- we find, with greater frequency, that some things are more important than others, and those things which we once deemed of the highest importance become less so. As we get older -- whether it's attending junior high school or college or a first job or a new job or the birth of a child or the death of a grandparent or a parent -- we are prone to realize things aren't in black and white but in gray, and increasingly things that are important are not nearly as easily-cateogirzed as they once were.
The only absolutes in our daily existence which -- unfortunately -- will never change are the man-made constructs and the stark reality of life and death.
I came across a story on CNN.com of a 25-year old woman, Eva Markvoort, who was afflicted with cystic fibrosis. It touched me on several levels; first, because the article was posthumous. Second, it was about how terminally-ill people are using the internet to reach out to others -- both people with the same affliction(s) and those who might benefit from the knowledge the terminal patient may impart; and, finally, I had a friend who lost her battle with cystic fibrosis at a young age (typical for CF victims).
On a purely clinical level, it's interesting observing this trend within the setting of our ever-evolving existence of increased virtual social interaction and our ever-increasing isolation from non-virtual contact. Put another way, it's interesting that our lives are not only becoming less and less about actual physical
interaction but increasingly so are our deaths. We can access a literally infinite number of humans without leaving our desk chairs; and we no longer have to visit a cancer ward to see terminally ill children, adults and geriatrics from any and all walks of life.
I'm not mourning or lamenting this fact; I'm not sure if this is a good thing, a bad thing, or even how I should feel about this aspect of Eva Markvoort's story as an example of this phenomenon.
I do think it's a good thing -- within a limited scope -- that people can search online for others' experiences facing terminal illness. As a child, hearing that someone died of a heart attack or cancer or something medical (ie not via a car accident or pulling a bank heist) inspires fear of these things. However, as we get older and we learn more -- about these various medical calamities -- they become less frightening or more things with which we can either cope or at least face. In some cases, we can even defeat them.
But facing these foes head-on -- whether with or without fear -- is probably more necessary than anything else, aside from medical care and self-responsibility.
I'm not sure, again, how this newly-minted type of quasi-interaction will affect us in the future; is there really any difference between handwritten journals chronicling the end of one's life and those composed via keyboard? Whether these memoirs are on paper or on a backlit screen? And whether these journals are kept along with the other miscellaneous crap one accumulates over the course of a life and a death, in a box or a container in someone's attic, or somewhere in a blog database, searchable with keywords like metastic tumor, malignant and/or inoperable?
Regardless of my opinion on this -- if, quite frankly, I had one -- I think that part of the key to life is one's death. Dignity, above all other things, should be maintained for anyone who, essentially, sees their time on this Earth dwindling. It should be noted that while we all -- consciously and otherwise -- know not only that today could be our last day on Earth, and each day we live brings us one day closer to death. However, those whose ends are near and in close proximity can and should do whatever they feel brings them the appropriate closure. I am an optimist and while I hope I never have to contemplate these concepts for myself personally, reviewing this story forced me to do so on a personal level, which is relatively uncomfortable. It's sort of like visiting an organization that sells cemetery plots and headstones; these are not experiences we enjoy but those we must, at some point in our lives, do.
Finally, back to Eva Markvoort's story and her contribution: Whether or not we improve our ability for curing cystic fibrosis or another terminal illness is not the only factor here. Her story, on some level, is our story; absorbing her personal experience makes her life that much more important, and especially for those of us who didn't know her personally, it allows her voice to remain alive and to help those of us who need that help, whether it's for personal illness or for past experience.
Put another way, I can't bring myself to delete the names from my contact list of those people who have passed away. There are not many of them, I'm pleased to admit, but every time I come across their names -- in the list, or in archived email -- it reminds me of them and, even for a second or two, forces me to pause reflect about my memories of them and their experiences.
And, most importantly, allows me to remember them as people and not just names and pixels on a backlit screen on a soon-to-be relocated page.
The only absolutes in our daily existence which -- unfortunately -- will never change are the man-made constructs and the stark reality of life and death.
I came across a story on CNN.com of a 25-year old woman, Eva Markvoort, who was afflicted with cystic fibrosis. It touched me on several levels; first, because the article was posthumous. Second, it was about how terminally-ill people are using the internet to reach out to others -- both people with the same affliction(s) and those who might benefit from the knowledge the terminal patient may impart; and, finally, I had a friend who lost her battle with cystic fibrosis at a young age (typical for CF victims).
On a purely clinical level, it's interesting observing this trend within the setting of our ever-evolving existence of increased virtual social interaction and our ever-increasing isolation from non-virtual contact. Put another way, it's interesting that our lives are not only becoming less and less about actual physical
interaction but increasingly so are our deaths. We can access a literally infinite number of humans without leaving our desk chairs; and we no longer have to visit a cancer ward to see terminally ill children, adults and geriatrics from any and all walks of life.
I'm not mourning or lamenting this fact; I'm not sure if this is a good thing, a bad thing, or even how I should feel about this aspect of Eva Markvoort's story as an example of this phenomenon.
I do think it's a good thing -- within a limited scope -- that people can search online for others' experiences facing terminal illness. As a child, hearing that someone died of a heart attack or cancer or something medical (ie not via a car accident or pulling a bank heist) inspires fear of these things. However, as we get older and we learn more -- about these various medical calamities -- they become less frightening or more things with which we can either cope or at least face. In some cases, we can even defeat them.
But facing these foes head-on -- whether with or without fear -- is probably more necessary than anything else, aside from medical care and self-responsibility.
I'm not sure, again, how this newly-minted type of quasi-interaction will affect us in the future; is there really any difference between handwritten journals chronicling the end of one's life and those composed via keyboard? Whether these memoirs are on paper or on a backlit screen? And whether these journals are kept along with the other miscellaneous crap one accumulates over the course of a life and a death, in a box or a container in someone's attic, or somewhere in a blog database, searchable with keywords like metastic tumor, malignant and/or inoperable?
Regardless of my opinion on this -- if, quite frankly, I had one -- I think that part of the key to life is one's death. Dignity, above all other things, should be maintained for anyone who, essentially, sees their time on this Earth dwindling. It should be noted that while we all -- consciously and otherwise -- know not only that today could be our last day on Earth, and each day we live brings us one day closer to death. However, those whose ends are near and in close proximity can and should do whatever they feel brings them the appropriate closure. I am an optimist and while I hope I never have to contemplate these concepts for myself personally, reviewing this story forced me to do so on a personal level, which is relatively uncomfortable. It's sort of like visiting an organization that sells cemetery plots and headstones; these are not experiences we enjoy but those we must, at some point in our lives, do.
Finally, back to Eva Markvoort's story and her contribution: Whether or not we improve our ability for curing cystic fibrosis or another terminal illness is not the only factor here. Her story, on some level, is our story; absorbing her personal experience makes her life that much more important, and especially for those of us who didn't know her personally, it allows her voice to remain alive and to help those of us who need that help, whether it's for personal illness or for past experience.
Put another way, I can't bring myself to delete the names from my contact list of those people who have passed away. There are not many of them, I'm pleased to admit, but every time I come across their names -- in the list, or in archived email -- it reminds me of them and, even for a second or two, forces me to pause reflect about my memories of them and their experiences.
And, most importantly, allows me to remember them as people and not just names and pixels on a backlit screen on a soon-to-be relocated page.
Monday, April 12, 2010
A Day To Remember - 4/11/10
The irony of the plane crash that claimed the lives of over 100 people, including Polish President Lech Kaczynski and several other high-ranking Polish officials, is that it happened so close to this particular day, which in Hebrew is known as Yom Hashoah, Holocaust Remembrance Day.
Directly or otherwise, every Jewish person on the planet lost someone during the Holocaust. It's particularly unavoidable knowing that 6,000,000 Jews -- as well as millions of non-Jews -- were exterminated due one individual's distrust, paranoia and twisted, grotesque vision of the world. And yet I am sure there are Jews out there -- perhaps even reading this -- whose attitude regarding this day equates to "What's the difference?"
I'm not answering the Four Questions in this space or anywhere else; but given the political situation the world is in these days -- an administration in Washington, DC, that seems headed towards forsaking -- or at least altering -- the relationship this nation has continually held with the state of Israel; the nuclear ambitions of rogue nation-states like Iran and North Korea; the nuclear -- and mass-scale -- ambitions of radical Islam, evidenced by Al Qaeda, Hezbollah and Hamas; and the general apathy exhibited by many people in this nation, both Jewish and non-Jewish -- is particular disconcerting.
The other night I had a discussion with friends about whether interrogation torture -- as employed by the CIA -- should have a place in our legit tactics. We debated -- for some time -- whether torture should be practiced or forbidden (waterboarding, psychological torture, etc.). There were six in our group and I believe I was the only one who supported the use of torture tactics in policy if the end result was the saving of lives (American or otherwise). The rest of the group was morally repulsed by the notion that torture ever had a place in our obtaining of intelligence and felt these tactics should be banned.
The reason why I bring this up -- although it didn't occur to me at the time -- was that in this modern era of gray (as opposed to black and white), how can we ensure that another Holocaust, of people or of an entire nation, not repeat itself? How can we not compare Hitler and Osama bin Laden? Despite the fact their goals are, largely, the same, what's the difference if one uses concentration camps and another hopes to somehow obtain a nuclear weapon and kill millions in one huge blast rather than over a ten-year period? Vis-a-vis torture, if we have a method which -- as repulsive as it is -- can save lives, shouldn't we explore and endeavor to use those methods which can help us accomplish this task?
Or should we aspire to a noble, proper cause, much akin to English policemen ("bobbies") walking around the streets of London unarmed?
Inasmuch as the world today is a far more disturbing place than it was prior to 1939, it seems to me that while I agree that torture is a repulsive tactic, I think we must meet the challenges we face to ensure another Holocaust -- of Jews, or anyone else -- never occurs. Prior to 1939, the US distaste for war precluded us from involvement in World War II, deeming it repulsive -- much like many today feel about torture -- yet had the US gotten involved before 1939 (without the prodding from Japan but of our own volition and on our own terms) perhaps the death of 6,000,000 would be far less, if not happened at all.
My point is not to accuse or admonish or condescend; however, whether it's war, torture or a medical tactic -- such as chemotherapy -- once we acknowledge there is a repulsive threat, we need to be willing -- and act -- to repel said repulsive threat, and be willing to do so with whatever means necessary, even if some of same are almost as -- if not moreso -- morally repugnant as the threat we face.
Never again.
Directly or otherwise, every Jewish person on the planet lost someone during the Holocaust. It's particularly unavoidable knowing that 6,000,000 Jews -- as well as millions of non-Jews -- were exterminated due one individual's distrust, paranoia and twisted, grotesque vision of the world. And yet I am sure there are Jews out there -- perhaps even reading this -- whose attitude regarding this day equates to "What's the difference?"
I'm not answering the Four Questions in this space or anywhere else; but given the political situation the world is in these days -- an administration in Washington, DC, that seems headed towards forsaking -- or at least altering -- the relationship this nation has continually held with the state of Israel; the nuclear ambitions of rogue nation-states like Iran and North Korea; the nuclear -- and mass-scale -- ambitions of radical Islam, evidenced by Al Qaeda, Hezbollah and Hamas; and the general apathy exhibited by many people in this nation, both Jewish and non-Jewish -- is particular disconcerting.
The other night I had a discussion with friends about whether interrogation torture -- as employed by the CIA -- should have a place in our legit tactics. We debated -- for some time -- whether torture should be practiced or forbidden (waterboarding, psychological torture, etc.). There were six in our group and I believe I was the only one who supported the use of torture tactics in policy if the end result was the saving of lives (American or otherwise). The rest of the group was morally repulsed by the notion that torture ever had a place in our obtaining of intelligence and felt these tactics should be banned.
The reason why I bring this up -- although it didn't occur to me at the time -- was that in this modern era of gray (as opposed to black and white), how can we ensure that another Holocaust, of people or of an entire nation, not repeat itself? How can we not compare Hitler and Osama bin Laden? Despite the fact their goals are, largely, the same, what's the difference if one uses concentration camps and another hopes to somehow obtain a nuclear weapon and kill millions in one huge blast rather than over a ten-year period? Vis-a-vis torture, if we have a method which -- as repulsive as it is -- can save lives, shouldn't we explore and endeavor to use those methods which can help us accomplish this task?
Or should we aspire to a noble, proper cause, much akin to English policemen ("bobbies") walking around the streets of London unarmed?
Inasmuch as the world today is a far more disturbing place than it was prior to 1939, it seems to me that while I agree that torture is a repulsive tactic, I think we must meet the challenges we face to ensure another Holocaust -- of Jews, or anyone else -- never occurs. Prior to 1939, the US distaste for war precluded us from involvement in World War II, deeming it repulsive -- much like many today feel about torture -- yet had the US gotten involved before 1939 (without the prodding from Japan but of our own volition and on our own terms) perhaps the death of 6,000,000 would be far less, if not happened at all.
My point is not to accuse or admonish or condescend; however, whether it's war, torture or a medical tactic -- such as chemotherapy -- once we acknowledge there is a repulsive threat, we need to be willing -- and act -- to repel said repulsive threat, and be willing to do so with whatever means necessary, even if some of same are almost as -- if not moreso -- morally repugnant as the threat we face.
Never again.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
The Freedom of Freedom
Despite the fact Iran is speeding towards acquiring nuclear weapons and is sharing training and methodology regarding IED (roadside bombs) with their Muslim Taliban brethren, the real problem isn't found outside these four walls, but from within. To quote the Tommy Lee Jones/Will Smith film Men In Black:
"A person is smart. People are dumb, panicky dangerous animals and you know it. Fifteen hundred years ago everybody knew the Earth was the center of the universe. Five hundred years ago, everybody knew the Earth was flat, and fifteen minutes ago, you knew that humans were alone on this planet. Imagine what you'll know tomorrow."
This week, a judge in Mississippi ruled that an 18-year-old lesbian, Constance McMillen, can not only attend her high school prom with her girlfriend but she can wear a tuxedo if she so chooses. However, he also upheld the school's decision to cancel the event entirely.
If you hadn't heard about this particular case, Ms. McMillen indicated she would be taking her girlfriend to the prom and intended to wear a tuxedo to the event. Subsequently, her school advised her she would be barred from bringing a same-sex date and would be removed or denied access if she wore a tuxedo. The ACLU intervened and sued the school, who subsequently canceled the event.
In his opinion, U.S. District Judge Glen H. Davidson held that the school district had violated Ms. McMillen's rights by prohibiting her from bringing a same-sex date as well as wearing a tuxedo, and cited the fact that she has been openly gay since she was in the eighth grade and her attendance with her girlfriend, and the type of attire she had chosen to wear, was a statement on her part. Hence the school violated her rights.
My initial response to this first component of the decision was what had happened if she was not openly gay or bi and had dated men for years but suddenly decided to bring a female date to the prom? And further, what would have happened if she was straight but decided to wear a tuxedo and bring a male date who decided to wear a dress?
The second component to the decision is somewhat misleading and disheartening as well. The judge did not demand the school sponsor a prom because, apparently, a group of parents decided to plan a private off-school event -- called a ball -- and hold same elsewhere on the same night as the intended prom. The question as to whether Ms. McMillen is allowed to attend this event -- with her date, and her choice of attire -- remains to be seen.
So despite the fact that Ms. McMillen -- courageously, I might add -- stood her ground, the end result is she'll likely be insulted and blamed -- both locally and from afar -- for being the cause of this situation when it's the school, the community and -- frankly -- some backwards-ass country fucks -- that have created this firestorm in the first place.
This case, and the bigotry behind it, is unfortunate but not surprising. I commend Ms. McMillen for standing her ground, especially in the face of the abusive response one can only assume she'll receive. One need look no further than the pathetic, repulsive comments in response to the article posted earlier herein.
This reminds me of a case from the last 18 months wherein an interracial couple was refused a license of marriage, and similarly demonstrates -- to me -- the religious zealotry and fervor with which some people fight abortion rights. To me, whether one is opposed to the marriage of interracial couples, abortion, gay rights or anything else which opposed their own views, fervent opposition is less an appropriate response and more a revelation of fear, bigotry, ignorance and naivete. I understand people -- "dumb, panicky dangerous animals" -- want to keep a handle on their world and retain the values with which they grew up; I understand wanting to keep your world the same as it was when your parents grew up. However, the world changes and the people that fail to change along with it are not going to win their battle with entropy, change or progress; they're going to be regarded as outcasts, bigots and angry. So be it.
This debate, incidentally, touches on the larger issue of gay marriage, which has increasingly been brought to the forefront since the Bush Administration was in existence. Personally, I'm opposed to the actual term "gay marriage" only because of semantic reasons. A marriage, by definition, is a civil union of a man and a woman. I fully support a same-sex civil union which grants each member of said union the same benefits as a married couple; I just would refer to same as a marriage. But whether it's 2010 or 1910, people should not be precluded from being happy, nor should they be prohibited from spending their lives with whom -- and in whichever manner -- they wish. What is unfortunate, to me anyway, is not that we as people are so resistant to change -- we all are, on some level, for various -- and not all bad -- reasons. What bothers me most is that as Americans, we have ingratiated ourselves with the notion that we should express our opinions because we have the right to do so, but we seem to have forgotten the fact that once we have expressed our opinions, we should expend as much if not more energy on actually moving forward, whether our opinion is accepted or not. Alexander Hamilton, in The Federalist Papers, described the notion of factions and how different opinions and beliefs would naturally pit one view against another -- in both governmental issues and beyond same -- and yet, his view wasn't that we should intensively, infinitely labor on these differences, but come to some sort of understanding or acceptance and move forward.
It seems we have only mastered that first part -- the extreme arguing, bile and insulting -- and skipped over that second part, the art of compromise and accepting, rather than alienating -- our neighbor. Whether it's gay rights, abortion, race, or anything else that seems to bring out the worst in us as a nation, I don't quite understand why we haven't mastered the art of jointly expressing our opinion and our respect for others' opinions. Saying "I don't agree with what you are doing, and I don't feel it is right for me, but to each his or her own" has been replaced with "My opinion is right, yours is wrong, and I will fight to the death before I see your opinion win out over mine."
Voltaire once wrote "I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it." We've gotten so busy disagreeing, preaching, protesting and denigrating others' beliefs that we've forgotten another equally important American tenet -- individual freedom.
To me, that is both unfortunate and sad, and perhaps a unique American perspective, one I hope changes some time in the future, if not in my lifetime.
"A person is smart. People are dumb, panicky dangerous animals and you know it. Fifteen hundred years ago everybody knew the Earth was the center of the universe. Five hundred years ago, everybody knew the Earth was flat, and fifteen minutes ago, you knew that humans were alone on this planet. Imagine what you'll know tomorrow."
This week, a judge in Mississippi ruled that an 18-year-old lesbian, Constance McMillen, can not only attend her high school prom with her girlfriend but she can wear a tuxedo if she so chooses. However, he also upheld the school's decision to cancel the event entirely.
If you hadn't heard about this particular case, Ms. McMillen indicated she would be taking her girlfriend to the prom and intended to wear a tuxedo to the event. Subsequently, her school advised her she would be barred from bringing a same-sex date and would be removed or denied access if she wore a tuxedo. The ACLU intervened and sued the school, who subsequently canceled the event.
In his opinion, U.S. District Judge Glen H. Davidson held that the school district had violated Ms. McMillen's rights by prohibiting her from bringing a same-sex date as well as wearing a tuxedo, and cited the fact that she has been openly gay since she was in the eighth grade and her attendance with her girlfriend, and the type of attire she had chosen to wear, was a statement on her part. Hence the school violated her rights.
My initial response to this first component of the decision was what had happened if she was not openly gay or bi and had dated men for years but suddenly decided to bring a female date to the prom? And further, what would have happened if she was straight but decided to wear a tuxedo and bring a male date who decided to wear a dress?
The second component to the decision is somewhat misleading and disheartening as well. The judge did not demand the school sponsor a prom because, apparently, a group of parents decided to plan a private off-school event -- called a ball -- and hold same elsewhere on the same night as the intended prom. The question as to whether Ms. McMillen is allowed to attend this event -- with her date, and her choice of attire -- remains to be seen.
So despite the fact that Ms. McMillen -- courageously, I might add -- stood her ground, the end result is she'll likely be insulted and blamed -- both locally and from afar -- for being the cause of this situation when it's the school, the community and -- frankly -- some backwards-ass country fucks -- that have created this firestorm in the first place.
This case, and the bigotry behind it, is unfortunate but not surprising. I commend Ms. McMillen for standing her ground, especially in the face of the abusive response one can only assume she'll receive. One need look no further than the pathetic, repulsive comments in response to the article posted earlier herein.
This reminds me of a case from the last 18 months wherein an interracial couple was refused a license of marriage, and similarly demonstrates -- to me -- the religious zealotry and fervor with which some people fight abortion rights. To me, whether one is opposed to the marriage of interracial couples, abortion, gay rights or anything else which opposed their own views, fervent opposition is less an appropriate response and more a revelation of fear, bigotry, ignorance and naivete. I understand people -- "dumb, panicky dangerous animals" -- want to keep a handle on their world and retain the values with which they grew up; I understand wanting to keep your world the same as it was when your parents grew up. However, the world changes and the people that fail to change along with it are not going to win their battle with entropy, change or progress; they're going to be regarded as outcasts, bigots and angry. So be it.
This debate, incidentally, touches on the larger issue of gay marriage, which has increasingly been brought to the forefront since the Bush Administration was in existence. Personally, I'm opposed to the actual term "gay marriage" only because of semantic reasons. A marriage, by definition, is a civil union of a man and a woman. I fully support a same-sex civil union which grants each member of said union the same benefits as a married couple; I just would refer to same as a marriage. But whether it's 2010 or 1910, people should not be precluded from being happy, nor should they be prohibited from spending their lives with whom -- and in whichever manner -- they wish. What is unfortunate, to me anyway, is not that we as people are so resistant to change -- we all are, on some level, for various -- and not all bad -- reasons. What bothers me most is that as Americans, we have ingratiated ourselves with the notion that we should express our opinions because we have the right to do so, but we seem to have forgotten the fact that once we have expressed our opinions, we should expend as much if not more energy on actually moving forward, whether our opinion is accepted or not. Alexander Hamilton, in The Federalist Papers, described the notion of factions and how different opinions and beliefs would naturally pit one view against another -- in both governmental issues and beyond same -- and yet, his view wasn't that we should intensively, infinitely labor on these differences, but come to some sort of understanding or acceptance and move forward.
It seems we have only mastered that first part -- the extreme arguing, bile and insulting -- and skipped over that second part, the art of compromise and accepting, rather than alienating -- our neighbor. Whether it's gay rights, abortion, race, or anything else that seems to bring out the worst in us as a nation, I don't quite understand why we haven't mastered the art of jointly expressing our opinion and our respect for others' opinions. Saying "I don't agree with what you are doing, and I don't feel it is right for me, but to each his or her own" has been replaced with "My opinion is right, yours is wrong, and I will fight to the death before I see your opinion win out over mine."
Voltaire once wrote "I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it." We've gotten so busy disagreeing, preaching, protesting and denigrating others' beliefs that we've forgotten another equally important American tenet -- individual freedom.
To me, that is both unfortunate and sad, and perhaps a unique American perspective, one I hope changes some time in the future, if not in my lifetime.
Friday, March 19, 2010
A Busy Month
Invariably, in life, one reaches a point where his birthday is relatively insignificant and it represents yet another day in an otherwise busy schedule and the struggle to make it out of bed.
I'm happy to announce I'm not quite at that point yet.
It all began last Saturday, March 13th. I had been informally planning a night out with a bunch of friends knowing Kaia would be in town, but I hadn't really planned much of anything out. Typically, when we plan as a group, things come together quickly and efficiently and everything works out because we're all of a similar mind: pick a place, a time, and have fun.
However, being that Kaia was in town and there was a lot of ancillary stuff happening, the night never got fully fleshed out. Friends of mine from out of town were going to be visiting NYC -- with their mom -- and I wanted to be sure I saw them as well. However, because of the way everything was progressing plans-wise, I wasn't exactly sure when we'd get down to the bar where they were going to be celebrating with friends.
Needless to say, Saturday came and the weather was monsoon-like. So instead of vigorously planning the night out, Kaia and I decided to wing it -- and since a friend of ours, Matt, spent time with us that afternoon, we figured we would make some plans for dinner -- which we did -- and opted to visit Dinosaur BBQ, at 131st and 12th.
Kaia and I had been planning to visit Dinosaur for a year or two; between that and some friends of ours telling us to run, not walk, to Dino ASAP, we decided we three would head uptown. Never mind the weather was terrible, and that every sane person on the entire island of Manhattan canceled his/her plans and opted for delivery and a movie.
We went uptown and when we arrived -- in the monsoon -- at Dino, I looked through the crowd and saw a dozen friends hiding -- SURPRISE -- amid the masses of people awaiting Dino's tasty eats. The details of the surprise came out after, how Kaia engaged the entire group via e-mail and everyone finally agreed to venture out to Dino, etc. etc. etc.
We spent the next few hours kicking back, celebrating my birthday, and overall having a lot of fun.
I didn't really expect much of anything, between the fact my birthday landed during the week and I don't do much exciting any given year; however, it was a blast having everyone assembled, despite the weather -- amazingly, everyone made it -- and I genuinely was touched by the fact that the surprise was really a nice way to pre-celebrate.
On my actual birthday, we went out to Balthazar -- one of our usual hangs -- I had way too much to drink before and during dinner -- and went to bed happy, hazy and relaxed.
All in all, as I get older, I might not get wiser, but I do learn -- and in this case, I can happily admit I appreciate my significant other, my friends and increasingly realize that spending time with good friends enjoying good food, booze and good times is far more worthwhile than anything wrapped up with a shiny bow (although they're mighty awesome as well).
Thanks to all who celebrated or otherwise acknowledged my birthday, and I hope everyone enjoyed the day near and far.
Thanks to some good friends -- and, of course, Kaia -- another year's passing isn't something to mourn but to celebrate, and leaves me looking forward to the year ahead and to March 17, 2011.
Thanks again...
-B-
I'm happy to announce I'm not quite at that point yet.
It all began last Saturday, March 13th. I had been informally planning a night out with a bunch of friends knowing Kaia would be in town, but I hadn't really planned much of anything out. Typically, when we plan as a group, things come together quickly and efficiently and everything works out because we're all of a similar mind: pick a place, a time, and have fun.
However, being that Kaia was in town and there was a lot of ancillary stuff happening, the night never got fully fleshed out. Friends of mine from out of town were going to be visiting NYC -- with their mom -- and I wanted to be sure I saw them as well. However, because of the way everything was progressing plans-wise, I wasn't exactly sure when we'd get down to the bar where they were going to be celebrating with friends.
Needless to say, Saturday came and the weather was monsoon-like. So instead of vigorously planning the night out, Kaia and I decided to wing it -- and since a friend of ours, Matt, spent time with us that afternoon, we figured we would make some plans for dinner -- which we did -- and opted to visit Dinosaur BBQ, at 131st and 12th.
Kaia and I had been planning to visit Dinosaur for a year or two; between that and some friends of ours telling us to run, not walk, to Dino ASAP, we decided we three would head uptown. Never mind the weather was terrible, and that every sane person on the entire island of Manhattan canceled his/her plans and opted for delivery and a movie.
We went uptown and when we arrived -- in the monsoon -- at Dino, I looked through the crowd and saw a dozen friends hiding -- SURPRISE -- amid the masses of people awaiting Dino's tasty eats. The details of the surprise came out after, how Kaia engaged the entire group via e-mail and everyone finally agreed to venture out to Dino, etc. etc. etc.
We spent the next few hours kicking back, celebrating my birthday, and overall having a lot of fun.
I didn't really expect much of anything, between the fact my birthday landed during the week and I don't do much exciting any given year; however, it was a blast having everyone assembled, despite the weather -- amazingly, everyone made it -- and I genuinely was touched by the fact that the surprise was really a nice way to pre-celebrate.
On my actual birthday, we went out to Balthazar -- one of our usual hangs -- I had way too much to drink before and during dinner -- and went to bed happy, hazy and relaxed.
All in all, as I get older, I might not get wiser, but I do learn -- and in this case, I can happily admit I appreciate my significant other, my friends and increasingly realize that spending time with good friends enjoying good food, booze and good times is far more worthwhile than anything wrapped up with a shiny bow (although they're mighty awesome as well).
Thanks to all who celebrated or otherwise acknowledged my birthday, and I hope everyone enjoyed the day near and far.
Thanks to some good friends -- and, of course, Kaia -- another year's passing isn't something to mourn but to celebrate, and leaves me looking forward to the year ahead and to March 17, 2011.
Thanks again...
-B-
Tuesday, March 09, 2010
The Literary Road-Block Continues
Every time I absorb something new -- a book, a movie, a short story or a play -- it affects the creative process. This isn't particularly news-worthy or unique; most creative people -- or so I'd imagine -- incorporate their respective environments in varying degrees into their creative output. I think the best example of this phenomenon is that of graffiti artists; most members of this unofficial collective, I'd wager, are from urban areas. Conversely, I doubt many graffiti artists have spent their entire lives in rural parts of Iowa, Idaho and Indiana; not that there's anything wrong with any of those places; however, one is far more likely to see graffiti living in a congested area like NYC than in the rural Midwest, and exposure to something begets its influence, and so on, and so forth, etc.
In any case, I'm still in the process of writing It -- the story. The last time I had the urge to fill a shitload of pages with one collective literary bowel movement was sometime in the late 90's, and while I believe I had something, what I wound up having was victimized by timing. I was writing a story involving an anti-hero facing an international terrorist -- the latter's name was to be the name of the novel -- and part of the story involved terrorists blowing up the George Washington Bridge, among other things.
And then 9/11 happened, and fiction and reality -- sort of -- collided pretty intensely, both literally and figuratively. And I stopped writing -- fiction, anyway -- for awhile.
I began writing again a few years ago, and have since amassed what I believe is a pretty solid skeleton of a story. There are a half-dozen different aspects to the story, all of which culminate in a coming together in what I believe is something worthy of my time, although whether it's worthy of others' time remains to be seen. Interestingly, the real kick in the ass this time around isn't fleshing out the characters or constructing the interactions but coming up with appropriate names for characters. For anyone who doubts the significance of characters' names in political thrillers, consider a CIA operative who kicks ass and who can navigate a 256-bit-encrypted arms dealer's notebook PC -- in Arabic -- and who answers to the name of Orville Redenbacher.
As indicated, it's all relative.
There are other aspects of the project that are giving me fits -- how certain key plot points come together are still a mystery to me, and while some people can fabricate a novel by using an outline, more often than not I don't know what's going to happen from one chapter to the next until I actually take the time to map it out, paragraph by paragraph. I suppose I should be jealous of someone who can envision the entire sequence of a novel in his or her noggin; for me, however, the writing is almost as entertaining -- albeit inestimably fare more infuriating -- than just reading a good story.
In any event, my problem now -- far more significant than the naming issue -- is those few key plot points that still have yet to be connected and/or worked out. Every so often things come to me -- when I'm half in or out of sleep, in the shower, watching an episode of The Inbetweeners (on BBC America -- highly recommended, by the way) or even when I'm on a 4 train headed up- or downtown.
The bottom line, unfortunately, is these connected points rarely -- if ever -- seem to come to me when I can actually implement them -- or, far worse -- remember them.
So I suppose I'll continue to let the cursor blink at me among pre-fab text and worry less about what it is I'm going to say and more about when it is I'm actually going to commit to saying it.
Put another way -- in the words of Stephen King, in the forward to "Night Shift" -- a writer writes. In my particular case, I'll keep doing whatever it is I'm doing in lieu thereof.
For now, anyway.
In any case, I'm still in the process of writing It -- the story. The last time I had the urge to fill a shitload of pages with one collective literary bowel movement was sometime in the late 90's, and while I believe I had something, what I wound up having was victimized by timing. I was writing a story involving an anti-hero facing an international terrorist -- the latter's name was to be the name of the novel -- and part of the story involved terrorists blowing up the George Washington Bridge, among other things.
And then 9/11 happened, and fiction and reality -- sort of -- collided pretty intensely, both literally and figuratively. And I stopped writing -- fiction, anyway -- for awhile.
I began writing again a few years ago, and have since amassed what I believe is a pretty solid skeleton of a story. There are a half-dozen different aspects to the story, all of which culminate in a coming together in what I believe is something worthy of my time, although whether it's worthy of others' time remains to be seen. Interestingly, the real kick in the ass this time around isn't fleshing out the characters or constructing the interactions but coming up with appropriate names for characters. For anyone who doubts the significance of characters' names in political thrillers, consider a CIA operative who kicks ass and who can navigate a 256-bit-encrypted arms dealer's notebook PC -- in Arabic -- and who answers to the name of Orville Redenbacher.
As indicated, it's all relative.
There are other aspects of the project that are giving me fits -- how certain key plot points come together are still a mystery to me, and while some people can fabricate a novel by using an outline, more often than not I don't know what's going to happen from one chapter to the next until I actually take the time to map it out, paragraph by paragraph. I suppose I should be jealous of someone who can envision the entire sequence of a novel in his or her noggin; for me, however, the writing is almost as entertaining -- albeit inestimably fare more infuriating -- than just reading a good story.
In any event, my problem now -- far more significant than the naming issue -- is those few key plot points that still have yet to be connected and/or worked out. Every so often things come to me -- when I'm half in or out of sleep, in the shower, watching an episode of The Inbetweeners (on BBC America -- highly recommended, by the way) or even when I'm on a 4 train headed up- or downtown.
The bottom line, unfortunately, is these connected points rarely -- if ever -- seem to come to me when I can actually implement them -- or, far worse -- remember them.
So I suppose I'll continue to let the cursor blink at me among pre-fab text and worry less about what it is I'm going to say and more about when it is I'm actually going to commit to saying it.
Put another way -- in the words of Stephen King, in the forward to "Night Shift" -- a writer writes. In my particular case, I'll keep doing whatever it is I'm doing in lieu thereof.
For now, anyway.
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