I admit that I have sorely neglected this blog for a long time. I really was in love with that last entry and didn't want to put something on top of it. It was my blogging masterpiece.
Actually, if it's the truth you're after, I sort of just forgot to blog and was going through some very difficult times in my life, what with the ending of a 12 year relationship, the perpetual struggle for gainful yet meaningful employment, and family issues. I know, poor me. I'm going to call up the kids working at Foxconn in China and tell them all about my troubles.
So I'd been meaning to get back on the blogging horse, as it were, and today seems like as good a day as any. It's Valentine's Day again. Remember that cute entry I made a few years ago on this day? I was so excited to surprise my lady with all the accoutrements related to the made-up holiday that I was beaming. Really. I'm sure you could see it when you read the post. I happily hid flowers and balloons and other paraphernalia around our tiny house and didn't even get laid afterward.
Well, the past is the past, dear reader, and I know this is going to sound a little jaded, but honestly, fuck Valentine's Day. As if, as a single man in my early thirties, I didn't already have enough reminders that I am alone. The two cats and the empty bed at night do that job just fine. I don't need some asshole trying to sell me roses when I get off of the train to be reminded that I might as well go out and buy a copy of Microwave Cooking for One.
The dating world is not as I left it back in the early aughts. I suppose that may be because my main criteria for a good night aren't what they used to be. I'm not hitting the meat market bars anymore looking for love. At my age, that would be creepy and unethical. What kind of a girl am I going to find in a bar? A girl who goes home with guys from bars, that's who. No thanks.
So, I started internet dating. This really has its ups and downs. More downs than ups, really, but hey, it's still better than a bar and is relatively safer. You can find out all about your compatibility with someone before meeting them. That takes a lot of the awkwardness out of the situation. However, some girls will simply not hesitate to lead you on for a while, take your heart out, play with it for a bit, and then decide they like somebody else's heart better. One that lives a little closer to home for them. And sometimes they play with that heart, and then come back and play with yours the next night and then you have to go get your heart tested to make sure it didn't catch anything.
So, if you've got someone and you're extremely happy this Valentine's Day, that's great. I'm real proud of you. But please, and this includes my entry from 2009, please do everybody else a favor and keep it to yourself. Those of us who are single just barely made it through the holidays without killing ourselves, and we wouldn't mind being able to find a table at a restaurant tonight. Single people need to eat, too. Think of the starving singles, you selfish bastards.
I do still think that if we're going to have a made-up holiday, it should be moved to a warmer time of year. At least then there would be a little buffer between the soul-crushing holidays and being flogged by the flail of loneliness on February 14th.
Paco
Goings on and on and on
Posted:
Friday, January 22, 2010 –
About fourteen days ago, I went through probably what was the craziest day of my life thus far, not excluding the days that involved car wrecks, deaths, or hospital visits.
I began the morning at about 6:30am, as usual, and went to work. I was still settling in at this job, having only been there for about four months. I had worked my first few weeks with a guy who had been submitting resumes like a total madman. He informed me, "Get out, man. Keep sending out resumes. It's terrible here." One day he leaned over to me and said, "I know it's wrong, man, but I'm leaving and not coming back. I got a new job already and I just can't take anymore of this place." And then, having demonstrated the power of manifest destiny, he left for his lunch break and never came back.
I hadn't thought about his hasty exit in a while, but I had been keeping in touch with him via cell phone; although I hadn't talked to him in several days because his ranting about the crappiness of the company was growing tiresome. I still liked the guy, but I was feeling pretty good about the job, and had been thinking about putting up some of my little office trinkets and stuff which one only breaks out if they are very certain they are going to keep the job. In short, I thought it was going pretty well.
At 1:30 that afternoon, I had just finished heating up my lunch and was sitting down at my desk to eat when I got an IM from the boss saying "come into my office." I had missed it while I was heating up my food, and there was another one below it that said, "NOW!" The writing on the wall was pretty clear. I put some serious thought into IM'ing back, "Give me a minute to clean out my desk," but decided against it, put the cover on my lunch, and went into his office to get fired.
He was extremely nice and friendly about it, and I found myself actually smiling while leaving his office moments after being fired because it had been a fun conversation. That odd feeling of self-doubt and worthlessness had yet to seep in through the top of my head, so I went to my desk and started gathering up my stuff. I tried my best to appear somewhat casual, as if I was collecting my stuff to go on a service call. I headed out to my car and opened the little storage compartment in the dashboard where I had stashed the keychain which had held the keys to the building when they were given to me. I took the keys off of my personal set, and put them back on the company keychain from the car, where I had kept it, just as Foghorn Leghorn kept his feathers numbered - just in case of such an emergency. I went back in and was headed to the office to kindly give them back to the man who had just so very pleasantly fired me, but as soon as I crossed back over the threshold of the door, the shakes made their way into my hands. All I could do was lay the keys down on the front desk with one of my shirts.
I was new to the whole getting fired thing, so this shaky feeling was pretty unfamiliar territory. I wasn't sure if I was shaking because I was angry, disappointed in myself, or both. I turned the key in the car and headed back home in the middle of the day - a shameful activity, but not as bad as the only other time I was fired when I had to collect all my stuff in a box whilst the other workers peered over the tops of their cubicles at me waiting to see if I was going to do anything dramatic. No, this wasn't as publicly humiliating as that, but a quiet stream of self-pity and doubt was turning more torrential the longer I drove. Why hadn't I seen this coming? Was there something wrong with me? Was I not doing a good job? Was I losing it? Did I ever have it to lose? Should I just admit my incompetence in my chosen field, banish myself from it, and take a job as a school janitor, toll booth operator, or any other occupation which didn't involve a lot of thinking and had also been featured in an Adam Sandler CD? It was a long drive.
I must have had long enough to go through all 5 stages in the car, because the moment I got home, I rushed to my computer, updated my resume, and began sending it out like it contained the cure for cancer. Monster, DC Jobs, Craigslist - they all needed to know about my updated skill set and eagerness to learn.
Now I realized that I hadn't ever eaten my lunch. It was still in my cooler, having been heated up and placed back in there after the enjoyable firing. I thought about eating it, but when I got to the kitchen and opened the fridge, the beer looked a lot more compelling. I put the lunch in the fridge and cracked open a beer instead of eating. Maybe this would lead to a few more beers and maybe it wouldn't. Maybe my girlfriend would come home and find me passed out on the couch at 5:30 pm, empty bottles strewn about in a self-explanatory mess, and maybe she wouldn't.
I drank one beer and watched a few minutes of dreadful daytime tv, which elicited a response from my colon. I headed for the crapper and was a few pages into an article in Esquire without actually comprehending anything I was reading, my eyes going over the words, but my mind still racing about what the fuck I was going to do with myself now.
The phone rang.
I was on the shitter.
The only reason the home phone would ring in the middle of the day like this was if it was a response to one of the resumes I had just jettisoned out into the cloud, but was that possible? That had been every bit of 20 minutes ago. I waddled pants-ankled over to the phone and answered it. Sure enough, it was a guy who just received my resume. He "Just happened to be in front of (his) computer." What luck! After a few quick questions I asked where the office was. He told me the intersection and I almost couldn't believe it. This place was right around the corner. He asked how soon I could come in for an interview and I told him I'd be there in 10 minutes. I took care of any remaining duties in the bathroom, changed into a dress shirt, and was back out the door.
The preliminary interview with the owner of the company went well. He seemed to like me, and although I was probably looking pretty put-together, I was still trying to solve for x where x equaled me sitting in somebody's conference room interviewing for another job by 4 in the afternoon after being jovially fired at around 1:30. My head wasn't literally spinning, but it may as well have been as I answered his questions and tried not to sweat through my clean and freshly pressed dress shirt. There was a quick speakerphone call with the head of the department I would potentially be joining, and then the owner said he wanted me to speak with the head of another department.
I sat in my own baggage for a few extremely uncomfortable minutes until this guy came. The smugness was palpable - trailing and wafting along like wisps of smoke behind the guy as he entered the room. I answered his questions, trying to be friendly and approachable, and Mr. Smug continued to look at me as if I had just swallowed a live cat in front of him. This did not seem to be going terribly well. I still had yet to eat anything all day, my bathroom session had been cut off a little early, and I was probably a teeny bit drunk from the 8% beer I had poured down my throat not forty-five minutes before.
He asked me an absurd thought question about dipping a cube made up of smaller cubes in paint, and watched me try to come up with a concrete answer to what I thought was an abstract exercise in the same way one might watch a monkey play with a set of Legos. I was in no mood, and although the rest of the interview had gone pretty well, this guy was creeping me out pretty seriously. I was ready to cut my losses and get the hell out of there. Before I could do that, however, I somehow stumbled upon the correct answer. He left and sent the owner of the company back in.
He was holding a little folder which looked an awful lot like a welcome package, but I was still not buying it yet. Maybe he had actually taken the time to draw up a package outlining the various ways in which they were not interested in me. Surprisingly though, he said that he'd like to offer me the job, and opened the little packet. He outlined the great benefits, vacation time, and retirement plan. I agreed to take the job despite Mr. Smug, so I shook the guy's hand and signed a few papers.
By this time it was about 6:30pm, and I had just accepted a new job within four hours of being fired. This new job was not only immeasurably better, but was immeasurably closer to home. Gone was that hour long commute which had been kicking away at the shins of my soul for the last four months. In was sleeping in an extra hour each morning and driving to an office so close the car wouldn't even have warmed up by the time I got there. I wasn't going to have to wear a stupid uniform shirt anymore. I was going to be able to dress myself like an adult, choosing my own color of shoes, pants, ties and everything.
I had gone from probably the lowest low I've experienced in years to what should have been an elating high, but while the emotional center of my brain was still pissed off about being fired, the rational side was quite excited about the extra pay and vacation days. I texted the doomsday guy from what was now the old office that I had finally landed another job.
I skipped dinner, sat down, turnd on the TV, and opened another beer.
Paco
I began the morning at about 6:30am, as usual, and went to work. I was still settling in at this job, having only been there for about four months. I had worked my first few weeks with a guy who had been submitting resumes like a total madman. He informed me, "Get out, man. Keep sending out resumes. It's terrible here." One day he leaned over to me and said, "I know it's wrong, man, but I'm leaving and not coming back. I got a new job already and I just can't take anymore of this place." And then, having demonstrated the power of manifest destiny, he left for his lunch break and never came back.
I hadn't thought about his hasty exit in a while, but I had been keeping in touch with him via cell phone; although I hadn't talked to him in several days because his ranting about the crappiness of the company was growing tiresome. I still liked the guy, but I was feeling pretty good about the job, and had been thinking about putting up some of my little office trinkets and stuff which one only breaks out if they are very certain they are going to keep the job. In short, I thought it was going pretty well.
At 1:30 that afternoon, I had just finished heating up my lunch and was sitting down at my desk to eat when I got an IM from the boss saying "come into my office." I had missed it while I was heating up my food, and there was another one below it that said, "NOW!" The writing on the wall was pretty clear. I put some serious thought into IM'ing back, "Give me a minute to clean out my desk," but decided against it, put the cover on my lunch, and went into his office to get fired.
He was extremely nice and friendly about it, and I found myself actually smiling while leaving his office moments after being fired because it had been a fun conversation. That odd feeling of self-doubt and worthlessness had yet to seep in through the top of my head, so I went to my desk and started gathering up my stuff. I tried my best to appear somewhat casual, as if I was collecting my stuff to go on a service call. I headed out to my car and opened the little storage compartment in the dashboard where I had stashed the keychain which had held the keys to the building when they were given to me. I took the keys off of my personal set, and put them back on the company keychain from the car, where I had kept it, just as Foghorn Leghorn kept his feathers numbered - just in case of such an emergency. I went back in and was headed to the office to kindly give them back to the man who had just so very pleasantly fired me, but as soon as I crossed back over the threshold of the door, the shakes made their way into my hands. All I could do was lay the keys down on the front desk with one of my shirts.
I was new to the whole getting fired thing, so this shaky feeling was pretty unfamiliar territory. I wasn't sure if I was shaking because I was angry, disappointed in myself, or both. I turned the key in the car and headed back home in the middle of the day - a shameful activity, but not as bad as the only other time I was fired when I had to collect all my stuff in a box whilst the other workers peered over the tops of their cubicles at me waiting to see if I was going to do anything dramatic. No, this wasn't as publicly humiliating as that, but a quiet stream of self-pity and doubt was turning more torrential the longer I drove. Why hadn't I seen this coming? Was there something wrong with me? Was I not doing a good job? Was I losing it? Did I ever have it to lose? Should I just admit my incompetence in my chosen field, banish myself from it, and take a job as a school janitor, toll booth operator, or any other occupation which didn't involve a lot of thinking and had also been featured in an Adam Sandler CD? It was a long drive.
I must have had long enough to go through all 5 stages in the car, because the moment I got home, I rushed to my computer, updated my resume, and began sending it out like it contained the cure for cancer. Monster, DC Jobs, Craigslist - they all needed to know about my updated skill set and eagerness to learn.
Now I realized that I hadn't ever eaten my lunch. It was still in my cooler, having been heated up and placed back in there after the enjoyable firing. I thought about eating it, but when I got to the kitchen and opened the fridge, the beer looked a lot more compelling. I put the lunch in the fridge and cracked open a beer instead of eating. Maybe this would lead to a few more beers and maybe it wouldn't. Maybe my girlfriend would come home and find me passed out on the couch at 5:30 pm, empty bottles strewn about in a self-explanatory mess, and maybe she wouldn't.
I drank one beer and watched a few minutes of dreadful daytime tv, which elicited a response from my colon. I headed for the crapper and was a few pages into an article in Esquire without actually comprehending anything I was reading, my eyes going over the words, but my mind still racing about what the fuck I was going to do with myself now.
The phone rang.
I was on the shitter.
The only reason the home phone would ring in the middle of the day like this was if it was a response to one of the resumes I had just jettisoned out into the cloud, but was that possible? That had been every bit of 20 minutes ago. I waddled pants-ankled over to the phone and answered it. Sure enough, it was a guy who just received my resume. He "Just happened to be in front of (his) computer." What luck! After a few quick questions I asked where the office was. He told me the intersection and I almost couldn't believe it. This place was right around the corner. He asked how soon I could come in for an interview and I told him I'd be there in 10 minutes. I took care of any remaining duties in the bathroom, changed into a dress shirt, and was back out the door.
The preliminary interview with the owner of the company went well. He seemed to like me, and although I was probably looking pretty put-together, I was still trying to solve for x where x equaled me sitting in somebody's conference room interviewing for another job by 4 in the afternoon after being jovially fired at around 1:30. My head wasn't literally spinning, but it may as well have been as I answered his questions and tried not to sweat through my clean and freshly pressed dress shirt. There was a quick speakerphone call with the head of the department I would potentially be joining, and then the owner said he wanted me to speak with the head of another department.
I sat in my own baggage for a few extremely uncomfortable minutes until this guy came. The smugness was palpable - trailing and wafting along like wisps of smoke behind the guy as he entered the room. I answered his questions, trying to be friendly and approachable, and Mr. Smug continued to look at me as if I had just swallowed a live cat in front of him. This did not seem to be going terribly well. I still had yet to eat anything all day, my bathroom session had been cut off a little early, and I was probably a teeny bit drunk from the 8% beer I had poured down my throat not forty-five minutes before.
He asked me an absurd thought question about dipping a cube made up of smaller cubes in paint, and watched me try to come up with a concrete answer to what I thought was an abstract exercise in the same way one might watch a monkey play with a set of Legos. I was in no mood, and although the rest of the interview had gone pretty well, this guy was creeping me out pretty seriously. I was ready to cut my losses and get the hell out of there. Before I could do that, however, I somehow stumbled upon the correct answer. He left and sent the owner of the company back in.
He was holding a little folder which looked an awful lot like a welcome package, but I was still not buying it yet. Maybe he had actually taken the time to draw up a package outlining the various ways in which they were not interested in me. Surprisingly though, he said that he'd like to offer me the job, and opened the little packet. He outlined the great benefits, vacation time, and retirement plan. I agreed to take the job despite Mr. Smug, so I shook the guy's hand and signed a few papers.
By this time it was about 6:30pm, and I had just accepted a new job within four hours of being fired. This new job was not only immeasurably better, but was immeasurably closer to home. Gone was that hour long commute which had been kicking away at the shins of my soul for the last four months. In was sleeping in an extra hour each morning and driving to an office so close the car wouldn't even have warmed up by the time I got there. I wasn't going to have to wear a stupid uniform shirt anymore. I was going to be able to dress myself like an adult, choosing my own color of shoes, pants, ties and everything.
I had gone from probably the lowest low I've experienced in years to what should have been an elating high, but while the emotional center of my brain was still pissed off about being fired, the rational side was quite excited about the extra pay and vacation days. I texted the doomsday guy from what was now the old office that I had finally landed another job.
I skipped dinner, sat down, turnd on the TV, and opened another beer.
Paco
Life is only how you remember it
Posted:
Sunday, March 29, 2009 –
After my marathon TV session yesterday, I was in a funny mood. I watched like 5 movies and several shows, mostly about cars. I started out the movie marathon with a western, and then moved on to a pirate movie, and then on to Christmas on Mars (which no one else was interested in watching with me) and then an old Kevin Costner movie called The War came on at like midnight, and I decided I might as well stay up for that.
I remember seeing this movie a long time ago, and that it was pretty heavy and that the dad died in the end, but it didn't play out the way I remembered it. I found myself really hating those little redneck kids and wishing terrible things upon them. I suppose that since I am older now I was able to understand the parallels between the war the kids have over the tree house and the dad's struggle with ptsd. It ended up being a fairly powerful anti-war, pro-love, kid movie. I can't think of another movie anywhere that fits that description. Put it on your Netflix que next to Idiocracy.
After the last movie it was almost 4 in the morning and I was feeling all off kilter due to lack of sleep and the strange mix of emotions I had been feeling all day from having a marathon of such different films. I went to the bed and laid down to sleep, but my mind wasn't ready to shut off yet. I kept thinking about different memories and questioning how reliable they are.
There are statistics somewhere on how unreliable the human memory is on the witness stand. With subtle persuasion, witnesses can be unknowingly coerced into picking an innocent subject in a lineup. Their memories can be swayed by other jurors who see the events differently than they do. What an absurd system this is! The memory is not to be trusted.
When I wrote and posted Shaw 305 on my other blog (You'll have to dig for it. It's been several years.) I got some complaints from people that I hadn't gotten the details right. Some people pointed out that certain events actually took place in another room, or that I was thinking about the wrong night completely when I was stringing some events together. Granted, this was a work of nonfiction written in a prose style, and some embellishing is necessary to keep a reader reading; but I am talking about little details that I would have gotten correct had I remembered them accurately. I was writing that piece some five years after the actual events and it makes me wonder what else I got wrong that I thought I could have chiseled in stone.
How could anyone think then, that The Bible could possibly be a recollection of actual events? The mind is a terrible records keeper and these stories were passed down for hundreds of years before ever being written down. I can't even keep my own memoirs factual if I don't write them within a year or so.
But I didn't come here to bitch about The Bible. I just got sidetracked for a minute. I have been getting friend requests from people on Facebook lately who I vaguely recall, but don't have the slightest modern image of other than what's on their page. It's weird. I am looking at a picture of someone that I spent probably 12 years of my life with, and all I can think of is that I was afraid of him in elementary school because he had a black belt in Karate by like age 10. What is that all about? Why is that the only thing that comes to mind?
People, like memories, come in and out of our lives. They do more going out than they do coming in. I have lived in several different towns and worked with several groups of people who were my temporary best friends. It seems like such a waste to know someone intimately for just a short period and then lose contact. I would drink and play pool with my Applebuddies when we were in college. I have lost track of nearly every single one of them now. I worked with many nice and interesting people in Richmond during my residence there, but now that they're out of sight, they're out of mind, and how far down have their memories gone in my head? How twisted have they become? I knew and thought I had a good relationship with most of the people at my warehouse in Tennessee, and I remember them pretty vividly now since that was only several months ago. How will their records change in my thoughts? What will I recall incorrectly next?
When the person is no longer around for any sort of direct contact, your memory is free to embellish or detract or do whatever it wants with that person's file in your head. How do you know that the way you remember them and their actions, or their friendship, or disdain, or character are accurate? You probably filed it all away like the plot of some movie that you haven't seen in a long time. They seem familiar to you at first, but then surprise you with complexity and depth that you didn't remember.
But then again, maybe that's just me. Maybe I focus too much on minutiae and swim around too much in my own head, and I'm a shallow prick. Either way, please keep in touch so I don't remember you inaccurately years from now.
Paco
I remember seeing this movie a long time ago, and that it was pretty heavy and that the dad died in the end, but it didn't play out the way I remembered it. I found myself really hating those little redneck kids and wishing terrible things upon them. I suppose that since I am older now I was able to understand the parallels between the war the kids have over the tree house and the dad's struggle with ptsd. It ended up being a fairly powerful anti-war, pro-love, kid movie. I can't think of another movie anywhere that fits that description. Put it on your Netflix que next to Idiocracy.
After the last movie it was almost 4 in the morning and I was feeling all off kilter due to lack of sleep and the strange mix of emotions I had been feeling all day from having a marathon of such different films. I went to the bed and laid down to sleep, but my mind wasn't ready to shut off yet. I kept thinking about different memories and questioning how reliable they are.
There are statistics somewhere on how unreliable the human memory is on the witness stand. With subtle persuasion, witnesses can be unknowingly coerced into picking an innocent subject in a lineup. Their memories can be swayed by other jurors who see the events differently than they do. What an absurd system this is! The memory is not to be trusted.
When I wrote and posted Shaw 305 on my other blog (You'll have to dig for it. It's been several years.) I got some complaints from people that I hadn't gotten the details right. Some people pointed out that certain events actually took place in another room, or that I was thinking about the wrong night completely when I was stringing some events together. Granted, this was a work of nonfiction written in a prose style, and some embellishing is necessary to keep a reader reading; but I am talking about little details that I would have gotten correct had I remembered them accurately. I was writing that piece some five years after the actual events and it makes me wonder what else I got wrong that I thought I could have chiseled in stone.
How could anyone think then, that The Bible could possibly be a recollection of actual events? The mind is a terrible records keeper and these stories were passed down for hundreds of years before ever being written down. I can't even keep my own memoirs factual if I don't write them within a year or so.
But I didn't come here to bitch about The Bible. I just got sidetracked for a minute. I have been getting friend requests from people on Facebook lately who I vaguely recall, but don't have the slightest modern image of other than what's on their page. It's weird. I am looking at a picture of someone that I spent probably 12 years of my life with, and all I can think of is that I was afraid of him in elementary school because he had a black belt in Karate by like age 10. What is that all about? Why is that the only thing that comes to mind?
People, like memories, come in and out of our lives. They do more going out than they do coming in. I have lived in several different towns and worked with several groups of people who were my temporary best friends. It seems like such a waste to know someone intimately for just a short period and then lose contact. I would drink and play pool with my Applebuddies when we were in college. I have lost track of nearly every single one of them now. I worked with many nice and interesting people in Richmond during my residence there, but now that they're out of sight, they're out of mind, and how far down have their memories gone in my head? How twisted have they become? I knew and thought I had a good relationship with most of the people at my warehouse in Tennessee, and I remember them pretty vividly now since that was only several months ago. How will their records change in my thoughts? What will I recall incorrectly next?
When the person is no longer around for any sort of direct contact, your memory is free to embellish or detract or do whatever it wants with that person's file in your head. How do you know that the way you remember them and their actions, or their friendship, or disdain, or character are accurate? You probably filed it all away like the plot of some movie that you haven't seen in a long time. They seem familiar to you at first, but then surprise you with complexity and depth that you didn't remember.
But then again, maybe that's just me. Maybe I focus too much on minutiae and swim around too much in my own head, and I'm a shallow prick. Either way, please keep in touch so I don't remember you inaccurately years from now.
Paco
Valentine's Day
Posted:
Saturday, February 14, 2009 –
It's Valentine's Day. At least it fell on the weekend this year. I know it's a manufactured holiday whose only purpose is to sell cards and candy, but it's still kind of fun and kitschy. It's fun and interesting to stand in line with all the other dudes who are buying flowers. You can wonder about where they are going with said flowers and what their ladies are going to think of them. You can take pride in doing something a little extra special for your loved one, too.
The only real complaint that I have about this day is that it's too damn cold. When Hallmark had this holiday on the drawing board, why did they choose February? I know people's spirits are supposed to be low in the waning months of winter, but Valentine's Day does nothing to brighten the spirits of those who are already down. It does exactly the opposite. It just sucks them farther down when they are reminded that not only is it cold, miserable, dry and crackly outside, they don't have anybody to spoon with, either. This is not a service that anyone needs.
Why not move it up a little... say sometime in April. That way, I could hide flowers outside in a garage or shed or car. The options would be vastly increased if I didn't have to worry about frozen flowers overnight. Also, it would be more condusive towards romantic outdoor walks. I can deal with the cold weather, and I don't even mind walking in it, but nobody feels sexy when they're walking around with four layers of clothing on. And, when I want to cook my lady dinner on this most special day, I could do it properly outside on the grill without numbness of the extremities.
Please consider it, oh great greeting card companies.
In other news, life has been pretty good lately. I have a little extra scratch in my pockets if I want to go to lunch or buy something. This makes a huge difference in my quality of life. I heard a report on the radio yesterday debating whether or not money actually can buy happiness. In a way, it surely can. Until a month or so ago, I was so broke that I could barely keep my cell phone turned on, and I couldn't afford to change the oil in my car even though the light was on. These are not luxuries or niceties. These are basic things that I no longer have to stop and think about before taking care of them. In that respect, I have much less anxiety in my life. If I have less anxiety and worry, I am clearly happier. Isn't that a textbook definition of happiness?
Actually, the textbook definition of happiness is a: a state of well-being and contentment : joy b: a pleasurable or satisfying experience. I would say that the loss of worry is a direct cause of a state of well-being. Correlation and causation.
Money really can buy happiness, and even fake holidays matter. Keep buying that happy up and go give somebody a kiss. It's Valentine's Day.
Paco
The only real complaint that I have about this day is that it's too damn cold. When Hallmark had this holiday on the drawing board, why did they choose February? I know people's spirits are supposed to be low in the waning months of winter, but Valentine's Day does nothing to brighten the spirits of those who are already down. It does exactly the opposite. It just sucks them farther down when they are reminded that not only is it cold, miserable, dry and crackly outside, they don't have anybody to spoon with, either. This is not a service that anyone needs.
Why not move it up a little... say sometime in April. That way, I could hide flowers outside in a garage or shed or car. The options would be vastly increased if I didn't have to worry about frozen flowers overnight. Also, it would be more condusive towards romantic outdoor walks. I can deal with the cold weather, and I don't even mind walking in it, but nobody feels sexy when they're walking around with four layers of clothing on. And, when I want to cook my lady dinner on this most special day, I could do it properly outside on the grill without numbness of the extremities.
Please consider it, oh great greeting card companies.
In other news, life has been pretty good lately. I have a little extra scratch in my pockets if I want to go to lunch or buy something. This makes a huge difference in my quality of life. I heard a report on the radio yesterday debating whether or not money actually can buy happiness. In a way, it surely can. Until a month or so ago, I was so broke that I could barely keep my cell phone turned on, and I couldn't afford to change the oil in my car even though the light was on. These are not luxuries or niceties. These are basic things that I no longer have to stop and think about before taking care of them. In that respect, I have much less anxiety in my life. If I have less anxiety and worry, I am clearly happier. Isn't that a textbook definition of happiness?
Actually, the textbook definition of happiness is a: a state of well-being and contentment : joy b: a pleasurable or satisfying experience. I would say that the loss of worry is a direct cause of a state of well-being. Correlation and causation.
Money really can buy happiness, and even fake holidays matter. Keep buying that happy up and go give somebody a kiss. It's Valentine's Day.
Paco
New experiences
Posted:
Monday, January 19, 2009 –
Yesterday turned out to be a pretty good day. We were sitting around the house, not doing much after discussing going down for the free inaugural concert, but had decided against it after considering the cold and the crowds.
Well, after watching a stupid movie, I changed the channel to live pictures on CNN of all the people celebrating and waiting on the show to start, and it got us talking. We didn't go downtown to celebrate on election night because we had to work the next day, and we can't go to the inauguration itself because we have to work. It wasn't worth sitting this one out. We hastily put on several layers and drove to the Metro station. It wasn't that crowded. We rode the train into Metro Center. It was crowded there, but not chaotic. We took the orange line to the Smithsonian stop, and when we emerged from the steps out onto the street, it was totally surreal. There were jumbotrons on Independence Avenue. There were people literally everywhere - in the trees, on the curb, running in the streets. There was someone every few steps selling various Obama-related merchandise. It was really like Bonnaroo had landed on the National Mall - except that it was about 25 degrees outside.
Protected by our many layers and undaunted by the cold, we pushed forward as far as seemed safe. We got to just behind the WWII Memorial, which is still a good quarter-mile away from the Lincoln Memorial. We got there a little late, so all we got to see as far as the concert went was Beyonce's song and Obama's speech at the end. This was fine, because the party and the spirit of the moment continued on for quite a long time afterward. We walked around and took some pictures. Then we took some pictures for other excited couples who wanted them, and then we had someone take ours. It was really ethereal and amazing.
We wanted to avoid some of the foot traffic, so we took the long way around the Holocaust Museum. We walked for a while before realizing that the guy in front of us had cameras and paparazzi following him. We just kept on walking, not knowing who he was, other than a really tall, well-dressed man in a fedora. We had to pick up on the context clues from passersby. Eventually we deciphered the name Rick Fox. "Who the hell is he?" I said. We're not sports people. Apparently he's a retired NBA player. People were just turning and gawking at the guy like he was the messiah returned. How strange it must be, I thought, for that to happen whenever you walk down the street. All because he can play basketball really well. It's just weird how we elevate people to such heights. I worry that my fanatical love of the President Elect is derived from the same hollow place, but I decide that it is not. He can play basketball pretty well, too, but that doesn't have anything to do with it. He's a true leader. An unapologetic intellectual who has come along at precisely the right time. If we hadn't elected him, we would be in for at least four more years of anti-smart, anti-science, pro-divisiveness. With all the current crises, we just couldn't afford to make that kind of mistake. The faith that I had lost in the American public over the last eight years has been mostly restored.
We got back in line for the Metro and Mr. Fox continued sauntering down the street with jaws dropping and his name being excitedly whispered behind him like a trail he'd left to find his way back to his hotel. The Metro was impressively well-run and organized. The Transit Authority cop kept us at the stop of the stairs while the trains loaded to avoid a frenzy of overcrowding on the platform. The trains were loaded up without too much hassle, although I did see a lot of impatient out-of-towners shoving through to get on as soon as the doors opened. We managed to get seats right away and prepared to ride back, still buzzing from what we had just been through. It would have been more fun had the train not begun to make me motion sick. I spent the rest of the ride turning as green as my hoodie, leaning my head back, and breathing deeply to keep my lunch down.
We got back and felt like continuing the celebration, so we got some wings and beer and watched the concert in its entirety on TV. There is really something to be said for being able to turn on CNN and say, "You know what? Let's go down there and be a part of that!"
With that unexpectedly wonderful day behind us, I had to get up at a quarter to six this morning to go in to work early to finish a TPS report. It chose to do this rather than staying late on Friday. I might as well get used to getting up that early for the next few days, because we agreed to take care of the farm animals while the landlords are away until Thursday. This sounded much easier than it is. Feeding the alpacas is no big deal. They're just big rabbits, anyway, and they only go where their stomachs carry them. The difficult part comes in corralling the pony.
I have never liked horses. My mom goes absolutely gaga over-the-moon for them, and I've never understood why. They're huge. If that animal wanted to, it could crush my skull like a cantaloupe. It was too late now, though. We agreed to do the job, and it was up to us to corral a pony in the pitch black, snowy, frozen night. It was not fun or romantic. The latch on the gate was frozen. We dumped some hot water on it to get it open. This immediately opened the latch and froze my hands to the galvanized steel gate. I was glad to be wearing thick leather gloves. I cracked them off of the metal and walked past the bucking pony, over to close the barn door.
My flashlight went out.
That little bastard. I picked it especially for this task because it's been the most reliable flashlight I've ever owned. It's the first LED flashlight I ever bought, and it's been on the same set of batteries for just about eight years now. It's at least as miraculous as a former NBA player walking down the street, and now, when I need it most, it has let me down. I smack it around obligatorily, like a doomed teenager in a slasher movie. It flickers dimly, but I can see well enough through the flickers to get the door closed.
Snow reflects moonlight very well, so at least I can see to walk back over to Hillary and a very excited pony. She is bucking and jumping and is happy to see us, mostly because we have treats and carrots. She starts trying to eat my sleeve, and I tell her "NO," and smack her on the side of the nose like I was told to do. She doesn't like this, and turns around to threaten to kick. I jump out of the way and realize what a miserable time I am having. Cats do not turn around and break your ribs with a kick. They do not need to be fenced in, and they certainly don't try to eat your sleeves. The pony finally walks through the other side of the frozen-solid gate and follows us back to her pen. She is brand new at being a pony, and as far as I know, this is her first snowfall. It doesn't seem to bother her in the least. She runs and jumps and chews on my sleeve. I am now resigned to this, because it beats a kick in the chest.
I made it back inside, and felt like I just had to write a blog about Bonnaroo in the middle of DC, and my first experience corralling a pony in the freezing darkness, with a broken flashlight and a pocketful of carrots.
The last two days have been very strange and surreal. I had better get ready to make it three in a row tomorrow.
Keep fighting the good fight (against the ponies)
Paco
Well, after watching a stupid movie, I changed the channel to live pictures on CNN of all the people celebrating and waiting on the show to start, and it got us talking. We didn't go downtown to celebrate on election night because we had to work the next day, and we can't go to the inauguration itself because we have to work. It wasn't worth sitting this one out. We hastily put on several layers and drove to the Metro station. It wasn't that crowded. We rode the train into Metro Center. It was crowded there, but not chaotic. We took the orange line to the Smithsonian stop, and when we emerged from the steps out onto the street, it was totally surreal. There were jumbotrons on Independence Avenue. There were people literally everywhere - in the trees, on the curb, running in the streets. There was someone every few steps selling various Obama-related merchandise. It was really like Bonnaroo had landed on the National Mall - except that it was about 25 degrees outside.
Protected by our many layers and undaunted by the cold, we pushed forward as far as seemed safe. We got to just behind the WWII Memorial, which is still a good quarter-mile away from the Lincoln Memorial. We got there a little late, so all we got to see as far as the concert went was Beyonce's song and Obama's speech at the end. This was fine, because the party and the spirit of the moment continued on for quite a long time afterward. We walked around and took some pictures. Then we took some pictures for other excited couples who wanted them, and then we had someone take ours. It was really ethereal and amazing.
We wanted to avoid some of the foot traffic, so we took the long way around the Holocaust Museum. We walked for a while before realizing that the guy in front of us had cameras and paparazzi following him. We just kept on walking, not knowing who he was, other than a really tall, well-dressed man in a fedora. We had to pick up on the context clues from passersby. Eventually we deciphered the name Rick Fox. "Who the hell is he?" I said. We're not sports people. Apparently he's a retired NBA player. People were just turning and gawking at the guy like he was the messiah returned. How strange it must be, I thought, for that to happen whenever you walk down the street. All because he can play basketball really well. It's just weird how we elevate people to such heights. I worry that my fanatical love of the President Elect is derived from the same hollow place, but I decide that it is not. He can play basketball pretty well, too, but that doesn't have anything to do with it. He's a true leader. An unapologetic intellectual who has come along at precisely the right time. If we hadn't elected him, we would be in for at least four more years of anti-smart, anti-science, pro-divisiveness. With all the current crises, we just couldn't afford to make that kind of mistake. The faith that I had lost in the American public over the last eight years has been mostly restored.
We got back in line for the Metro and Mr. Fox continued sauntering down the street with jaws dropping and his name being excitedly whispered behind him like a trail he'd left to find his way back to his hotel. The Metro was impressively well-run and organized. The Transit Authority cop kept us at the stop of the stairs while the trains loaded to avoid a frenzy of overcrowding on the platform. The trains were loaded up without too much hassle, although I did see a lot of impatient out-of-towners shoving through to get on as soon as the doors opened. We managed to get seats right away and prepared to ride back, still buzzing from what we had just been through. It would have been more fun had the train not begun to make me motion sick. I spent the rest of the ride turning as green as my hoodie, leaning my head back, and breathing deeply to keep my lunch down.
We got back and felt like continuing the celebration, so we got some wings and beer and watched the concert in its entirety on TV. There is really something to be said for being able to turn on CNN and say, "You know what? Let's go down there and be a part of that!"
With that unexpectedly wonderful day behind us, I had to get up at a quarter to six this morning to go in to work early to finish a TPS report. It chose to do this rather than staying late on Friday. I might as well get used to getting up that early for the next few days, because we agreed to take care of the farm animals while the landlords are away until Thursday. This sounded much easier than it is. Feeding the alpacas is no big deal. They're just big rabbits, anyway, and they only go where their stomachs carry them. The difficult part comes in corralling the pony.
I have never liked horses. My mom goes absolutely gaga over-the-moon for them, and I've never understood why. They're huge. If that animal wanted to, it could crush my skull like a cantaloupe. It was too late now, though. We agreed to do the job, and it was up to us to corral a pony in the pitch black, snowy, frozen night. It was not fun or romantic. The latch on the gate was frozen. We dumped some hot water on it to get it open. This immediately opened the latch and froze my hands to the galvanized steel gate. I was glad to be wearing thick leather gloves. I cracked them off of the metal and walked past the bucking pony, over to close the barn door.
My flashlight went out.
That little bastard. I picked it especially for this task because it's been the most reliable flashlight I've ever owned. It's the first LED flashlight I ever bought, and it's been on the same set of batteries for just about eight years now. It's at least as miraculous as a former NBA player walking down the street, and now, when I need it most, it has let me down. I smack it around obligatorily, like a doomed teenager in a slasher movie. It flickers dimly, but I can see well enough through the flickers to get the door closed.
Snow reflects moonlight very well, so at least I can see to walk back over to Hillary and a very excited pony. She is bucking and jumping and is happy to see us, mostly because we have treats and carrots. She starts trying to eat my sleeve, and I tell her "NO," and smack her on the side of the nose like I was told to do. She doesn't like this, and turns around to threaten to kick. I jump out of the way and realize what a miserable time I am having. Cats do not turn around and break your ribs with a kick. They do not need to be fenced in, and they certainly don't try to eat your sleeves. The pony finally walks through the other side of the frozen-solid gate and follows us back to her pen. She is brand new at being a pony, and as far as I know, this is her first snowfall. It doesn't seem to bother her in the least. She runs and jumps and chews on my sleeve. I am now resigned to this, because it beats a kick in the chest.
I made it back inside, and felt like I just had to write a blog about Bonnaroo in the middle of DC, and my first experience corralling a pony in the freezing darkness, with a broken flashlight and a pocketful of carrots.
The last two days have been very strange and surreal. I had better get ready to make it three in a row tomorrow.
Keep fighting the good fight (against the ponies)
Paco
Denial is the Only True Path to Happiness
Posted:
Saturday, January 17, 2009 –
The title of this blog represents my basic take on life. I thought I should start it by explaining this phrase and laying down my philosophical point of view.
Most of my ideas aren't new. I didn't realize this while I was growing up, of course. It simply took me a long time to discover that others have felt and still do feel the same way, and that I am not sick or perverse or doomed to an unhappy life.
I must start with the first point, but it has already been made, and can't be stated any more elegantly than it already was by Albert Camus in The Myth of Sisyphus:
“There is but one truly serious philosophical problem, and that is suicide. Judging whether life is or is not worth living amounts to answering the fundamental question of philosophy. All the rest – whether or not the world has three dimensions, whether the mind has nine or twelve categories – comes afterwards. These are games; one must first answer [the questions of suicide].”
This may sound frightening, but it is not meant to be. You must decide that you want to keep on going and that you want to explore what life has to offer. You must decide that you want to do this even though you realize that in the end, when you strip it all away - the cities we live in, the new record you just bought, the book you're reading, all the people you know, all the people who have come and died before you - do not matter at all. Not one bit. In a hundred years, none of the people alive today will be here, and they will only remember us by what we leave behind. This fact alone is enough to drag you to your knees if you dwell upon it, but it gets worse if you keep digging.
At some point, I will be gone and forgotten. On the grand scale of time, my lifetime is not even a grain of sand on the beach. In the grand scheme of things, not only will my existence here not be missed, it won't even be noticed. Neither will yours. If you're reading this on a computer screen, think about where the keyboard and mouse will be in 25, 50, 100 years. They won't matter anymore either. Your house, your car, all those years you spent learning in school - focusing all your energy on learning a trade or specific skill set - they're meaningless.
You can be nice or you can be mean. You can commit a crime, drink, do drugs, or be totally straightedge and run for political office. Given a long enough time frame, none of it will matter to anybody. Monday is Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. He was a great man. Like other great men to whom he looked up, he was shot and killed, and died before his time. This was a sad and terrible thing. So, like Ghandi and Lincoln and Jesus, King will be cherished in the hearts of the world for a very long time. He was such an extraordinary person that his message continued to be influential even after his passing. It is good and right that we recognize him with a holiday, but that doesn't change the fact that eventually, no one will care anymore. No one will recognize his name. In enough time, the human race will cease to be. We may destroy ourselves with technology. A comet may come and wipe us out like a bad Hollywood movie. Maybe it will be a terrible disease. Even if none of these other things do us in, eventually, the Sun will implode and become a black hole, ending human existence for good. The minute that you just spent reading that paragraph is gone forever, and you are one minute closer to the void. I just posted this blog on the only Jan 17, 2009 that there ever will be. It's never coming back. That picture of me on the side of this blog was taken on a beautiful day that is gone. All we have is now, and it will soon be a distant memory.
And that is only the depressing stuff that is related to the arrow of time. The other thing that we must take into account is the fact that all religion is bogus. You can get mad at me, or pray for me, or whatever you need to do, but you can't change my mind because you can't change a fact.
Nobody ever came back from the dead. No one is watching you or throwing down lightning bolts from the heavens. There are no heavens to watch or throw from. It has all been invented by humans as a means of coping. People have always been afraid of two things - death and the unknown. They invented great stories of men in the stars and oceans, and of women who would come down and seduce mortals, and of a dead man rising and walking from a cave; all to make themselves feel better. Deeply, you know this is true, even though you may reject it outwardly. When the Pope takes his gowns off to go to bed at night, he thinks about it. He knows it's all as meaningless as anything else, but he continues on for the sake of keeping the peace. If you need this crutch of religion to cope in your life, by all means, use and enjoy it for all the good it does, but know that is also causes a lot of heartache and pain. Of course, in the end, the heartache and pain don't matter, either.
Ever since I was a little boy I have been haunted by these facts. I would wake my mother up, wailing in my bedroom at night because I was afraid to die. After philosophy class in college, I would sit in my car and cry like a baby, seriously not sure if I should turn the key or step out into traffic. I would close my eyes and think of not existing at all - knowing that one day, my lungs will stop oxygenating my blood, my body will stop converting sugar into energy, my heart will stop, and I will cease to be. There is no getting around it. It took me years to develop the maturity necessary to accept this fact. I had to accept that in this respect, I am not special. It will get me like it has gotten everyone else before me. If I let it, it will paralyze me. I will not care about getting up in the morning and getting ready for work. I could stay in bed all day and get bedsores, or I could go rob a bank, because in the end, it really doesn't matter.
So why shouldn't I just end my own pathetic existence now and get it over with? By eating right, exercising, and taking care of myself, I am only delaying the inevitable. There is no really good answer. I simply have to decide that life is worth experiencing anyway, and that I want to try to enjoy it.
In the past, I have used some solid scientific and philosophical principles the way others use religion.
The first of these is Nietzche's assertion that when the universe is your stage, improbability ceases to be a factor worth mentioning. Space has no edge. The universe is the only thing that is truly infinite. It cannot end. Knowing this, we can now conclude that since the space is not finite, all possibilities, however remote, exist somewhere out there in the vastness of the universe. This means, among other things, that no matter how unlikely it may seem, there is another me, typing away at his keyboard, and there is another you, reading his words on a time delay after he has posted them on an interactive system their planet calls the internet. In fact, out there somewhere, you are being born again to your same parents in the very same hospital. There is also another place where you have already grown old and died, and that is part of the flaw if you are looking to this theory for consolation. You don't know these other worlds, nor will you ever. Yes, you yourself do, have, and will exist again, but if you're being selfish about it, your current consciousness won't know about it even if one of your other selves goes on to live forever.
If that one fails you, don't worry too much. You may find comfort in parallel universes if you wish. The idea is that we know only this particular universe, but there may well be other universes just outside of here. Every time a decision is made, we go one way, but another universe branches off, going the other way. This is explained best in the the example of Schrödinger's cat. The cat is in a sealed box along with a very weakly radioactive element. The element is so weak, in fact, that it may emit enough radioactivity in one hour to set off a Geiger counter inside the box, which is set to release a hammer if it detects any radiation. The hammer will smash a bottle of acid, killing the cat - but only if the Geiger counter goes off. There is an equal chance that within the one hour period, it will not. Thus, at the end of the hour, just before you open the box, the cat exists in a state of quantum limbo. He is neither living nor dead. He exists in two states at the same time - in two universes at the same time. What this means for you, the atheist looking for comfort, is that you are out there many, many times over in these parallel universes. In fact, whatever ultimately kills you will probably not kill you in another parallel universe. If you have a horrible car accident and die on the way home from work tomorrow, there will be another you that swerved just in time and will soldier on. However, he will eventually die too, and again, you don't share his consciousness.
So there it is. I choose to put my chin up and carry on here while I've already died in a skydiving accident in a parallel universe. I know that I will ultimately perish and that ultimately the people who care about me will perish too, and that eventually there won't be anyone left to remember any of it, but I persevere thanks to a positive attitude filled with a haughty mixture of acceptance and denial.
I cannot let myself succumb to the depressing truth. I must have a healthy respect for it but denial sure helps me sleep at night. I must continually convince myself that life is worth experiencing, however brief it may be. You can rationalize or seek solace wherever you want, but you are merely pushing it to the side, and that's fine. Every once in a while, feel free to have a good cry or breakdown over it, but for the sake of your overall state of well-being, I thoroughly endorse denial.
It's the only true path to happiness.
Paco
This new blog was inspired by something that I said in my last Myspace blog (which does, in fact, have an RSS feed, as you can see in the column to your left.)
Most of my ideas aren't new. I didn't realize this while I was growing up, of course. It simply took me a long time to discover that others have felt and still do feel the same way, and that I am not sick or perverse or doomed to an unhappy life.
I must start with the first point, but it has already been made, and can't be stated any more elegantly than it already was by Albert Camus in The Myth of Sisyphus:
“There is but one truly serious philosophical problem, and that is suicide. Judging whether life is or is not worth living amounts to answering the fundamental question of philosophy. All the rest – whether or not the world has three dimensions, whether the mind has nine or twelve categories – comes afterwards. These are games; one must first answer [the questions of suicide].”
This may sound frightening, but it is not meant to be. You must decide that you want to keep on going and that you want to explore what life has to offer. You must decide that you want to do this even though you realize that in the end, when you strip it all away - the cities we live in, the new record you just bought, the book you're reading, all the people you know, all the people who have come and died before you - do not matter at all. Not one bit. In a hundred years, none of the people alive today will be here, and they will only remember us by what we leave behind. This fact alone is enough to drag you to your knees if you dwell upon it, but it gets worse if you keep digging.
At some point, I will be gone and forgotten. On the grand scale of time, my lifetime is not even a grain of sand on the beach. In the grand scheme of things, not only will my existence here not be missed, it won't even be noticed. Neither will yours. If you're reading this on a computer screen, think about where the keyboard and mouse will be in 25, 50, 100 years. They won't matter anymore either. Your house, your car, all those years you spent learning in school - focusing all your energy on learning a trade or specific skill set - they're meaningless.
You can be nice or you can be mean. You can commit a crime, drink, do drugs, or be totally straightedge and run for political office. Given a long enough time frame, none of it will matter to anybody. Monday is Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. He was a great man. Like other great men to whom he looked up, he was shot and killed, and died before his time. This was a sad and terrible thing. So, like Ghandi and Lincoln and Jesus, King will be cherished in the hearts of the world for a very long time. He was such an extraordinary person that his message continued to be influential even after his passing. It is good and right that we recognize him with a holiday, but that doesn't change the fact that eventually, no one will care anymore. No one will recognize his name. In enough time, the human race will cease to be. We may destroy ourselves with technology. A comet may come and wipe us out like a bad Hollywood movie. Maybe it will be a terrible disease. Even if none of these other things do us in, eventually, the Sun will implode and become a black hole, ending human existence for good. The minute that you just spent reading that paragraph is gone forever, and you are one minute closer to the void. I just posted this blog on the only Jan 17, 2009 that there ever will be. It's never coming back. That picture of me on the side of this blog was taken on a beautiful day that is gone. All we have is now, and it will soon be a distant memory.
And that is only the depressing stuff that is related to the arrow of time. The other thing that we must take into account is the fact that all religion is bogus. You can get mad at me, or pray for me, or whatever you need to do, but you can't change my mind because you can't change a fact.
Nobody ever came back from the dead. No one is watching you or throwing down lightning bolts from the heavens. There are no heavens to watch or throw from. It has all been invented by humans as a means of coping. People have always been afraid of two things - death and the unknown. They invented great stories of men in the stars and oceans, and of women who would come down and seduce mortals, and of a dead man rising and walking from a cave; all to make themselves feel better. Deeply, you know this is true, even though you may reject it outwardly. When the Pope takes his gowns off to go to bed at night, he thinks about it. He knows it's all as meaningless as anything else, but he continues on for the sake of keeping the peace. If you need this crutch of religion to cope in your life, by all means, use and enjoy it for all the good it does, but know that is also causes a lot of heartache and pain. Of course, in the end, the heartache and pain don't matter, either.
Ever since I was a little boy I have been haunted by these facts. I would wake my mother up, wailing in my bedroom at night because I was afraid to die. After philosophy class in college, I would sit in my car and cry like a baby, seriously not sure if I should turn the key or step out into traffic. I would close my eyes and think of not existing at all - knowing that one day, my lungs will stop oxygenating my blood, my body will stop converting sugar into energy, my heart will stop, and I will cease to be. There is no getting around it. It took me years to develop the maturity necessary to accept this fact. I had to accept that in this respect, I am not special. It will get me like it has gotten everyone else before me. If I let it, it will paralyze me. I will not care about getting up in the morning and getting ready for work. I could stay in bed all day and get bedsores, or I could go rob a bank, because in the end, it really doesn't matter.
So why shouldn't I just end my own pathetic existence now and get it over with? By eating right, exercising, and taking care of myself, I am only delaying the inevitable. There is no really good answer. I simply have to decide that life is worth experiencing anyway, and that I want to try to enjoy it.
In the past, I have used some solid scientific and philosophical principles the way others use religion.
The first of these is Nietzche's assertion that when the universe is your stage, improbability ceases to be a factor worth mentioning. Space has no edge. The universe is the only thing that is truly infinite. It cannot end. Knowing this, we can now conclude that since the space is not finite, all possibilities, however remote, exist somewhere out there in the vastness of the universe. This means, among other things, that no matter how unlikely it may seem, there is another me, typing away at his keyboard, and there is another you, reading his words on a time delay after he has posted them on an interactive system their planet calls the internet. In fact, out there somewhere, you are being born again to your same parents in the very same hospital. There is also another place where you have already grown old and died, and that is part of the flaw if you are looking to this theory for consolation. You don't know these other worlds, nor will you ever. Yes, you yourself do, have, and will exist again, but if you're being selfish about it, your current consciousness won't know about it even if one of your other selves goes on to live forever.
If that one fails you, don't worry too much. You may find comfort in parallel universes if you wish. The idea is that we know only this particular universe, but there may well be other universes just outside of here. Every time a decision is made, we go one way, but another universe branches off, going the other way. This is explained best in the the example of Schrödinger's cat. The cat is in a sealed box along with a very weakly radioactive element. The element is so weak, in fact, that it may emit enough radioactivity in one hour to set off a Geiger counter inside the box, which is set to release a hammer if it detects any radiation. The hammer will smash a bottle of acid, killing the cat - but only if the Geiger counter goes off. There is an equal chance that within the one hour period, it will not. Thus, at the end of the hour, just before you open the box, the cat exists in a state of quantum limbo. He is neither living nor dead. He exists in two states at the same time - in two universes at the same time. What this means for you, the atheist looking for comfort, is that you are out there many, many times over in these parallel universes. In fact, whatever ultimately kills you will probably not kill you in another parallel universe. If you have a horrible car accident and die on the way home from work tomorrow, there will be another you that swerved just in time and will soldier on. However, he will eventually die too, and again, you don't share his consciousness.
So there it is. I choose to put my chin up and carry on here while I've already died in a skydiving accident in a parallel universe. I know that I will ultimately perish and that ultimately the people who care about me will perish too, and that eventually there won't be anyone left to remember any of it, but I persevere thanks to a positive attitude filled with a haughty mixture of acceptance and denial.
I cannot let myself succumb to the depressing truth. I must have a healthy respect for it but denial sure helps me sleep at night. I must continually convince myself that life is worth experiencing, however brief it may be. You can rationalize or seek solace wherever you want, but you are merely pushing it to the side, and that's fine. Every once in a while, feel free to have a good cry or breakdown over it, but for the sake of your overall state of well-being, I thoroughly endorse denial.
It's the only true path to happiness.
Paco
This new blog was inspired by something that I said in my last Myspace blog (which does, in fact, have an RSS feed, as you can see in the column to your left.)
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