I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do. And if I do what I do not want to do, I agree that the law is good. As it is, it is no longer I myself who do it, but it is sin living in me. For I know that good itself does not dwell in me, that is, in my sinful nature. For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out. For I do not do the good I want to do, but the evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing. Now if I do what I do not want to do, it is no longer I who do it, but it is sin living in me that does it. So I find this law at work: Although I want to do good, evil is right there with me. For in my inner being I delight in God’s law; but I see another law at work in me, waging war against the law of my mind and making me a prisoner of the law of sin at work within me. What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body that is subject to death? Thanks be to God, who delivers me through Jesus Christ our Lord! So then, I myself in my mind am a slave to God’s law, but in my sinful nature[d] a slave to the law of sin.
Paul the Apostle (Romans 7:14-25)
I am tired...but I'm pretty sure I should not take a nap right now. My wife is 9.2 months pregnant and miserable, far less content with the situation than our future son apparently is. My 2-year-old and 3-year-old girls are casually wrecking the living room, postponing their nap. The kitchen still hasn't been cleaned up since after lunch. My tools are strewn about the back porch where I'm 80% done with a 4-weekend-long project to remove a window and single door and put in a large 4-panel patio door (my most ambitious project to date). In the larger scheme of things, I'm about two years into a one-year project to re-vamp our new house, with about 3 (or 6?) months to go.
Things are overdue. Things need to be done. But conflicted as I am, I still manage to ignore all of that, and catch a 30-minute catnap before guilt motivates me to get up, marshall my girls to their room for naptime, clean up the kitchen, tend to my bed-ridden wife, and proceed to the back porch to delicately balance productivity and noise levels until naps are over. Well, really that was Plan B. I ended up opting for Plan C which was to lock the girls in their room and nap for another hour.
This battle has unfolded 1000 times in 1000 ways in my brain. My awful, selfish, lower-order needs and impulses do battle with my higher-order plans and ideals. I want to spend every extra minute fixing the house, so it can be complete and we can enjoy it instead of living in a construction zone...but I still have found plenty of time for Netflix in the last two years. I want to be attentive to my wife who has loads of physical and emotional needs right now, but sometimes I just get frustrated and give her righteous vitriol instead of loving care. I want to be a productive employee at work, but I also want to write this blog that has been fermenting in my brain for a week. Sometimes the Ideal Me wins. Sometimes Base Me wins.
Paul the Apostle talks about this--I want to do some (awesome) thing, and end up doing some other (disgusting) thing, even though I don't want to. Why is that? On it's face, it makes no sense. Paul, and Christian theology in general, explains that we have this mystical evil living inside of us, constantly thwarting our higher ideals. If left unchecked, we will quickly become the most vile versions of ourselves, no better than animals. So, conterintuitively, we must struggle mightily to do the awesome things that we already want to do. Paul (and Christianity) says we can never win that struggle on our own, that we must constantly be in communion with God, meditating on those higher ideals. You can't do this on your own, because only God has (or "is", if you want to get all theological) this mystical good that is the antidote to the mystical evil. I'll note here that it's a little annoying that Paul attributes all his bad desires to some dissociated evil that happens to be residing in him, and declares that the good desires are the true self.
Christianity in its best form centers around studying (alone), discussing (with others), and meditating (with God) to decide what the best awesome things to do are, and how to most effectively do them instead of the disgusting things we already don't want to do. If you take away evangelism, this is the bulk of what Christianity is. Most other religions center around this struggle.
CS Lewis (my archetypal Christian Apologist) argued (in some non-Narnia book) that this struggle, both the evil force that we are drawn to, and the especially the instinct to resist it, are evidence of a Good God that wants to save us from the mystical evil that would otherwise consume us. I cannot deny that the struggle exists, but once I abandoned my faith, I began my search for a better understanding that did not involve anything supernatural (beyond logical understanding) or mystical (beyond logical understanding by design).
Well, fundies, your worst fears are about to come true, because I have found in Evolution the answers I left Christianity in search of. The consolation, if it is any, is that I'm not going to end up advocating a hedonist free-for-all house party now that God/Dad is not here to spank us with lightening when we are bad. To my own satisfaction, at least, I can both explain the existence of this moral struggle AND argue in favor of practicing a morality that is continually refined by study (alone), community (with others), and introspection (you can still call it meditation, or even prayer), without once invoking a deity or supernatural mechanism.
This will start with a primer on Evolution, since the afforementioned fundies (perhaps you, dear reader) have left us with an educational system bereft of good Evolutionary Science. Evolution is a ruthless process, not a caring God. The most important thing in Evolution is survival of your genetic code(self), second is propagation of your genetic code (reproduction), and the third is survival of that genetic code (ie your offspring). If 10 beings exist with only slight differences, the ones best suited for survival and reproduction are the ones that are going to produce the next generation, and pass along those unique qualities that will make that next generation, on average, better at survival and reproduction. Over thousands of generations, these incremental differences result in beings who are extraordinarily well equipped to both survive and reproduce. Sometimes in this process things change just because they do (evolutionary drift), but mostly they change in direct response to the need to survive and reproduce (evolutionary pressure).
Early in evolution, as organisms started developing brains, the most critical functions were the ones that facilitated survival and reproduction. Think of two prehistoric lizards. One had a brain that rewarded him with chemical sensations when he ate large amounts of nourishing food, and punished him with hunger pangs when he had not eaten. The second lizard's brain was neutral towards food. The first lizard had an intense adrenaline rush when a predator was near, and the second remained relatively calm. Which lizard survived and produced offspring? It's easy to see how these primal brain functions--hunger, fear, greed, aggression-- would intensify quickly with each successive generation. If a monk-lizard showed up with with an urge to feed the starving beggar-lizards that he came across, and to turn the other cheek when he encountered a predator, he would be removed from the gene pool quickly, and the increasingly greedy, selfish, aggressive lizards would take his place. There is no room in that small brain for altruism, only self survival and reproduction. That's the reptile brain, the primitive brain, or as it's known in humans, the limbic system, and it's one of the most hardwired parts of our brain.
Later in evolution, as the brain developed outward around that center, it developed other functions which had less to do with survival and reproduction of the individual. Think of a herd of mammals, lets say buffalo. These animals started living in families and herds, and started to develop functions that benefitted other members of the herd. This is because--after survival and reproduction are taken care of--ensuring the survival of your offspring and close relatives is just as powerful a force in writing your genetic code into future generations. The outer brain started developing altruistic functions--not because it's the moral thing to do, but because the herd that took care of its own out-survived the individuals that struck out on their own, and successive generations became better and better at taking care of each other. These are still secondary and tertiary concerns, however, and the self-survival instincts are still at the center of our brain. By design, the fight-or-flight instinct will override all other brain functions in a fraction of a second. A nursing mother will reluctantly abandon her calf to a pack of wolves, illustrating emphatically the way her survival instinct overrides her caretaking instinct (or at least contends with it heavily), and also how the altruism of the wolfpack doesn't extend an inch beyond itself. These higher order altruistic behaviors that benefit the group can come into direct conflict with the primal behaviors that benefit only the self.
Once I am in a herd, and my survival is taken care of by others, I don't need to be as greedy, or selfish, or aggressive to survive, or even to reproduce--this creates space for the altruism. If I am still selfish when there is no need to, then I am shunned by the herd because I am acting unnecessarily in my own self interest at the expense of the herd. The suppression of the primal, selfish behaviors in favor of the secondary altruistic behaviors must necessarily be motivated by other members of the herd. The herd with a member that hoards food and leaves him unpunished is not as strong collectively as the ones that drive selfish members out of their midst. The herds that had the best balance of skills thrived in larger and larger herds, producing more and more offspring that had very sharp perceptions of fairness--balancing self-interest versus group-interest. This is the beginning of morality, that is, balancing primitive impulses with higher-order altruistic impulses. Thinking of others before you think of yourself.
Then evolution produced humans, who have a luxuriously large brain, which had cultivated several layers of higher order skills beyond simple altruism. The fear and aggression and greed of the lizard brain that ensured our survival among other animals already competes with the altruism that engenders loyalty to our own tribe. But in the context of survival among warring tribes, you need higher order skills as well. Skilled warriors will ensure their own survival, but diplomacy will ensure the survival of your entire tribe, and charisma will allow you to build an army of followers that can overcome any individual warrior. I'll crudely group these highest order skills under the heading "self actualization", if only to reference Maslov, and his heirarchy of needs, which is a rough map of evolutionary psychology, and an variegated mix of altruism and self-interest.
There was no room for something as complex as diplomacy or charisma in the lizard brain, but humans had developed a brain capable of these complex skills, and the humans with the best balance of these lower- and higher-order traits were the ones that survived. The rest were removed from the gene pool, sometimes by a pack of wild animals, who maintained evolutionary pressure on the lizard brain, and sometimes by Ghengis Khan, a man replete with self-actualization. He had lots of higher order skills to accomplish what he did, but it was supported heavily by aggression and greed as well--still potent forces, even this late in the evolutionary process. I'm not saying what he did was right or wrong...but it removed large swaths of genetic code from the record, of people with less, um, self-actualization.
The point is that there are now layers of behaviors that have all been written into our own genetic code for a variety of different reasons, at a variety of different times. Some of these behaviors are still useful and some are less so, and they compete with one another on a daily basis. And it is ultimately our decision to decide which one wins out in each given moment.
So that brings us to today. I don't need my lizard brain on a daily basis to survive, but it's still at the core of my brain. I don't need to be greedy around food to be well-fed, and I even have an instinct not to be greedy if it means I can feed my family or friends well instead. And yet sometimes I still am, despite not wanting to be. Know what I mean, Paul?
I can reproduce readily with my wife. (I'm not bragging; I'm going to make a point.) And yet I still lust after other women. It's rooted in my brain because my genetic ancestors that mated with multiple partners passed on much more genetic code than the ones that had lower sex drives or were naturally monogamous. And why don't I pursue other women? Because I also have somewhere in my brain an instinct for loyalty and monogamy that is competing with the impulse towards multiple partners, because at some point in evolution, monogamy played a larger role in survival and/or reproduction. Maybe it was because STD's wiped out all of the polyamorous tribes, leaving only monogamous survivors, or because bonded pairs made better parents and gave their offspring better chances of survival. In any case, that's why we developed bonding emotions like love that are tied to mating, and developed heart-wrenching sadness when that bond was broken. At some point the ones who loved the most were the ones that survived...you have them to thank when you get all flittery around your spouse. That's why we have BOTH an instinct to bond for life, AND an instinct to pursue new and exciting partners. To say that these emotions are no more than a product of the machinery of evolution makes them sound cold and amoral. And yet the heartbreak that I will feel, and see in my wife, if I am not loyal to the instinct towards monogamy is just as real as the hunger I will feel if I am not loyal to the instinct to eat. (Side note: it's just as real as the awesome feeling of having sex with someone for the first time, be it a wife OR a mistress) One is a lower-order, primal need and the other is higher-order, but they were produced by the same process.
From an evolutionary perspective, it's wrong not to eat, but it's also wrong to cheat on your wife. You don't need some lightening-bolt-throwing God in the Sky to chisel a menu in stone, and deliver it to you so that you will know that you need to eat. You likewise do not need a God to decree "thou shalt not commit adultery," because you already have an impulse to be loyal to your wife. But the higher-order impulse is going to be competing with some other partially-outdated impulses, so it's not going to be automatic or easy. This is not some mystical sin nature competing with a mystical good deity working inside you. This is old evolutionary brain wiring competing with new evolutionary brain wiring. And it's a struggle in which your own conflicted brain may very well betray you, but it benefits us and our descendants to wage that moral battle--to choose the best path, and pass it along both in our actions and in the wiring of our brains.
Similarly, you have an impulse to eat sweet things, because 10,000 years ago, they had not yet invented cupcakes, and anything sweet (an apple, for example) was an excellent source of readily available nutrition. That instinct still drives you when you destroy an entire box of thin mints (or drink an entire bottle of wine), but you also know that you will feel miserable when you do that, because your body has also evolved the ability to let you know when you overdo it. So, that impulse that was once critical to your survival is now something that needs to be reined in now that your environment has changed.
I think the key to understanding why we act the way we do, and why we should act the way we should lies in a better understanding of the evolutionary process that molded us and got us here, and the environments in which that occurred. We don't need to be true to our instincts towards morality because some deity planted those ideas in us. We need to be true to it because evolution has brought us to the point where THAT is our truth. That instinct you have for good is what has caused the human race to survive and thrive, and if we're truly interested in enriching and improving ALL humans, most especially our descendants, we can start by trusting those instincts, coupled with our own reason. I don't think we will be relegated to Hell for not obeying them, but if given the choice to continue the human race in a positive direction or a negative one, I'm probably going to choose what MOST of my ancestors did, and keep it steered in a positive direction...after my nap.
I've gotta end this somewhere, but I have so many other ideas to flesh out going forward, so the rest of this is notes for myself, to remove once each becomes its own post.
1) I'm not here to rob the world of poetry, or romance, or whimsy, and replace it with a cold gray scientific understanding of the world. I think the fractals in a leaf are just as beautiful if they are a product of millions of years of evolution rather than the craftsmanship of a master-artisan Intelligent Designer...maybe even moreso. There is still aesthetic beauty in a magnolia tree's blossom, a songbird's tune, or the poetry of John Donne, even if it is ultimately based on rigidly deterministic physics (or random quantum machinations) and not sprung from some unseen Being that is mystically perfect.
2) The idea of religions as scientific hypotheses to help us understand the world, and how/why they have been refined over the years. For example: did our more comprehensive understanding of Science, and the physical world around us drive us towards Monotheism, since we now know that many observable phenomenon are governed by a small number of complementary natural laws? Was Polytheism a more intuitive theory in a world that was not fully understood, and one that seemed to be governed by multiple competing forces?
Following was trimmed from the post above: Men writing what are now religious texts over the last few thousand years were also trying to understand this same conuterintuitive internal struggle, but where their understanding of the things around them ended, they created a system of beliefs to support what they knew to be true. They assumed anything they could not explain with their five senses and reasoning must be attributable to an unseen God.
If a man had an instinct towards loyalty to a spouse, but also an instinct to leave her for another woman, then those two competing desires could not be coming from the same person. It must be the self versus some unseen God, or two Gods warring inside of your head. It is easier to create a God as an understanding of that riddle than to search for the explanation in evolutionary psychology, which was not an option then. The urge towards loyalty to a spouse is wired into our brain from a time in evolution when monogamy somehow contributed to survival of genetic code moreso than polyamory. Maybe STD's wiped out all of the polyamorous tribes. Maybe bonded pairs took better care of their offspring, giving them a higher chance of survival...in any case, it left a mark on our brain The urge to have sex with ANY woman comes from, well, all points in evolution, because those people generally have more offspring. This evolutionary hypothesis is a more complex explanation of this internal mental struggle, and one that nobody could have come up before Evolution was a concept both studied and understood.
So that was an early application of the scientific method: lets try this theory out as a way of understanding things, and see if it holds up. Lets start praying to the God of Rain and see if he even exists, and can come get the crops up out of the ground so we don't die. And since then 10,000 different theories (i.e. religions) have been created to make sense of complicated ideas that couldn't otherwise be understood.
To some extent, those religions have been refined when they do not hold true under testing, or when they've been replaced by better theories. We no longer have rain dances or ritual sacrifices to try to get rain on our crops...for the most part a scientific understanding of meteorology supplanted that idea.
Why then do we still have this concept of an unseen moral God, when we can view "morals" as behavioral impulses that we can rationally explain? Why not abandon the outdated theory, and revisit it if this current one starts to fail?
What aspects of God and religion are untestable by their very design--what aspects of religion will not yield to the progress of scientific understanding? If lack of understanding motivated our ancestors to practice religion, what lack of understanding currently exists, and should we practice religion only in that space--why or why not?
3) Where did Gnosticism (as it appears in Paul the Apostle's writings) come from? Platonism? What is the root of these ideas? Upon abandoning my own spirituality / the supernatural / gnosticism / platonism, I fell directly into nihilism. Now I've arrived at nominalism...I think. I really only have a vague idea what all of these mean and want to dig into it more.
4) Christianity at its best does no harm, but if we can achieve the same levels of compassion, community, love, acceptance, warmth, etc....if we can still have the net positives of "Christianity at its Best", and strip away the religion that can be abused or exploited, can injure and harm, either intentionally or unintentionally....why don't we? I don't want to throw out the baby with the bathwater...but I do want to get rid of the dirty bathwater, you guys.
Tuesday, May 27, 2014
Sunday, March 2, 2008
The Apocalypse is Now
You know how in really bad sci-fi movies that came out last year starring Nicole Kidman and Daniel Craig, the protagonists are always piecing together seemingly unrelated clues and minor details that, when you think about it, all point to an apocalyptic end to mankind as we know it? I hate that. It's so... unrealistic. At least that's what I used to think.
As for me, my life is devoid of dramatic music in the background to let me know when I'm on to something, but I'm still a very astute observer, and I've discovered too many irrational things in the last 24 hours to keep quiet about them anymore. What follows below is the first of several examples that prove we are hurtling head-long towards the end of mankind. If these examples represent the direction our society is headed, the wheels are gonna come off long before the four horsemen ever ride over the horizon.
When I say "Carnival Food", it probably conjures up memories of riding the Himalaya on a hot summer night, right after you watched the carney wipe up some corn-dog-and-cotton-candy vomit off of your seat with an old towel, filled with a wierd mix of apprehension and exhilaration. (Just me? OK) Nevertheless, unspeakable cravings overcome me when I'm standing in front of the bright yellow food vendor stands, and the no-nonsense price list, and the sleeveless, bearded men and women who make it happen. Corn dogs that would make a porn star flinch. Nachos as big as your face. Turkey legs, dripping with delicious goodness.
But those were the old days. Sure, there was guilt the next morning for violating your diet, but you swore not to do it for about a year, hopped on the treadmill, and all was right with the world again. The kind of food they serve now at carnivals is of a caliber that makes me feel guilty as soon as I hand my money over. Fried twinkies, fried coke (wtf?), fried candy bars. I saw pizza on a stick. I've heard legend of a corn dog with chili on the inside. Nothing, however, prepared me for what I saw last night.
HOT BEEF SUNDAE (no really, here's proof: http://www.iabeef.org/Docs/Hot_Beef_SundaePR.pdf)
Try that on for size--doesn't your skin just feel greasy because you're thinking about it? The actual ingredients (beef, mashed potatoes, cheese, gravy, cherry tomato on top) aren't so bad. No, it is the Marketing department who is playing God by giving this thing such an excruciating name. The concept of "beef as dessert" won't just leave you with a twinge of guilt. No, this is a mind-fuck that will sink you into self-loathing and gravy addiction long after you've digested the 3,000 calories. This is beyond the scope of our fearless chefs-sans-sleeves and their 'stick it and fry it' mentality. This is surely the work of an evil genius, and proof positive that the antichrist will be a charismatic carney.
As for me, my life is devoid of dramatic music in the background to let me know when I'm on to something, but I'm still a very astute observer, and I've discovered too many irrational things in the last 24 hours to keep quiet about them anymore. What follows below is the first of several examples that prove we are hurtling head-long towards the end of mankind. If these examples represent the direction our society is headed, the wheels are gonna come off long before the four horsemen ever ride over the horizon.
When I say "Carnival Food", it probably conjures up memories of riding the Himalaya on a hot summer night, right after you watched the carney wipe up some corn-dog-and-cotton-candy vomit off of your seat with an old towel, filled with a wierd mix of apprehension and exhilaration. (Just me? OK) Nevertheless, unspeakable cravings overcome me when I'm standing in front of the bright yellow food vendor stands, and the no-nonsense price list, and the sleeveless, bearded men and women who make it happen. Corn dogs that would make a porn star flinch. Nachos as big as your face. Turkey legs, dripping with delicious goodness.
But those were the old days. Sure, there was guilt the next morning for violating your diet, but you swore not to do it for about a year, hopped on the treadmill, and all was right with the world again. The kind of food they serve now at carnivals is of a caliber that makes me feel guilty as soon as I hand my money over. Fried twinkies, fried coke (wtf?), fried candy bars. I saw pizza on a stick. I've heard legend of a corn dog with chili on the inside. Nothing, however, prepared me for what I saw last night.
HOT BEEF SUNDAE (no really, here's proof: http://www.iabeef.org/Docs/Hot_Beef_SundaePR.pdf)
Try that on for size--doesn't your skin just feel greasy because you're thinking about it? The actual ingredients (beef, mashed potatoes, cheese, gravy, cherry tomato on top) aren't so bad. No, it is the Marketing department who is playing God by giving this thing such an excruciating name. The concept of "beef as dessert" won't just leave you with a twinge of guilt. No, this is a mind-fuck that will sink you into self-loathing and gravy addiction long after you've digested the 3,000 calories. This is beyond the scope of our fearless chefs-sans-sleeves and their 'stick it and fry it' mentality. This is surely the work of an evil genius, and proof positive that the antichrist will be a charismatic carney.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Junk Mail
Due to the unusually small mailboxes in my building, I'm disproportionately annoyed by the amount of junkmail that I get (2-3 pieces a day). If I'm not otherwise occupied, I try to call whoever sent me the mail, thank them profusely, and politely request to be taken off their mailing list. Well, that's only partially true.
The thing about telemarketers and customer service reps is that they sold their soul long ago to serve as the cold, uncaring face of corporate America, so I don't feel so bad for unleashing mild amounts of annoyance and sarcasm on them. I can't talk to some hotshot, asshole VP of Marketing for Netflix, who's job it actually was to walk into a meeting and say
"why don't we just send Josh 3 Netflix offers a week until he caves?"
"Conserve Paper?!? Environment?!?!....Did someone say 'Applebee's for lunch'?....lets go get some FAJITA SHOOTERS and FRIED SUSHI STICKS."
(sorry...I must have missed lunch today)
So instead I get to talk to poor Erin, who's chipper and has nothing to do with Asshole VP. She promises to take me off the list within 30 days, and I promise to bind all of the Netflix offers in a keepsake album, dote on them daily, and call as soon as I am ready for a DVD-Direct-To-Home relationship again. She apologizes for any inconvenience, and I apologize for calling her a useless hand-puppet of an evil corporate machine. OK, again, this is only partially true.
Today, however, I reached the coupon mailer company after hours. I stopped just seconds shy of leaving a scathing voicemail, and opted instead to make use of more advanced technology. The following is excerpted from the Comments section of my 'Don't want no more Shitty Coupons' address removal request form, located on the company's website.
I appreciate the Pizza Hut coupons, I really do, but I keep forgetting to use last weeks coupons, and then it becomes infuriating when the new coupons show up in the mail. (Is it Tuesday already? ARGGGG! I paid FULL PRICE for pizza just yesterday!) Add to that the environmental devastation caused by piles and piles of unused coupons that I must now throw in a landfill somewhere, and my anxiety becomes overwhelming. The Long John Silver coupons though....you'd have done us both a favor if you had just kept them in the first place.
The name I gave above ("Resident") is the moniker by which you've addressed me in all mailings. Your fine print requires that I give my full name, but I hesitate to do so, having seen what you can do with just my address. If you need my full legal name (for some reason that only God or Johnnie Cochran could fathom) please contact me at the email address below, and we can roll up our sleeves and deal with the issue properly, regardless of how many hours it might take. Otherwise, just remove my address from your database, and any other databases you have access to.
JoshW_17@hotmail.com
DO NOT, however, use my email address for spam mailings. Despite the lack of environmental devastation, electronic junkmail is still pretty fuckin' annoying.
Sincerely,
Josh "Doesn't like Junk Mail" _W17
...and somewhere in metropolitain Milwaukee, Asshole VP curses the one that got away.
"Shots are on me, guys. Who likes Apple Pucker?! YEAH!"
The thing about telemarketers and customer service reps is that they sold their soul long ago to serve as the cold, uncaring face of corporate America, so I don't feel so bad for unleashing mild amounts of annoyance and sarcasm on them. I can't talk to some hotshot, asshole VP of Marketing for Netflix, who's job it actually was to walk into a meeting and say
"why don't we just send Josh 3 Netflix offers a week until he caves?"
"Conserve Paper?!? Environment?!?!....Did someone say 'Applebee's for lunch'?....lets go get some FAJITA SHOOTERS and FRIED SUSHI STICKS."
(sorry...I must have missed lunch today)
So instead I get to talk to poor Erin, who's chipper and has nothing to do with Asshole VP. She promises to take me off the list within 30 days, and I promise to bind all of the Netflix offers in a keepsake album, dote on them daily, and call as soon as I am ready for a DVD-Direct-To-Home relationship again. She apologizes for any inconvenience, and I apologize for calling her a useless hand-puppet of an evil corporate machine. OK, again, this is only partially true.
Today, however, I reached the coupon mailer company after hours. I stopped just seconds shy of leaving a scathing voicemail, and opted instead to make use of more advanced technology. The following is excerpted from the Comments section of my 'Don't want no more Shitty Coupons' address removal request form, located on the company's website.
I appreciate the Pizza Hut coupons, I really do, but I keep forgetting to use last weeks coupons, and then it becomes infuriating when the new coupons show up in the mail. (Is it Tuesday already? ARGGGG! I paid FULL PRICE for pizza just yesterday!) Add to that the environmental devastation caused by piles and piles of unused coupons that I must now throw in a landfill somewhere, and my anxiety becomes overwhelming. The Long John Silver coupons though....you'd have done us both a favor if you had just kept them in the first place.
The name I gave above ("Resident") is the moniker by which you've addressed me in all mailings. Your fine print requires that I give my full name, but I hesitate to do so, having seen what you can do with just my address. If you need my full legal name (for some reason that only God or Johnnie Cochran could fathom) please contact me at the email address below, and we can roll up our sleeves and deal with the issue properly, regardless of how many hours it might take. Otherwise, just remove my address from your database, and any other databases you have access to.
JoshW_17@hotmail.com
DO NOT, however, use my email address for spam mailings. Despite the lack of environmental devastation, electronic junkmail is still pretty fuckin' annoying.
Sincerely,
Josh "Doesn't like Junk Mail" _W17
...and somewhere in metropolitain Milwaukee, Asshole VP curses the one that got away.
"Shots are on me, guys. Who likes Apple Pucker?! YEAH!"
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Personality Tests
I had the chance to tell the HR lady exactly what I thought of her damn personality test today. But I didn't. According to my test I like to 'avoid conflict.' Plus, she didn't do anything to deserve it. They nailed that one, though: 'avoid conflict.'
I could have done worse: in situations where I avoid conflict, my coworkers range from--I'm quoting the actual tests here--'verbal attack' to 'dictatorial steamroller.' I don't like these kinds of tests. I want tests that further establish my position on the right side of the bell curve. (Ah, but gone are the days of my youth, churning productively in the public education system between the 98th and 99th percentiles, unaware that my reward/fate was to have to work for one of the morons plucked from the fat middle.)
Unlike my logorrheic steamroller of a boss, I 'bottle things up.' I'm so glad you could make it here to the uncorking. Those seated in the front row are asked to put their goggles on now. The elderly and managers of any kind are asked to leave at this time, lest their little hearts implode.
Personality tests are a sham. Sometime in the 40s or 50s, this psychologist named Forer did an experiment. He gave a group of people a 'personality test' and handed each their 'results,' asking them to rate from 0 to 5 how accurate it was. The average score was better than 4. The catch was that the results were the same for all of the people, and consisted of text assembled from horoscopes.
Further studies indicated that people gave higher ratings when 1) the perceived credibility of the test/proctor was higher, 2) they thought the results were personalized especially for them, and 3) the results listed mainly positive traits. You'll be hard-pressed to find a personality test that doesn't explicity aim for these three criteria.
Here's how my test worked: I told the computer that on a scale of 1 to 5, I'm a 5 on independent, and a 4 on introvert, and on and on down the list of 40-50 different traits. Then it tells me things like "you prefer working alone," and I'm not any smarter than I was when we began this little dance.
A: "Do you like vanilla and dairy products?"
B: "Yes!"
A: "You must eat ice cream on at least an infrequent basis."
B: "That is so true! How did you know?"
A: "I'm a wizard."
B: "You must be."
So when the HR lady says, "Isn't it amazing how accurate these things are?" I want to set her straight with some vociferous verbal fury. I instead choose to 'avoid conflict,' and give a "yeah, wow." (notice the lack of capital letters and exclamations from my 'wow')
Comparing reports with my co-workers, it seems clear that there are three separate paragraphs for each category, of which you get dealt one or two, based on your answers. So you think you're getting a custom-computer-generated analysis of your personality with several details and nuances, but in reality, you're getting stuffed into one of three generalized boxes. But so many of the terms they use are vague and subjective anyway, so you're going to agree with a statement that you're 'blue' whether you're clinically depressed, really into Jazz, or are a Smurf.
A: "Do you have access to standard Western amenities, like shelter, hot water, Air conditioning, etc?"
B: "Yes, but how did you..."
A: "I'd say you like your showers hot....but not TOO hot."
B: "That's absolutely TRUE! I hate cold showers, and don't like being scalded either."
A: "I can nail that one twenty out of twenty times."
B: "You're amazing, like some kind of psychic."
A: "Wizard dammit."
Now, next Tuesday, this lady is going to come in from Atlanta, armed with six twenty-page personality reports so we can discuss these things as a group. The implication is that two of the others in the office will no longer need to call her or anyone else in the HR department to report our boss for saying inappropriate or thoughtless things, or for generally being a bad manager and for running the project into the ground, ruining relationships with clients and subcontractors alike, and smearing the company's reputation. Now that we know he's a "Doer not a thinker" and has an "Agressive Teller" leadership style, it will be all strippers and cotton candy until the job is finished. Meanwhile our "Doer" still opens his mouth before he thinks, and still only listens for about 3-4 seconds before he gets lost in thought (you can tell by looking at his face) or interrupts you to tell you what he just thought of in the last 3-4 seconds.
A: "Your communication style is 'Efficient Listener.'"
B: "That's right on! I only need to listen to the first 3-4 seconds to know that someone is going nowhere with their train of thought."
A: "Right. Just use the term "EF," and leave it at that. Overall, you fit the "Penile Cerebrum" profile."
B: "Dickhead?"
A: "Exactly. A "PC," as we say."
B: "Can you help me with that?"
A: "Well, now you know what your personality type is, and like they say: knowing is ALL of the battle. You've won."
B: "But you're a wizard, can't help me become a better manager, and learn some basic people skills? Can't we discuss the real problems at hand instead of skirting them with this HR/Personality Test charade?"
A: "I....uh....LOOK! OVER THERE!!! A BABY WOLF!!!!"
B: "Where'd he go?"
I could have done worse: in situations where I avoid conflict, my coworkers range from--I'm quoting the actual tests here--'verbal attack' to 'dictatorial steamroller.' I don't like these kinds of tests. I want tests that further establish my position on the right side of the bell curve. (Ah, but gone are the days of my youth, churning productively in the public education system between the 98th and 99th percentiles, unaware that my reward/fate was to have to work for one of the morons plucked from the fat middle.)
Unlike my logorrheic steamroller of a boss, I 'bottle things up.' I'm so glad you could make it here to the uncorking. Those seated in the front row are asked to put their goggles on now. The elderly and managers of any kind are asked to leave at this time, lest their little hearts implode.
Personality tests are a sham. Sometime in the 40s or 50s, this psychologist named Forer did an experiment. He gave a group of people a 'personality test' and handed each their 'results,' asking them to rate from 0 to 5 how accurate it was. The average score was better than 4. The catch was that the results were the same for all of the people, and consisted of text assembled from horoscopes.
Further studies indicated that people gave higher ratings when 1) the perceived credibility of the test/proctor was higher, 2) they thought the results were personalized especially for them, and 3) the results listed mainly positive traits. You'll be hard-pressed to find a personality test that doesn't explicity aim for these three criteria.
Here's how my test worked: I told the computer that on a scale of 1 to 5, I'm a 5 on independent, and a 4 on introvert, and on and on down the list of 40-50 different traits. Then it tells me things like "you prefer working alone," and I'm not any smarter than I was when we began this little dance.
A: "Do you like vanilla and dairy products?"
B: "Yes!"
A: "You must eat ice cream on at least an infrequent basis."
B: "That is so true! How did you know?"
A: "I'm a wizard."
B: "You must be."
So when the HR lady says, "Isn't it amazing how accurate these things are?" I want to set her straight with some vociferous verbal fury. I instead choose to 'avoid conflict,' and give a "yeah, wow." (notice the lack of capital letters and exclamations from my 'wow')
Comparing reports with my co-workers, it seems clear that there are three separate paragraphs for each category, of which you get dealt one or two, based on your answers. So you think you're getting a custom-computer-generated analysis of your personality with several details and nuances, but in reality, you're getting stuffed into one of three generalized boxes. But so many of the terms they use are vague and subjective anyway, so you're going to agree with a statement that you're 'blue' whether you're clinically depressed, really into Jazz, or are a Smurf.
A: "Do you have access to standard Western amenities, like shelter, hot water, Air conditioning, etc?"
B: "Yes, but how did you..."
A: "I'd say you like your showers hot....but not TOO hot."
B: "That's absolutely TRUE! I hate cold showers, and don't like being scalded either."
A: "I can nail that one twenty out of twenty times."
B: "You're amazing, like some kind of psychic."
A: "Wizard dammit."
Now, next Tuesday, this lady is going to come in from Atlanta, armed with six twenty-page personality reports so we can discuss these things as a group. The implication is that two of the others in the office will no longer need to call her or anyone else in the HR department to report our boss for saying inappropriate or thoughtless things, or for generally being a bad manager and for running the project into the ground, ruining relationships with clients and subcontractors alike, and smearing the company's reputation. Now that we know he's a "Doer not a thinker" and has an "Agressive Teller" leadership style, it will be all strippers and cotton candy until the job is finished. Meanwhile our "Doer" still opens his mouth before he thinks, and still only listens for about 3-4 seconds before he gets lost in thought (you can tell by looking at his face) or interrupts you to tell you what he just thought of in the last 3-4 seconds.
A: "Your communication style is 'Efficient Listener.'"
B: "That's right on! I only need to listen to the first 3-4 seconds to know that someone is going nowhere with their train of thought."
A: "Right. Just use the term "EF," and leave it at that. Overall, you fit the "Penile Cerebrum" profile."
B: "Dickhead?"
A: "Exactly. A "PC," as we say."
B: "Can you help me with that?"
A: "Well, now you know what your personality type is, and like they say: knowing is ALL of the battle. You've won."
B: "But you're a wizard, can't help me become a better manager, and learn some basic people skills? Can't we discuss the real problems at hand instead of skirting them with this HR/Personality Test charade?"
A: "I....uh....LOOK! OVER THERE!!! A BABY WOLF!!!!"
B: "Where'd he go?"
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Writing Under the Influence
I'm reading On The Road, by Kerouac. I've wanted to read this for awhile now--mostly because it's so highly regarded, but also because everything that I know about Kerouac points to the fact that he's my kind of writer. Now, I must admit that my knowledge is limited at this point, but the fact that he draws on his own life and experiences for the majority of his work really sucks me in.
According to the book's intro, Kerouac struggled with his writing for several years--trying more than a few different versions of the book--before settling on a draft he was happy with. His fictional counterpart, however didn't have any evidences or that struggle. I wonder if he just had enough perspective afterwards to realize that it's part of the process. Then again, he didn't mention his personal drug use beyond "tea" (marijuana) when (rumor has it) he ultimately typed the book's first draft in a three week, benezedrine-fueled fury. But hey, that's apparently just part of the process too. (A note, gentle reader: yr. corresp. promises only to write under the influences of red wine and/or emotion, and to edit and post afterwards, while sober)
It's cathartic to get everything out at once, and be able to rearrange the non-linear mess of human experience into something more reasoned and logical. When you discover that your parents are getting divorced, you don't think of it as part of your character development or any kind of symbolism about your fractured persona, but it helps to get all of that out on paper and get a simpler, two-dimensional perspective on things, instead of continuing to spin in a three-dimensional cloud of fists and debris. That's why I write.
According to the book's intro, Kerouac struggled with his writing for several years--trying more than a few different versions of the book--before settling on a draft he was happy with. His fictional counterpart, however didn't have any evidences or that struggle. I wonder if he just had enough perspective afterwards to realize that it's part of the process. Then again, he didn't mention his personal drug use beyond "tea" (marijuana) when (rumor has it) he ultimately typed the book's first draft in a three week, benezedrine-fueled fury. But hey, that's apparently just part of the process too. (A note, gentle reader: yr. corresp. promises only to write under the influences of red wine and/or emotion, and to edit and post afterwards, while sober)
It's cathartic to get everything out at once, and be able to rearrange the non-linear mess of human experience into something more reasoned and logical. When you discover that your parents are getting divorced, you don't think of it as part of your character development or any kind of symbolism about your fractured persona, but it helps to get all of that out on paper and get a simpler, two-dimensional perspective on things, instead of continuing to spin in a three-dimensional cloud of fists and debris. That's why I write.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
I no longer laugh at Dilbert, but I do sometimes cry
My boss is a tool. I enjoy what I do, for the most part, but the imprint that this man leaves on my mental well-being has taken it's toll over the past two years. I'm not claiming to have the worst boss in the world, or looking for pity here. More than anything, I'm just amazed at what a piece of work this guy is.
Every new day, without fail, begins with a "Good MORNING, Princess!" That's me. I'm Princess. So is his four-year old daughter. He says this regardless of the weather, the day of the week, the look on my face, or the amount of thermo-nuclear global wars that have transpired since our last meeting. This makes me want to punch him in the face, which is a good suppressed urge to start each day off with.
This man is a wordsmith of the worst order. In situations where the speaker's subsequent actions might complicate matters, one might say "I'm going to throw a wrench in the gears here..." It's a useful statement, conjuring up imagery of a smoothly running, complex operation being bluntly halted by the egregious misuse of a potentially beneficial item--which is, come to think of it, his preferred management style. In any event, he does not use this phrase, but will instead use his now trademarked version: "I'm going to throw a wrench in the monkey here..." I don't know where the monkey came from, but it needs to go back. I think he had suspected we laughed about this, so one day he caught me rolling my eyes and smirking and asked, "What? Have you never heard that one before?" This was my golden opportunity, and I took it. I carefully explained the correct phrase and imagery heretofore described, and why it makes sense. I also explained why forcefully inserting a wrench into a monkey is imagery that has an altogether different usage. (though I shudder to think of the occasion that would give rise to that usage) He did not conceded that he was wrong, but explained "I guess we just grew up in different areas." To this day he still uses it in meetings with the client and upper management; they roll their eyes and smirk. There's at least two of these colloquial-isn'ts a week, but he seems proud of them--not unlike George Bush.
His philosophy must be something like "work harder NOT smarter." His phrase is "assholes and elbows" which I can make no anatomical sense of, but he uses it when it's time to put in the extra hours. The last 12 or 13 weeks have each individually been the hardest week on the project. I know this because each time he comes to me and says, "this week is a hard week, and we need to put in some extra hours, and maybe even come in on the weekend to get over the hump." Then he reassures me that, "next week we can go back to our regular schedule, and get out of here at a reasonable hour--I hate being here as much as you do." But you wouldn't know it from the schedule he keeps. He gets up every morning at 3:30, leaves his house at 4:00, drives 45 minutes (no traffic) into town, and goes to the gym. He says he goes to the gym, but I am skeptical because he is consistently a 260-pound sloth, and last year his doctor measured his cholesterol at a staggering 400. He gets to work at about 6:00, rarely takes a lunch break, and leaves the office at around 6:00 or 7:00 at night, frequently staying until 8:00 or 8:30. According to him, he's usually in bed by 9:00 or 9:30, which makes me wonder if his wife and two children even remember what he looks like.
It also makes me wonder what the hell he does all day at work. On multiple occasions I've stumbled into his office and been asked to help him with something that takes me about five minutes to explain/fix/laugh at inaudibly. I sometimes get the impression that he's been staring like a caveman at the spreadsheet for about three or four hours before I came in, and I die a little on the inside when I think of how many times this man has been promoted.
Don't even get me started on the useless shit he has me do every day. I could fill volumes with this stuff, but most of it is tedious engineering nonsense that would bore the average person to death. He's also an asshole, but I can tolerate assholes. It's the idiot-factor that just plain hurts. On top of all this, he's incredibly sensitive. I've seen him pout with the intensity of a four-year old when someone implied that his idea was less than perfect. I've seen him resort to name-calling. I've seen him file a formal report with Human Resources that someone keeps taking things off his desk without permission, rather than just asking for his damn stapler back.
The hardest part of all of this, though, is that he LOVES me. I can do no wrong in his eyes. He's never once yelled at me. He hinted for about five minutes, but has ever since been very blunt about the fact that he wants to 'mentor' me, and take me under his wing. I think these were his exact words--and I've heard them in varying forms at least monthly for the last year. I'm too nice to tell him how I really feel--that is, that I think he's consuming valuable oxygen that the rest of us could make better use of. This project ends in about six months (if the gods are merciful), at which point we might get shuffled into different projects. I don't like my odds, though, since he will have a say in what project I get sent to, and thus I am seriously considering a career change, or maybe even going back to school.
Whatever I decide, though, there is a conversation that will have to happen in about six months. It goes a little something like:
"It's not you, it's me"
"You're great and all, but..."
"I think you'll make a great girlfriend/manager for someone, but that someone is not me."
These sorts of conversations are fun for nobody. I've suffered through these before with overly-sensitive teenage and adult women, but have absolutely NO experience with overly-sensitive 40-year-old men.
I just hope he doesn't cry on me.
PS - According to further intense investigative research, even Google bears no evidence of any idiomatic usage of "wrench in the monkey" by anything other than mediocre journalists and other knuckle draggers. Let us finally and absolutely declare, then, that such usage is anomalous to the English language. The PETA-approved counterpart, "monkey in the wrench" can be attributed to Bruce Willis' character John McClane, from the first Die Hard Movie, the hero who describes himself as "A fly in the ointment...The monkey in the wrench. The pain in the ass." This was a screenplay written by two of the most prolific screenwriters in Hollywood, and based on a novel by Roderick Thorpe. My research stopped at this point when my vaporous hooched internet connection faded, with any remaining curiosity on this subject soon to follow suit.
Every new day, without fail, begins with a "Good MORNING, Princess!" That's me. I'm Princess. So is his four-year old daughter. He says this regardless of the weather, the day of the week, the look on my face, or the amount of thermo-nuclear global wars that have transpired since our last meeting. This makes me want to punch him in the face, which is a good suppressed urge to start each day off with.
This man is a wordsmith of the worst order. In situations where the speaker's subsequent actions might complicate matters, one might say "I'm going to throw a wrench in the gears here..." It's a useful statement, conjuring up imagery of a smoothly running, complex operation being bluntly halted by the egregious misuse of a potentially beneficial item--which is, come to think of it, his preferred management style. In any event, he does not use this phrase, but will instead use his now trademarked version: "I'm going to throw a wrench in the monkey here..." I don't know where the monkey came from, but it needs to go back. I think he had suspected we laughed about this, so one day he caught me rolling my eyes and smirking and asked, "What? Have you never heard that one before?" This was my golden opportunity, and I took it. I carefully explained the correct phrase and imagery heretofore described, and why it makes sense. I also explained why forcefully inserting a wrench into a monkey is imagery that has an altogether different usage. (though I shudder to think of the occasion that would give rise to that usage) He did not conceded that he was wrong, but explained "I guess we just grew up in different areas." To this day he still uses it in meetings with the client and upper management; they roll their eyes and smirk. There's at least two of these colloquial-isn'ts a week, but he seems proud of them--not unlike George Bush.
His philosophy must be something like "work harder NOT smarter." His phrase is "assholes and elbows" which I can make no anatomical sense of, but he uses it when it's time to put in the extra hours. The last 12 or 13 weeks have each individually been the hardest week on the project. I know this because each time he comes to me and says, "this week is a hard week, and we need to put in some extra hours, and maybe even come in on the weekend to get over the hump." Then he reassures me that, "next week we can go back to our regular schedule, and get out of here at a reasonable hour--I hate being here as much as you do." But you wouldn't know it from the schedule he keeps. He gets up every morning at 3:30, leaves his house at 4:00, drives 45 minutes (no traffic) into town, and goes to the gym. He says he goes to the gym, but I am skeptical because he is consistently a 260-pound sloth, and last year his doctor measured his cholesterol at a staggering 400. He gets to work at about 6:00, rarely takes a lunch break, and leaves the office at around 6:00 or 7:00 at night, frequently staying until 8:00 or 8:30. According to him, he's usually in bed by 9:00 or 9:30, which makes me wonder if his wife and two children even remember what he looks like.
It also makes me wonder what the hell he does all day at work. On multiple occasions I've stumbled into his office and been asked to help him with something that takes me about five minutes to explain/fix/laugh at inaudibly. I sometimes get the impression that he's been staring like a caveman at the spreadsheet for about three or four hours before I came in, and I die a little on the inside when I think of how many times this man has been promoted.
Don't even get me started on the useless shit he has me do every day. I could fill volumes with this stuff, but most of it is tedious engineering nonsense that would bore the average person to death. He's also an asshole, but I can tolerate assholes. It's the idiot-factor that just plain hurts. On top of all this, he's incredibly sensitive. I've seen him pout with the intensity of a four-year old when someone implied that his idea was less than perfect. I've seen him resort to name-calling. I've seen him file a formal report with Human Resources that someone keeps taking things off his desk without permission, rather than just asking for his damn stapler back.
The hardest part of all of this, though, is that he LOVES me. I can do no wrong in his eyes. He's never once yelled at me. He hinted for about five minutes, but has ever since been very blunt about the fact that he wants to 'mentor' me, and take me under his wing. I think these were his exact words--and I've heard them in varying forms at least monthly for the last year. I'm too nice to tell him how I really feel--that is, that I think he's consuming valuable oxygen that the rest of us could make better use of. This project ends in about six months (if the gods are merciful), at which point we might get shuffled into different projects. I don't like my odds, though, since he will have a say in what project I get sent to, and thus I am seriously considering a career change, or maybe even going back to school.
Whatever I decide, though, there is a conversation that will have to happen in about six months. It goes a little something like:
"It's not you, it's me"
"You're great and all, but..."
"I think you'll make a great girlfriend/manager for someone, but that someone is not me."
These sorts of conversations are fun for nobody. I've suffered through these before with overly-sensitive teenage and adult women, but have absolutely NO experience with overly-sensitive 40-year-old men.
I just hope he doesn't cry on me.
PS - According to further intense investigative research, even Google bears no evidence of any idiomatic usage of "wrench in the monkey" by anything other than mediocre journalists and other knuckle draggers. Let us finally and absolutely declare, then, that such usage is anomalous to the English language. The PETA-approved counterpart, "monkey in the wrench" can be attributed to Bruce Willis' character John McClane, from the first Die Hard Movie, the hero who describes himself as "A fly in the ointment...The monkey in the wrench. The pain in the ass." This was a screenplay written by two of the most prolific screenwriters in Hollywood, and based on a novel by Roderick Thorpe. My research stopped at this point when my vaporous hooched internet connection faded, with any remaining curiosity on this subject soon to follow suit.
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Hands off my Power Crystal, Lady!
Old stuff...From the Taos Vacation last year.
After two days of I'm-not-as-young-as-I-used-to-be skiing, me and the brother decided that a one-hour massage at a mountain spa would be an excellent way to work out the soreness in our legs, and--with hope--walk normally again. Most every place that we called required an appointment save for one...so we chose that one.
My second thoughts began as I was perusing the Licensed Massage Therapists' bio's on the wall on the wall, while waiting for my masseuse to show up, which would be whomever was on the clock at the time. First off, my odds were about 1 in 5 that I'd get a dude...and I just don't like to roll the dice when the stakes are that high. I'd have ended up more tense than when I went in...especially if he was one of those soft-spoken long-haired hippies that Taos is full of. Before my anxiety attack consumed me, a cute, young hispanic/indian woman rounded the corner, and I knew I had a winner. Unlike the other options pictured on the wall, her full name was not "Whiteheart," she wore less than 2000 beads around her neck, she wore close-toed shoes, and not a stitch of hemp, and was one of only two women under 50.
Being my first massage, I didn't really know what to expect, nor did I mentally prepare myself for, "you can remove your clothes and get under the sheet, and I'll return shortly." I didn't know what I was expecting, but for whatever reason, I wasn't ready for that. Y'know, it's not that I'm shy about being naked around strange women...but...yes, yes I am...Yes I very much am.
So there's another heaping glob of anxiety and tension we have to work through...and we were progressing nicely, despite a few close calls on the thigh rubs. Then, almost at the end of the session, while I was laying face up, getting my scalp delicately massaged--and after ZERO conversational exchanges between that point and 'get naked'--I hear "is that your amethyst under there."
I get anxiety attacks when I feel like I'm not the most knowledgeable person in the room, and the people who know me best know that that only happens about 40 or 50 times a day. I certainly knew less about Eastern Medicine, or New Age, or reflexology than this woman. I had no idea what she meant by 'my amethyst.' Are you referring to the bump on the back of my head? My birthstone is a peridot. Is my "amethyst" showing? I started to look down and see if the sheet covering me was still doing it's job. With lots of incredible ideas about what a 'yes' might get me, I figured a 'no' would be safer. She made some vague comment like 'oh, ok' but I didn't hear her for all the 200 psi blood that was shooting through my head. Whatever. The issue seemed closed.
The massage was over in about 2 more minutes, and I was left and told to 'take my time getting up'. I took about 2 seconds. I wanted to get out of that place before Whiteheart was sent in to look at the amethyst that she had been told about. It was in my hurried frenzy to get dressed that I happened to catch a glimpse of something under the table. In the dimly lit room, it looked like some sort of rock. And upon further inspection it was, yes, an amythest. No, it was not mine. Some vindictive asshole put it there to ruin my massage.
After two days of I'm-not-as-young-as-I-used-to-be skiing, me and the brother decided that a one-hour massage at a mountain spa would be an excellent way to work out the soreness in our legs, and--with hope--walk normally again. Most every place that we called required an appointment save for one...so we chose that one.
My second thoughts began as I was perusing the Licensed Massage Therapists' bio's on the wall on the wall, while waiting for my masseuse to show up, which would be whomever was on the clock at the time. First off, my odds were about 1 in 5 that I'd get a dude...and I just don't like to roll the dice when the stakes are that high. I'd have ended up more tense than when I went in...especially if he was one of those soft-spoken long-haired hippies that Taos is full of. Before my anxiety attack consumed me, a cute, young hispanic/indian woman rounded the corner, and I knew I had a winner. Unlike the other options pictured on the wall, her full name was not "Whiteheart," she wore less than 2000 beads around her neck, she wore close-toed shoes, and not a stitch of hemp, and was one of only two women under 50.
Being my first massage, I didn't really know what to expect, nor did I mentally prepare myself for, "you can remove your clothes and get under the sheet, and I'll return shortly." I didn't know what I was expecting, but for whatever reason, I wasn't ready for that. Y'know, it's not that I'm shy about being naked around strange women...but...yes, yes I am...Yes I very much am.
So there's another heaping glob of anxiety and tension we have to work through...and we were progressing nicely, despite a few close calls on the thigh rubs. Then, almost at the end of the session, while I was laying face up, getting my scalp delicately massaged--and after ZERO conversational exchanges between that point and 'get naked'--I hear "is that your amethyst under there."
I get anxiety attacks when I feel like I'm not the most knowledgeable person in the room, and the people who know me best know that that only happens about 40 or 50 times a day. I certainly knew less about Eastern Medicine, or New Age, or reflexology than this woman. I had no idea what she meant by 'my amethyst.' Are you referring to the bump on the back of my head? My birthstone is a peridot. Is my "amethyst" showing? I started to look down and see if the sheet covering me was still doing it's job. With lots of incredible ideas about what a 'yes' might get me, I figured a 'no' would be safer. She made some vague comment like 'oh, ok' but I didn't hear her for all the 200 psi blood that was shooting through my head. Whatever. The issue seemed closed.
The massage was over in about 2 more minutes, and I was left and told to 'take my time getting up'. I took about 2 seconds. I wanted to get out of that place before Whiteheart was sent in to look at the amethyst that she had been told about. It was in my hurried frenzy to get dressed that I happened to catch a glimpse of something under the table. In the dimly lit room, it looked like some sort of rock. And upon further inspection it was, yes, an amythest. No, it was not mine. Some vindictive asshole put it there to ruin my massage.
Nectar of the GODS!
Old Stuff...after the vacation to Taos, NM last year with my brother.
...and have you tried Barley Wine? I had some on my vacation last weekend. This stuff is like so much liquid gold trickling down your throat. It's somewhere between wine and beer, and somewhere between Everest and HEAVEN.
I've never been tempted to drink all day every day, but this stuff could quickly put 12 Steps between me and the normal life I currently enjoy.
...and have you tried Barley Wine? I had some on my vacation last weekend. This stuff is like so much liquid gold trickling down your throat. It's somewhere between wine and beer, and somewhere between Everest and HEAVEN.
I've never been tempted to drink all day every day, but this stuff could quickly put 12 Steps between me and the normal life I currently enjoy.
Top 5
Old stuff...with footnotes.
So I don't guess that me and the girl* have had an official DTR conversation yet, but the other day when my guard was down I let that much-despised word slip out of my mouth... (I must state here that I don't remember the exact context, but it was something like the following)
"...blah, blah, blah...my girlfriend..blah, blah..."
"Did you just say.... ?"
"Yes. Dammit.....I guess I owe you a coke"
Such epithets need be left with the grade-schoolers and angst-ridden teens. We adults need a better and different label that has less connotations of ownership and possession and obligation.
But I digress.
So, as I was saying: no DTR yet, but we did have the 'All Time, Desert Island Top 5 movies' discussion. And if you ask me, this is a far better divining rod for a potential companion than any personality test, premarital counseling, or magic 8-ball. Her top movie: Steel Magnolias. The rest are unimportant for now. The important thing is that, if you have seen the movie, you now have the context for the gem that came from her today upon noticing the track lighting I had installed in my room:
"I saw your track lighting at Home Depot today....Steve." **
Girl - 1. Josh - 0.
*This girl and I finally did have a DTR, dated for two tumultuous months, and finally decided it would be better for us--and for those within striking distance and/or earshot of us--if we were just friends instead. We're excellent friends to this day.
**If you haven't seen the movie, there's a joke among some friends that gay men have track lighting....well of course it's not funny if I have to explain it to you!
So I don't guess that me and the girl* have had an official DTR conversation yet, but the other day when my guard was down I let that much-despised word slip out of my mouth... (I must state here that I don't remember the exact context, but it was something like the following)
"...blah, blah, blah...my girlfriend..blah, blah..."
"Did you just say.... ?"
"Yes. Dammit.....I guess I owe you a coke"
Such epithets need be left with the grade-schoolers and angst-ridden teens. We adults need a better and different label that has less connotations of ownership and possession and obligation.
But I digress.
So, as I was saying: no DTR yet, but we did have the 'All Time, Desert Island Top 5 movies' discussion. And if you ask me, this is a far better divining rod for a potential companion than any personality test, premarital counseling, or magic 8-ball. Her top movie: Steel Magnolias. The rest are unimportant for now. The important thing is that, if you have seen the movie, you now have the context for the gem that came from her today upon noticing the track lighting I had installed in my room:
"I saw your track lighting at Home Depot today....Steve." **
Girl - 1. Josh - 0.
*This girl and I finally did have a DTR, dated for two tumultuous months, and finally decided it would be better for us--and for those within striking distance and/or earshot of us--if we were just friends instead. We're excellent friends to this day.
**If you haven't seen the movie, there's a joke among some friends that gay men have track lighting....well of course it's not funny if I have to explain it to you!
"So we still feelin' pretty good about this, uh, 32-piece set, here?"
Old Stuff...
I have no tolerance for name-droppers, but that doesn't mean I have the self-control to not become one myself. The key is to be blase about it...act like this stuff happens all the time:
So I went with my cousin down to San Marcos to see the Ace in the Hole band (usually plays with George Strait), and the accompanying swarm of musicians--including my cousin, but certainly not myself--that rotate on and off stage all night. It was a good time, and none other than Uncle Rico was in the house. His real name is Jon Gries, and he's a pretty prolific actor...even if people mostly only recognize him from Napoleon Dynamite. For those of you born in the right decade, you'll know him as Laslo, from the movie Real Genius. Anyways, that was my brush with a celebrity for the week.
That brings my celebrity-sightings-consecutive-week total to 1, which exceeds my previous record set back in B.F, New Mexico.
I talked to him for all of two minutes. (Did you know he's a vegetarian, and all the steak he had to eat in the movie was immediately spat out once the camera was off?) Then he started ogling the college girls with the rest of us, went out back to get high with the fiddle player, and started getting introduced to everyone on stage. Later he got up on stage and sang, then said some quote from the movie. I don't think many people realized who he was, because a room full of college students should be going crazy..."UNCLE RICO?!?!" But pandemonium was at an absolute low.
Nonetheless, it was a good time. Them hill country women just know how to dance. Good times.
I have no tolerance for name-droppers, but that doesn't mean I have the self-control to not become one myself. The key is to be blase about it...act like this stuff happens all the time:
So I went with my cousin down to San Marcos to see the Ace in the Hole band (usually plays with George Strait), and the accompanying swarm of musicians--including my cousin, but certainly not myself--that rotate on and off stage all night. It was a good time, and none other than Uncle Rico was in the house. His real name is Jon Gries, and he's a pretty prolific actor...even if people mostly only recognize him from Napoleon Dynamite. For those of you born in the right decade, you'll know him as Laslo, from the movie Real Genius. Anyways, that was my brush with a celebrity for the week.
That brings my celebrity-sightings-consecutive-week total to 1, which exceeds my previous record set back in B.F, New Mexico.
I talked to him for all of two minutes. (Did you know he's a vegetarian, and all the steak he had to eat in the movie was immediately spat out once the camera was off?) Then he started ogling the college girls with the rest of us, went out back to get high with the fiddle player, and started getting introduced to everyone on stage. Later he got up on stage and sang, then said some quote from the movie. I don't think many people realized who he was, because a room full of college students should be going crazy..."UNCLE RICO?!?!" But pandemonium was at an absolute low.
Nonetheless, it was a good time. Them hill country women just know how to dance. Good times.
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