Putting the Puzzle Together

Let the music find me

2008-01-30T12:45:00.001-08:00

Guitar lessons in both my teen years and adulthood failed to transform me into a legendary singer/songwriter. I can play a few songs, but I'm definitely no guitarist. Traditional, Appalachian music (i.e., pre-bluegrass) has recently gotten my attention, and I've pictured myself learning banjo or fiddle.

But that would, in all likelihood, end the same way as the guitar lessons.

This is what I'm opening myself up to, and let's see if there's enough magic in the universe to bring it to pass: I'll allow the music to find me.

Music is a spiritual thing that defies natural laws. So, if it wants to be found, it will present itself.

It could happen when I hear a used fiddle calling to me at a yard sale.

It could happen when someone unexpectedly gives me a guitar.

Or, something else entirely could bring me into contact with my predestined instrument.

That's the expectation I will now open up, and if something fulfills it, I'll report back here.

Where's the eye contact, man?

2008-01-30T12:12:00.000-08:00

During my time in the city, I was reminded of how rare eye contact can be. As I walk the pedway or sidewalks, my natural inclination is to look at people, give them a nod or a grin. Very few look back, and I suspect the ones who do are ruralites in town for the conference.

It occured to me that I'll occasionally run into this on backcountry trails, too. You're hiking south; somebody else is hiking north. Out of courtesy you say, "How's it going?" or smile as your paths cross. Although rare, I've had experiences where the other hikers don't look at me and ignore my words.

Man, that's just rude. I can understand the thing on city streets. I don't particularly like it, but I can see from a safety mechanism that it might be a good idea. But out there in God's green world, say hello, please.

Are you afraid of me?

Limits to humor

2008-01-29T13:54:00.000-08:00

I realize this sounds like an old man talking, but when it comes to humor, I've identified some limits -- some areas that I believe are out of bounds.

For me, there are two words that signify where my humor lines lie: compassion and sacredness.

Number one, when humor is presented at the expense of compassion, it has gone too far.

Likewise, when it violates the sacred, I'm not impressed.

One example is a Saturday Night Live skit that featured Alec Baldwin as a Scoutmaster. He was on a camping trip with a group of Scouts that included Adam Sandler. Anyone who has followed SNL over the years knows the skit I'm talking about and is familiar with this skit. It was pretty controversial.

A. Whitney Brown once said, "Anyone capable of being offended has learned not to watch Saturday Night Live."

The Boy Scout skit taught me that I am capable of being offended.

I try to catch episodes of "The Family Guy" when I can. It's hilarious, but some of the humor makes me grit my teeth.

Is this a sign that I'm getting mature -- or just old?

Young and juicy

2008-01-29T11:36:00.001-08:00

I went into a store today, and an African-American cashier waited on me.

"I can help somebody over here," she said, when her register was open. I stepped over. "I don't bite," she said.

I smiled.

"Actually, I do bite," she told one of her fellow cashiers, "but only if they're young and juicy." She pointed to me. "He's young and juicy, so he might get bit."

Her fellow cashier smiled and told me, "You'd better run when you hit the door."

A nice and unique compliment: "Young and juicy."

Travel abroad

2008-01-29T04:24:00.001-08:00

I wish I had traveled abroad a bit more in my early years.

One of my deepest regrets is that I passed up a scholarship that included four years of study plus one year of study abroad.

Where would I have gone? How would the experience have changed who I am today?

I had more of a travel itch right after college than I do now, too, but I scratched it with shorter trips to natural areas, plus one three-week stint of fighting wildfire in California.

Today, I'm content to exist in a relatively confined geographic area. Oh, I'm interested in other cultures, but I also crave a strong sense of home.

That's why I'm thinking more and more about my hometown. That why, if given a choice, I really believe I could get rid of my car and set myself up to have my job, my home and a market capable of supplying my basic needs within a five-mile radius.

Gratuity etiquette

2008-01-29T04:12:00.000-08:00

Remember that great scene from "Reservoir Dogs" on tipping? I still face dilemmas on that topic.

I'm pretty comfortable with my tips to servers in restaurants. Fifteen percent standard, more if they're exceptional.

And I try to tip in cash whenever possible. This was pointed out to me by a friend when I tipped on my credit card.

"Hey, they have to pay tax on that," he explained.

Pizza delivery drivers and hotel cleaning persons remain in the gratuity gray area in my mind.

Is 15% enough for the guy who drives his own car to your house to bring you a pizza?

When it comes to hotel staff, I only know one person who tips the cleaning lady. But when you get right down to it, their jobs are a lot tougher and more unpleasant than that of a restaurant server. Then again, you could say that about a lot of jobs that aren't usually thought of as tip-worthy.

In high school, I worked at a rural truckstop for a while. I'd often get tips for pumping diesel or washing trucks. And then later in life, I worked at a tree care company and ended up with a $20 tip or two.

It's a nice reward for otherwise monotonous labor.

If I had a way to tip the readers of this blog, I'd consider it.

Closing early

2008-01-29T04:07:00.000-08:00

Speaking of the city, I stopped in the hotel's restaurant last night and ordered the cheapest thing on the menu: "Farm-raised chicken" (as opposed, I suppose, to poultry brought up in an apartment complex). By the time I paid for my meal and two beers, my total was $31.

I know what you're thinking: "You backwoods hick. That's not that outrageous."

True. I've seen worse. But I was perturbed nonetheless.

And rather than ordering any kind of dessert, I figured I'd come back down to the hotel's Starbucks a little later for hot chocolate. Know what, though? It was closed when I went down there at 8:30. So much for big city hours.

Big city alone

2008-01-29T04:00:00.002-08:00

I'm out of town this week, attending a couple of conferences. It's interesting how one can be more isolated in a city full of people than when sitting quietly in one's home in the rural reaches.

For one things, I don't hear the wind. I walked to another hotel this morning via an enclosed pedway, and I saw that it had rained. According to Weather.com, we expected heavy storms last night. I didn't hear anything -- just the steady hum of the heating/cooling unit.

And the anonymity. I could streak through the middle of town without every worrying that it would come back to haunt me.

It's different, I'm sure, when you live here. You get to know a core group of folks. You connect with the structures and businesses the way we ruralites do with the land.

I could handle city living, I think, but I'd need a country outlet: downtown apartment through the week, Airstream trailer permanently set up on 40 farm acres on the weekend.

Amazed by World Wide Web

2008-01-29T03:48:00.000-08:00

I was walking this morning, and it struck me: the Internet is amazing. It's taken our collective knowledge to a level that couldn't have been imagined two decades ago.

For somebody younger than me, maybe the impact of WWW isn't as apparent, but when I compare and contrast my pre-Internet existence with now, it's amazing.

I don't have to be in the dark about anything.

Lyrics from a song run through my head, I just have to Google those and get the full song, the artist and links to all the recordings.

A friend tells me she lived in Tuvalu during her Peace Corps years, and I can quote the GDP, the Governor-General and the major trading partners in mere seconds.

I want to find a book on no-name Tennessee boys who made it big, and I can pay for it and have it shipped to my house almost instantaneously.

We can theoretically prepare for the upcoming election by reading thousands of descriptions of the candidates.

Is there a tradeoff somewhere, though? Will we ultimately become a people unwilling to seek (if the search takes longer than the speed of DSL)?

Disliking the likable

2008-01-27T15:08:00.000-08:00

I feel very guilty when I dislike people for no good reason. When folks are assholes, I don't worry. I dislike them and get on with my life. But when they mean well, but something about them just pisses me off, I feel like a monster.

Two cases in point: "Mark" and "Hank."

These are two guys I've disliked in the last few years. And, yeah, they're nice fellows, really. They're intelligent. They don't intentionally harm anybody.

But they get on my nerves.

Bad.

They're both very nerdy. And it isn't just the nerdiness. I have plenty of nerdy friends. One might argue I walk the path of nerditude myself.

There's just something about Mark and Hank.

I see their car, and I go the other direction.

I see them at the store, and I duck for cover.

The phone rings, and I think, "I really hope that's not Mark or Hank."

I think it comes down to chemistry. The way we're drawn to some people. By the same laws of chemistry, I suppose we can be repulsed by others.

What's really sobering is that, somebody out there feels the same about me. They hate to see me coming. They hope (secretly or not so secretly) that I won't show up for such-and-such function.

We're all really a mess, aren't we?

Figure this one out

2008-01-27T15:00:00.000-08:00

I'm at a conference this weekend until Wednesday. This morning, before 6am, I was going down to the parking garage to get some stuff I'd left in my car, and I got onto the elevator with three women leaving the floor where my room is. One was attractive and my age; one was attractive, younger, provocatively dressed, giggly and a little on the drunk side; the third was older and not someone I'd find attractive.

Myself and the youngest of the three reached the elevator at the same time, just as the doors were closing on the other two.

"Excuse me, sir," said the youngest. "Are you in room 535?"

"No."

"No," said the eldest at the same time as me.

The youngest snapped at her, "How do you know?"

"I know," said the oldest. "I know because my fingerprints are all over that door."

Okay, trying to fill in the gaps on that could take someone in all kinds of directions.

Sanctuary for the rich and famous

2008-01-27T14:29:00.001-08:00

I imagine it would be fulfilling to be a sanctuary for someone very famous -- a friend they could seek out to get away from the spotlight for a while. Someone this rock star or actor or powerful leader could trust to never seek an endorsement or ask for an autograph or call other friends over just to meet him or her.

Just imagine: Lucy Liu watching tv on my couch, eating Cheetohs; Keith Richards strumming an acoustic guitar on my back porch while I'm working in my bees; Madonna hiking with me, telling me all the horror stories of the paparazzi; me and David Lynch going for pizza in some off-the-beaten path, Appalachian restaurant.

Everybody needs peaceful times.

Everybody needs sanctuary.

Calling all the exes

2008-01-27T14:05:00.001-08:00

You know what would be an enjoyable -- albeit it uncomfortably enlightening -- project? To contact all the former romantic interests from my life and seek honest feedback on our relationships. Quiz everybody from the girls in high school I didn't ask out (but wanted to) to the girlfriend I broke up with due to differences of faith to the girl from my childhood who I dated once and lost because I was just too damn sweet.

The first time I thought of this was in the context of writing an article for Men's Health.

I can imagine phrasing the questions as, "What would you have said if I'd done x instead of y?"

"Tell me honestly, why did you lose interest?"

"At some point, could you have seen yourself marrying me?"

Might be fun.

Obviously, it brings to mind the film "High Fidelity." Good flick.

Would I be surprised at any of the answers? Would it stir regrets?

Hmm. Gotta wonder.

Hobby poor

2008-01-27T13:50:00.000-08:00

I get the feeling that I'm more drawn to hobbies than is the average person. Maybe that's not true. Maybe everybody has a list of skills/pastimes they wish to master.

I can put all my hobbies/interests into one of three categories: 1) those in which I've developed some proficiency or at least am not a total novice; 2) those that I haven't advanced much but that I'm still pursuing; 3) those that never left the ground.

In Category 1: beekeeping, vegetable gardening, backpacking, botany, fruit tree grafting, writing.

Category 2: bicycling, Spanish, homebrewing, running.

Category 3: ham radio, kayaking, archery, fly-tying.

Then, there are those hobbies I've never adopted, but which I daydream about: multiple languages (Japanese, Chinese, Arabic), pottery, banjo, fiddle.

How much time does one need to gain some skill in this disciplines?

A former co-worker of mine (whom I secretly diagnosed as being manic depressive) used to approach hobbies in an interesting way: he'd chase them singlemindedly until he had achieved expert status, and then he'd cast them aside and look for the next thing.

I didn't get the feeling that his hobbies gave him much joy. So, I can't really explain why he did them.

I just began reading The Orchid Thief, and I noticed in the first chapter that John Laroche was much like my co-worker, going from turtles to tropical fish to orchids and so on.

I wonder if there are any good studies on the psychology of hobbies?

Tall man, small house

2008-01-27T13:06:00.000-08:00

Here's another thing I should've done:

Upon accepting my first permanent job out of college, I should've sit down and figured a housing budget. I was paying $400/month for a furnished apartment, and I did that for two years. Then, I bought a $10,000 trailer and rented the lot for another year. Okay, that's in the neighborhood of $23,000 for three years.

Now, before I ever paid a dime in rent, I should've bought a piece of undeveloped land -- as much acreage as I could have afforded. Back then (1995), I could have bought 10 acres. But let's be conservative: 7 acres.

I could've kept back a couple or three thousand for the smallest house I could build. I've seen a couple of articles on "mini houses," not much bigger on the inside than a caboose or an Airstream trailer.

A living room with a daybed doubles as a bedroom.

Nine square feet, tiled and with a door or curtain, is plenty enough room for a shower.

And, of course, a small range, mini-refrigerator, a tiny pantry.

A pot-bellied woodstove.

The romantic idea would be for this to be a log cabin, but block would've worked just fine in a pinch.

To top this off, to maximize its comfort level, I could've focused on outdoor living space: big porch, picnic table, courtyard.

It would've been something.

Masculine stationery

2008-01-23T07:01:00.002-08:00

Due to pursuit of one of my 43Things goals of writing letters, I made a disturbing discovery: high-quality, masculine stationery isn’t easy to find.

Back in the day, it could be picked up at the dollar store or the supermarket, but not now. Now, you’re hard pressed to find anything except lined notebooks, printer paper, maybe some Strawberry Shortcake notepads.

Is it a sign of the times? Have we written off that people – especially the males of the species – have no need to compose formal letters on paper?

The best source, I’ve found, is hotels. Stay in a hotel, and you can pick up some fairly good, no frills writing paper with the corporate logo on it.

Remember that.

I need snow

2008-01-23T07:01:00.001-08:00

I don’t think I can ever be complete without the kind of snows I remember.

Is it my imagination, or did we really get significant snow in Tennessee every winter when I was a kid?

Snow is a blank slate. Start over. No school or work today. Just stay at home and regroup. Contemplate on how you’re going to be a better person/employee/student tomorrow.

I miss it.

I think I could live peacefully in North Dakota, where you’d better have plenty of peanut butter and canned goods in stock by Thanksgiving.

Justified snobbery

2008-01-23T07:00:00.000-08:00

For the most part, I’m a fair person. Treat everyone the same. But when it comes to music.

And movies.

And pastimes in general.

I’ll confess it: I can be quite a snob.

You know, like the guys in the record store on “High Fidelity”?

FM radio is useless. Anybody who gets much joy out of it can’t really appreciate music all that much.

Most of the movies that are painful to watch, and afterwards, I realize that’s two hours I’ll never get back.

Somebody tells me they love the new Rush Hour movie, or they ran out to buy the latest Nashville-based, over-produced rubbish that passes for music, or they’re really enjoying American Idol this time around, I secretly roll my eyes.

See what I mean?

New respect for blogs

2008-01-14T05:36:00.004-08:00

Trying to meet this blog-per-day goal in January has given me a new respect for those who manage it with any kind of regularity – and generate something worth reading.

I should subscribe to some. And read them.

Freezing for fun

2008-01-14T05:36:00.003-08:00

I’m going on a one-night backpacking trip this week, on a night when the low temperatures are expected to dip to 11 degrees. Doing a January trip was my idea, and I brought it up back in December. But, hell, I didn’t want to sleep in that kind of cold.

Now, 6-7 people are planning to go, and I can’t really back out now.

I’ve got a 10-degree sleeping bag that’s really too heavy and bulky for backpacking, but I’m kind of bound to carry it.

I may also take along a small fleece bag, too, just to increase evening warmth and have something to wrap myself in by the fire.

I went on an overnighter last January, when there was an inch or two of snow and the night air dropped into the upper 20s. What I remember about that is how dull it was after we had set up camp and eaten supper, and it was too cold to sit around and talk, so we turned in at 6pm and trembled the night away.

But having said that, it’ll be a fun trip. There’s an element of self-trial that plays into it, a holy experience of communing with nature at her not-so-sweetest.

Unknown folks from back home

2008-01-14T05:36:00.001-08:00

Since I reconnected with some of my high school buddies in April, I’ve come to realize just what a loner I was back in my teen years. I hear them swap stories using names that are only vaguely familiar to me, if at all. I wonder, “Who are they talking about?”

One of these buddies called me last week and left a voice message about someone from our high school who had died recently. I had to consult my yearbook to see who he meant.

He told me this guy was a good fellow. He told me what a fun person he was to be around.

It’s just a reminder of one more person I denied myself the pleasure of knowing because of my introverted nature.

The Three Jewels

2008-01-14T05:35:00.001-08:00

A few weeks ago, I first learned of the Three Jewels of Taoism, roughly translated as Compassion, Simplicity, Humility.

Sums things up nicely, doesn’t it?

From my perspective, any faith tends to regress from few rules to many. What begins in beauty and peace devolves into religion, with all its chains and hypocrisies.

I wonder how quickly one could reach God by thinking on the Three Jewels daily.

Stick them on the refrigerator. Pencil them into the cover of your bible. Add them to the signature of your email.

I think those three can get us there.

My own quiet place

2008-01-14T05:34:00.002-08:00

I’d like to have my own personal hermitage: buy a few wooded acres in a neighboring state; build a small and simple block or log house – no bigger than my bedroom is now; equip it with a wood stove, a shower, a basic kitchen, bookshelves, a garden spot, outdoor living space.

An Airstream trailer would be a workable alternative.

I’d like to have such a place available for quiet contemplation on a regular basis.

Low on Snow

2008-01-14T05:34:00.001-08:00

I want a snowstorm. A dandy. A humdinger. I want the kind that shuts things down. The kind where the meteorologists advise everybody to stay home and contemplate.

For the past few years, all I can hope for is shallow promises.

“Expect two to four inches of accumulation. Some isolated locations in the mountains can expect as much as six.”

Only to wake up to a cold rain.

If fate had taken me to a different part of the country, I think I could enjoy the kind of winters they spend in North Dakota, where you’d damn well better have your cupboards full by Thanksgiving.

Are our snows over for good?

Teaism and the unenlightened man

2008-01-07T11:38:00.000-08:00

I stopped for a haircut in another town in December and met a tea enthusiast. We’ve shared a few emails since then; she’s sent me some tea samples and tea books. I’m slowly gaining some knowledge. I had no idea of the stature of tea in the world.

She said something that really stuck out in my mind: when we drink tea, we’re connected in spirit to the land in which it grew and the people who harvested it.

I like that.

It’s interesting how beverages tend to have more spiritual significance than do foods: wine, coffee, beer, tea.

My historical tea consumption has centered around the cold and very sweetened supermarket variety. Within the last year, I've taught myself to like hot tea, mainly because I read so much about the health benefits.

I don't know where my tea journey will take me, if anywhere. But I intend to read the books my new friend sent me.

We'll see.

Working hard or hardly working?

2008-01-07T11:32:00.000-08:00

I come from a background of intense work ethic. In a list of employees for the coal mining company where my grandfather worked, his superiors had identified him as “one of our hardest workers.”

My father tells how, when he and my mom first married, he would come home from long hours behind the wheel of a truck and be called out again while he was eating dinner. And in my childhood, I remember waking up in the mornings to find him already departed for work, only to return after nightfall.

In my teens and early 20s, I was also identified by my work ethic. Whenever I would step into a new job, I earned respect from my superiors (though not necessarily from my peers) by exerting a 110-percent effort.

But something's different now. Oh, I still count that I give an honest day's work for the corresponding pay. Now, though, I tend to value and seek times of stillness. I've come to believe we need moments of stillness and moments of play to remain human.

I think my work ethic is still pretty well intact, but I try to schedule time to breath, time to create, time to appreciate.

Honestly, I think I’ve made greater contributions in my present job because of these times of seeking and envisioning. It's when the ideas come. It's when the muse whispers in your ear.

Would my grandfather consider me lazy now?

Maybe.

Or maybe he had his own regrets about how much he sacrificied to make somebody else richer.

Promises, promises

2008-01-07T11:29:00.000-08:00

I walked into Subway today for lunch, did an about-face and left the building. It would seem I came face-to-face with the Resolutionists: the line was backed up to the opposite door. In the off-season, I rarely have to wait in line very long.

Subways, health clubs, churches. They’re all full right now – full of people promising to be thinner, healthier, better.

Credit cards have been sliced to shreds. Savings accounts have been opened. Cheeseburgers have been abandoned. Sins have been confessed.

People running, people praying. People getting on wagons, people jumping off.

I know. I’m a Resolutionist myself.

They say that most people abandon their January 1 commitments within a matter of weeks, if not days.

What about me? How long will I hold out this time?

Last year, I tried to declare July 1 a time for resolutions so that there wouldn’t be such a gap between my first-of-the-year efforts and my end-of-the-year failings. But July 1 doesn’t feel as important as New Years Day, as far as self-betterments are concerned.

Is it because we sense the energy flow of every other Resolution in the world? Is it due to guilt over holiday excesses?

For now, I’m on target. But we’re only into Day 7. After I left Subway, I picked up a mandarin chicken salad from Wendy’s. I’ll admit, I drove to the Chinese buffet first. I just sat there in the parking lot, a devil on one shoulder; an angel on the other.

I’ve been doing push-ups.

I’ve been studying Spanish.

I’ve been saving money.

Maybe I’ll be a better man this time next year. If not, I can always start again.

From the earth to the table

2008-01-04T08:01:00.000-08:00

I don't really need another hobby, but I'm wondering how pottery would fit me.

I met two potters in October and was intrigued with the simplicity and eloquence of their creations. They're doing a wheel demonstration and a hand-thrown workshop this summer, and I'll consider giving that a shot.

I've never considered myself capable of painting and sculpture. My limited time behind a guitar proved to me that I'm no Dylan. But pottery...I don't know. Maybe.

The whole connection to the earth fascinates me. Digging your medium right out of the ground -- regardless of whether I do it myself or buy the clay -- and making something functional from it -- whoa, man, that's deep.

Those lucky smokers

2008-01-03T07:12:00.001-08:00

Smokers have one thing going for them (besides being able to give that narrow-eyed-drawing-on-a-Marlboro stare to their rivals): they can take a break anytime, anywhere. During a group project in which everybody’s sweating blood, a smoker can say, “Gonna go smoke a cigarette,” and it’s not a problem. During meetings, the nicotine-enabled can disappear, no questions asked.

Non-smokers should start an uprising. We should start taking tea or Mountain Dew or reflection breaks. Stand up when the Boss Man is working his way through the flip charts and projections and say, “Sorry, everybody, I need to step outside and find myself.”

Or, we could just start smoking.

On walking

2008-01-03T05:29:00.000-08:00

I know folks who won't walk. Not lazy folks, necessarily. Hard-working folks. Folks who are fitness-minded. Who whine about the extra pounds they've picked up. Who'll dedicate big dollars and much time to exercise machines. They'll circle the parking lot a half dozen times to find a closer space. They'll drive to the neighbor's house and back, and sometimes, their significant others will take separate cars, in case someone wants to come home early. In what they perceive as an act of kindness, they'll insist on driving me to my destination rather than allowing me to travel by foot.

I don't comprehend. Walking is a spiritual experience. Hiking is, of course, but even walking down to the library or the market is a peaceful and holy act.

When I was a kid and a snow would cancel school, my grandmother would walk through the woods to our house, and my sister and I would walk back with her.

I think walking, for me, is -- on some level -- an attempt to find that again. To drop my foot into the new snow. To feel the bare trees scratch my coat sleeve. To finish my walk in a wood-heated room.

Walking is one of life's simple pleasures.

Group dynamics

2008-01-01T11:09:00.000-08:00

This was interesting: I read of a study once in which people were interviewed after coming back from a group lunch. It turns out that it's pretty common for a group of co-workers to patronize a restaurant that no individual in the group wants to visit. In other words, somebody makes a suggestion just to be accommodating, and everyone else agrees, just to be accommodating.

The moral of this is -- when the floor is open for lunch suggestions, say exactly where you want to go. Forget about Bob's seafood allergies or Annie's vegetarianism. Just spout out, "I want me some Long John Silver's, dammit."

At least one person will be happy.

Virtues of the Bean

2007-11-24T03:10:00.000-08:00

I woke before 5am this morning. I thought it was much later. I put on a pot of coffee, so my mind's awake, but my body is still tired from yesterday's hike. Fantasies are richoceting around in my skull (no, not that kind of fantasy).

I'm thinking about touring Japan by bicycle.

I'm thinking about opening an artsy little coffee shop or a jazz club (like Mr. Murakami).

I'm thinking about winning the homebrew competition at the state fair next year.

I'm thinking about growing all my own food and storing away a year's supply of it (for when the aliens land).

I'm picturing a scene where I go Office Space on my leaders and everybody thinks, "Damn, this guy's got some balls!"

I'm imagining my friends whispering about me when I'm not around, "He's funny turned, but he's got a heart of gold."

I'm thinking that, if I ever publish a collection of short fiction, I'll title it Funny Turned.

I'm imagining throngs of people coming to me for the answers.

I'm imagining I HAVE the answers.

I'm wondering if I'm building momentum for a mid-life crisis.

I'm wondering if I should ask a close and reliable friend to lock me in the cellar before the next full moon.

I'm thinking how freaked out I'd be if I looked over at the window right now and saw somebody looking in.

I'm wondering if the rest of the world knows about Coffee.

The good side of bad landscaping

2007-10-22T12:01:00.001-07:00

The place I bought this summer -- I'm loving it more and more everyday. This morning, I walked out to the remains of my vegetable garden before sun-up and just stared up at the stars.

The downside to my new place has been the landscaping: three large and ugly hybrid poplars, a couple of shaggy Virginia pines, an unpruned and (probably) unproductive apple tree. I've daydreamed about how I'd like to change it all, make it something I'd be proud of.

But another thought crossed my mind this morning, and the Zen of it is this: right now, I don't WORRY about any of those trees. I don't care if the drought kills them or the frost nips them or a hoard of locusts swallows them whole. On the other hand, if I invested money in the pin oaks and raintrees and ginkgos that I really want, I'd get nervous every time a leaf turned brown.

Hmmm. Maybe I won't be in a huge hurry.

Lessons in Beer

2007-10-02T05:00:00.000-07:00

I was shocked and awed by a friend's confession recently concerning his beer IQ: although an avid consumer, he knew little about the different types. Because of the research I've done on homebrewing, I was able to enlighten him re: ale versus lager: the former is fermented at room temperature with yeast that stays at the top; the latter is fermented from the bottom at about 35 degrees.

Another thing that strikes me as odd is that, when you walk into a beer store around here and ask if they carry any microbrews, they give you a deer-in-headlights look. I thought they were experts.

I should apply for a professorship in beer. More research is in order.

I found a book that should help me along the way -- or at least I found mention of this book. It's called Brew Ware. Its subject is building and finding homebrew equipment, as that's a hobby that can get expensive quickly. This book is listed in the public library's catalog, but there's a red LOST beside it. (Oddly enough, it seems a good percentage of the public library's homebrew books have gotten lost.)

My Uncle Rico moment

2007-10-01T10:54:00.000-07:00

If I could time-travel back to high school...
...I'd cut my hair, be more clean-cut rather than going with the Southern rock look.
...I'd accept that scholarship at UT Martin, even if they didn't have the exact program I wanted.
...I'd make it a point to start a business as soon as I had driver's license in hand. Lawn care, maybe. If it was progressing nicely at the time of high school graduation, well, college would just have to wait.
...I'd practice guitar and study music religiously. I'd make it my life goal to evolve into a six-string, coffee house prophet.
...I'd begin competing in 5ks, then 10ks. I'd run my first marathon at age 18.
...I'd make it a rule to save 10% of every single paycheck, every birthday-card dollar, every cent. And I'd become anal about it, continuing this habit for the rest of my life, never touching the nest egg until it was necessary.
...I'd major in English.
...I'd enter college with the goal of gaining instruction and experience that would allow me to telecommute and be self-employed for the rest of my work life.
...I'd live in a big city for at least a year.
...After my year in the big city, I'd buy a place and never pay rent again.

My first survey

2007-09-27T05:50:00.001-07:00

I'm not usually keen on surveys, but this one looked enjoyable:

1: Grab the book nearest to you, turn to page 18, find line 4: “…labor in the tropics or subtropics. Climatic conditions in these…”
2: Stretch your left arm out as far as you can. What do you touch first? My calendar/planner
3: What is the last thing you watched on TV? I tried to watch the movie “To End All Wars,” but it was a badly damaged copy from the public library, so I didn’t get very far.
4: WITHOUT LOOKING, guess what the time is: 8:42am
5: Now look at the clock, what is the actual time? 8:30am6: With the exception of the computer, what can you hear? Cars going by
7: When were you last outside? What were you doing? This morning. I have a slow leak in one of my tires, so I was inflating.
8: Before you came to this website, what did you look at? Campmor – an online outdoors supply catalog
9: What are you wearing? Blue pullover shirt with 3 buttons at the top; slate-gray cargo pants, Merrill hiking shoes, green-checked boxers
10: Did you dream last night? What about? Nothing I remember last night, but the last dream I remember involved scorpions. Someone handed me a styrofoam coffee cup full of sand; when I looked a little closer, there was a huge scorpion just beneath the surface of the sand. 11: When did you last laugh? Hmmm. I have a fake, polite laugh and a real one. The fake one happens daily. The real one last emerged one week ago today when the action in Question 13 happened.
12: What is on the walls of the room you are in? Appalachian Trail calendar, county highway map, painting of a farm, photograph of a barn taken by a friend of mine, a painting of koi I printed off the Internet, my diploma, a black and white photo of my grandfather in the coal mines.
13: Seen anything weird lately? I saw a car pushing a riding lawnmower down the highway. The guy on the mower was squinting against the wind. I estimate they were doing 35-40 mph at least. 14: What do you think of this quiz? This is the only one of these quizzes I’ve ever done. It looked interesting, especially since Question 13 allows me to tell someone about the lawn mower.
15: What is the last film you saw? Sideways. It was the second time I’ve seen it.
16: If you became a multi-millionaire overnight, what would you buy first? At least a thousand CDs.
17: Tell me something about you that I don't know: I have this inexplicable contempt for NONESSENTIAL cowboy hats. Now, when someone has need of a broad-brimmed hat to protect against the sun or rain, I don’t have a problem with it. But when I see somebody at the mall or on stage with a cowboy hat, I get pissed off. It’s just a thing I have. Cowboy hats on really hot women don’t seem to bother me, though.
18: If you could change one thing about the world, regardless of guilt or politics, what would you do? Increase the availability of mass transit tenfold, so that the bulk of the world’s population, if they didn’t want to drive, wouldn’t have to.
19: Do you like to dance? I do, but only when I’m alone. I’m too tall and clumsy to look graceful on a dance floor.
20: George Bush: Underachiever-in-Chief (to quote one of my favorite bands) 21: Imagine your first child is a girl, what do you call her? I always thought Grace Imagination would be a cool, hippie-esque name.
21: Imagine your first child is a boy, what do you call him? Jake.
22: Would you ever consider living abroad? Maybe, but not 12 months out of the year. I’d like to spend 4-5 months someplace like Japan and live the rest of my time in my hometown.

Mankind -- good or bad?

2007-08-24T08:52:00.000-07:00

While I consider myself a believer in the Christian faith, I don't always jibe well with organized religion. First of all, there's the fascination with morality at the expense of love and compassion. Where I reside, as long as you don't drink alcohol or use profanity, you're counted among the Chosen, no matter how badly you cut down your neighbor. A few years back, I decided that my search would focus on love, and in the interim, I'll enjoy beer and wine and cuss like a sailor.

Here's another point on which I depart from the conventional thoughts of the majority of churches: I believe that humanity -- for the most part -- wants to do good. After 9/11, I was amazed at how people pulled together. New York didn't turn into an uncontrollable riot ground, as I would have predicted. Another inspiration comes from public reaction to the recent CNN story about a young boy in Iraq who was burned by insurgents. CNN reports that they've been overwhelmed by the number of readers and viewers who want to help, and the boy will soon be flown to a children's burn center in California.

My DIY epiphany

2007-08-10T06:04:00.000-07:00

Three Saturdays ago, a friend and I took on the task of ripping out and replacing a cracked bathtub in my new house. I had only found one plumber willing to take on such a task, and he asked over $800.

The culture in which I grew up is quite do-it-yourself oriented. Myself, I have always had a deep respect and a touch of jealousy for those who can rebuild engines, remodel the kitchen, blah, blah, blah. But three Saturdays ago, I realized that having a free weekend during perfect July weather is worth a lot -- much more than $800, probably.

For the first time in my life, I no longer whipped myself for not being good with my hands. At 33 years of age -- and within shouting distance of 34 -- I think I've crossed a threshold. I no longer desire to be Mr. Handyman. If I can change the oil, fix leaky faucets, replace the lightbulbs, tighten the doorknobs, then hell, that's good enough for me. There are those in the world who are good at home improvement projects and auto mechanics. When you can afford it, pay them to do it. (And when I can't afford it, I'll ask myself, does this REALLY need to be done now?) While the pros are at work, I'll be in the garden or joy riding.

Guilt is a useless emotion

2007-08-07T11:56:00.000-07:00

For whatever reason, I find myself very prone to guilt. In college, I stayed two-and-a-half years in a housing situation that ruined my social life out of a sense of guilt; I've lost sleep afraid that I've said the wrong thing to someone, only to find they didn't think twice about it; I've worked longer hours than I really should because I can't seem to allow myself the time off. A few years ago, a pretty classmate from New York advised me, "Guilt is a useless emotion." No matter how much I want to accept this, I can't let it go. I'm a magnet for guilt.

For example, the nature of my job allows me fairly flexible hours. This is understood by my superiors and my peers. It isn't unusual for me to work steadily from 8 a.m. until 9 p.m., but if I decide to go in late the next day or come home early, I end up docking myself. This morning, I went to exchange some running shoes at the local department store and found myself constantly looking over my shoulder, fearful that someone would think ill of me for not having my nose to the grindstone at 10 a.m., even though I worked past 10 p.m. last night and will work until after 8 p.m. tonight.

I have to wonder if there's a proverbial switch in me -- something that I can flip to cut loose all the guilt and the apprehension, instantly and without looking back.

Older than the Lord

2007-08-03T07:15:00.000-07:00

I've been skirting around the notion of a blog for a while, and today I find myself in test-drive mode. I've never had a tremendous understanding or respect for the value of blogs, other than to the blogger him-/herself. Honestly, I can't pin down the reasons I'm choosing to tackle it now, unless it's to map out my future by organizing the past and labeling the present: a self-study. But I guess that's what all blogs are really about, eh?

For starters, some of my basic data (material that will be fleshed out a bit more in future blogs, perhaps):

I'll turn 34 later this month, making me, as an old friend pointed out, "older than the Lord." Really and truly, when I was a teenager, I thought I'd be farther along in life by this point.
I live four hours from my hometown, and only within the last three years have I begun to sense the place calling me back.
I consider myself very rural and very Southern, but given many of my shortcomings and interests, this culture that I know and love often sparks a feeling that I'm a pair of brown shoes in a world of tuxedos.
I love my job and desire to do it well, but I fear that I lose sight of my priorities.
I'm an aspiring fiction writer who's now finding encouragement on a semi-regular basis.
Although always an avid hiker and underweight for most of my life, a poor fitness level and more than a few extra pounds have snuck up on me in the last eight or nine years, prompting me to declare myself a runner (who's not as faithful to his running as he should be) and (very recently) a beginning cyclist.

And with that introduction... I enter the Land of Blogging.