Clubbed To Death

Life as a prep bitch, aka What rung IS this anyways?

noreply@blogger.com (Dick.Bill) — Sat, 05 Mar 2005 07:54:00 +0000

So yeah, I'm dedicating this post to the noble activity of bitching about work. Where normally someone with my duties vs pay would rejoice in the daily grind of being alternately bored and worked to the bone, I find the idea of prepping for the sake of prepping the lowest form of kitchen work. Kind of like being a rocket scientist and being the guy they make screw together endless fusillades. Or being a security adviser/coordinator and being made to stand watch at the door yourself. Menial, mindless work where I have expertise to do something truly productive Anyway so I get scheduled to do chefs prep, which is actually a pretty cool job because you're all over the kitchen doing some interesting things and you're doing DIFFERENT things every 5-10 minutes. Which makes the day go by a Lot faster. But I show up, and they stick me in Bar Prep, which is in the furthest nether regions of the kitchen cut off from all human interaction standing at a table that no one else will see all day, completing really basic tasks on a list. Boring as all hell, beyond that I've never done bar prep b4 and they don't really seem to care about the fact that I have no idea what I'm doing.

Oh well I managed, scrounged around and found a recipe book and pestered co-workers to show me sample plates for the bar specials. In any case, I have no idea what a normal bar prep person does all day, I spent the last hour of my shift stirring crab dip in a vain attempt to appear busy because I had already finished my list and didn't know what else to do. And since I was out of the main stream sight of everyone no one noticed or cared. I always get nervous and anxious during times like this because I feel like I'm stealing.

Then there are days like last Friday, in which I was worked as if we had just lost every other employee in the hotel. I was in the Pantry, a line solely dedicated to the creation and distribution of salad and various and sundry fruit dishes, working by myself trying to catch up after a busy week. Then the chef decided I didn't have enough to do with the pantry line depleted and a 300 count dinner coming up, so he gives me a BEO *(banquet event order)* to complete that includes a number of things that are overpriced and they are all platters varying in size from 1 by 2 *(feet)* to 3 by 5. So while attempting to channel the glorious and venerated giant squid, frantically producing $250 crab dip platters and trying desperately to do things like shell/clean shrimp, my line gets hit with a constant stream of machine gun like chatter from the hated printer. Dinner Cometh.

I'm juggling 5 mixing bowls an indefinite amount of plates and various and sundry types of lettuce all the while literally sprinting across the half football sized kitchen dodging around the obstacle course of multiple stations and random people on break wandering through the kitchen area trying to make it to the coolers on the other side of the kitchen to beg borrow or steal stock for my line and other goodies to prep/make for the order. I get to the point where the one remaining item is shrimp that I need to run my line. Which means I need marinade. Then I run out of romaine lettuce because people are ordering Caesar salads like refills on water. So I go running across the kitchen again with a bowl of shrimp under one arm trying to shell on the way there. Make my way back defying gravity the whole way balancing the case of lettuce on my head with one arm curled around the bowl and the other warding off the many obstacles/people *(same thing a lot of the time)*, hurl the lettuce into the sink across the front of my line bounce and spin off the wall in front and skid onto my line sliding the bowl of shrimp to the far end next to the cutting board because, miraculously, I had managed to finish off the last of the shrimp on the trip.

I then spend about five minutes making some servers very angry and giving them a lot to do by putting every order from the last twenty minutes up all at the same time. Fuck them. Oh well. I then have time to do the lettuce and move on to the next stage of the shrimp, marinade and cook off. I clean them, butterfly them and skewer them in a process that should soon show up as an Olympic sport in as much as they were making it from one end of my line to the other as I was utilizing multiple blenders trying to make the marinade at the same time, and as I don't have room on my counter for all that AND the pan for the shrimp the shrimp were arcing a pretty parabola across the fifteen feet to the sink where the pan was. I spend a few minutes making a large mess with random herbs and oil, splattering over a good percentage of my prep area due to the fact that blenders may or may not be imbued with lids in this kitchen, and I may or may not have the time or patience to seek them out.

So that done the shrimp firmly plastered in marinade and then line thoroughly trashed, I endeavor to get the damned things cooked so I can actually USE them. First stop, the hot line with all manner of grill, broiler, oven, salamander, stove, fryer, and hot plate you could ever imagine arrayed in a nice hot and hazardous long line formation. Once I arrive, cradling my precious crustaceous cargo, I'm firmly rebuked by a sweaty collection of some of the most foul-mouthed and dirty minded people this side of a pirates bounty, Line Cooks. In full battle garb, filthy aprons and bar towels aplenty, and the ever present never wavering display of sharp/fiery implements of destruction. My approach sends them in a frenzy of arm waving and shouting telling me to find my cooking area elsewhere as they are in tactical retreat under a full fisted barrage from the front and taking heavy losses. In other words their printers had been puking out tickets by the dozens the whole evening and had no sign of slowing, and at the rate they were going we could probably make a card tower to reach the moon with the paper littering the line.

So, seeking alternative means with which to apply heat to the raw sea-life/finger food, I turn to the bake shop, and after being presented with a number of unpleasant gestures and heavy mixing objects as direct threats of bodily harm if I invade their territory I moved on to the only remaining alternative. I pulled out the old decrepit plug-in panini grill. Dragged it over to my station, and plugged it in to the only outlet available. This actually worked to cook of 4 orders of shrimp, good enough for now, but then the damned thing just up and stops working. At this point I've pretty much given up on the deal and moved on to cleaning up my area and dealing with what tickets they throw me.

About twenty minutes go by, and the night ends, in as much as the dining room is closed and now it's just a matter of waiting for room-service to end and put everything away. Then the chef walks by...and asks me why all the fridges on my line are off. (*$&%#@*&%) Yes, that's right, the bastard grill blew the circuit and the whole station was dead, chefs idea at this point is that I need to clear out all five double-door stand up refrigerators and move everything into the big walk-ins on the other side of the kitchen, because HE doesn't know where the circuit breakers are...:P So I spend all of 5 seconds staring off into space over his head, and then get to work.

I'm cussing throwing things and desperately emptying everything in sight in hopes of getting everything done and cleaned up in the half-hour I have left in my shift. I get about half-way done with all the crap, am running a cart overflowing with shit from my fridges across the kitchen, and the executive steward asks me what the hell I'm doing. I spend precious moments explaining while still running the shit towards the walk-ins. His response is, "Well why didn't you just turn the breaker back on?" At this point I nearly explode, but hold back long enough for him to walk me to the chefs office door and open a panel on the wall next to it. (flip) Back on. NOW I have to get everything BACK out of the FUCKING walk-ins, put it all BACK in the fridges, and STILL clean up and get the FUCK out in like ten minutes. PISSED.

But I got it done, thanks to LOTS of caffeine throughout the day and purist animosity towards the whole situation. So, that's a day in the life of a prep bitch. *(shrug)* I get paid all right, and usually my job is boring. Not much else to tell, life proceeds apace. Work, sleep, occasionally eat, and read a LOT. Hope everyone is well, and I promise I'll be blogging more in the near future...Thanx all for getting on my ass as usual...;)
DiCK_BiLL

Sublime Inference

noreply@blogger.com (Dick.Bill) — Tue, 08 Mar 2005 00:27:00 +0000

Neither in the deep nor shallow reason do we find the answers to our dreams versus our perception of our lives' paths. We hope for the sublime inference to guide us to the goal post, the scoring net, the tropical beaches and peaceful wind-swept desert plains. Whether inductive or deductive or productive or seductive our thoughts sway with the winds of social pressure and succumb to the mean, mode, and median within ourselves. Averages define our steps and refine our awareness of self. Growing outward, ever expanding, while struggling desperately upward, our beliefs, opinions, wants, desires, fears, and neuroses draw from the collective unconscious their shapes and definitions. Yet as individually we strive towards unity, each oversteps the lines and page faults by tangents to the circle of opinions creating a jagged three dimensional star that sheds it's radiation as the corruption of youth and the cynicism of the information age. Itself an anomaly, based on the structure of cooperation and society at its core, representing all that is possible within that sphere, and at the same time all that falls upon the lines that veer towards the infinite, beyond all that could be universally accepted. Hearts, aspirations, immediate goals, forgotten dreams, and petty spites ride these highways toward oblivion. On the outside of the Unit, forever succumbing to the infinite space, of time.

Wishful Thinking

noreply@blogger.com (Dick.Bill) — Thu, 31 Mar 2005 04:28:00 +0000

So this weekend I actually managed to accomplish something. I went to town *(Merced)* and hit the mall and the computer shop. Took my computer in and spent some time getting quite firmly lost in the massive rat warren-like infrastructure of the city. Funny story. I went there with Michelle, my neighbor/friend. I had looked up the address for the computer store before we left but with my usual grace with such things I forgot all but the main cross street. So I have it in my head that it's on G street. Which naturally means absolutely nothing to me. So when we get into Merced I steer onto G street and stop into a gas station as the intermittent 80+ miles have knocked us down below 1/4 tank. Spend $25 filling the tank and Michelle uses the respite to find a pay phone with a yellow pages...finds the address for the computer shop and it's all the way across town on Pourlow St. So we go there...which takes most of the rest of the day as once we get there we find that the address she had found was for a construction site with a big "Action Computers Coming soon" sign, and we decided to utilize the convenience of the malls and shopping centers in this area.

Once were done gorging our consumerism, *(I purchased a new cd/boombox some clothes some cd's and some household stuff that was sorely needed)* we made it back onto the trek for the computer shop to finally put my poor ailing system in someones hands that isn't quite so frustrated with it's deficiencies. So I find another phone book and look this time for phone number to get the real address. Sure enough on G street. By this time we're both hungry so we stop at Carl's Jr. for her and continue onto G street. Once we get there we roam up and down it for about twenty minutes trying to match the address to an actual building unsuccessfully, so I see a Taco Bell right next to the gas station I originally pulled into to get gas when we first got to town. We stop for the taco bell, and as I'm pulling into the drive through, guess what Michelle points out. That's right, Action computers, in the same damned parking lot with the gas station and Taco Bell. The gas station we tried to verify the address only to find that the advertisement in the yellow pages points across town...*(sigh)*

This is how things work for me. But I got the computer into the shop. *(finally)* And hopefully they'll be able to bring about a functional solution to it's problems and I'll have a working computer again. For that I would drive around Merced a dozen more times.

But onto the wishful thinking, I'm hoping that this will all be resolved soon, I can go back next week and pick it up working. And once that all happens I can get on with my dominance of the world of online gambling. YEEEES! I will take your money. All of it you're willing to put on the table. It's good times. Now to exercise patience. Something that I could always use some practice with.

In the meantime, I have cleaned my half of the cabin, gotten us a much need floor mat, some new music, a new Towel...*(thank god)* and got to see some gorgeous spring scenery and hang out in an area somewhat civilized and modern.

Well not much else to report with me. Still working and dealing with it. Still reading too fast and too much. Still trying to stave off boredom with a wooden mallet if nothing else. Pain can be entertaining right?

Have a good week and all that...

*(wave)*

DiCK_BiLL

Prevailing through anonymity

noreply@blogger.com (Dick.Bill) — Tue, 05 Apr 2005 03:36:00 +0000

So after eight months of living and working here in yosemite, I've found that I'm becoming more and more a recluce and enjoying my own company more and more rather than being part of a group. Without having a single person to interact with in a meaningful way on a daily basis, I've come to appreciate the sweet anonymity and isolation that being myself brings. It's not that I've found that people don't like me or that I'm some sort of social pariah. Quite the contrary actually, people seem to like me here. Pretty much everyone's nice and largely open and friendly. But I don't connect with them. All the friendliness is kind of projected through a screen of an ultimately dispassionate disinterest. The majority of people I interact with on a daily basis have drawn the same conclusion I have. That this is an interlude. The entire experience here is trasitory and, beyond the day to day, meaningless. So friendships are off the cuff. Nothing is truly heartfelt. No one seems to extend a significant level of interest in understanding anyone else in depth.

And that works for me. It's oddly comforting. This may well be their reaction to my own withdrawn state. Whatever the case however, I appreciate the results. I can choose to join in the social activites if I so desire and people act as though I've been here forever and accept what I'm willing to give. And if I want to just crawl into my hole and examine in more detail the interior of my cabin, no one seems to notice or care. My space is respected and no one questions my interests or motives no matter what I choose to do with my time. And while it is naturally mildly depressing not having a meaningful relationship, it at the same time is very liberating. I needn't concern myself with whether or not what I do or don't do with my time is going to effect someone else or that anyone else would even notice.

So I guess what I'm getting at is that it's like I've found exactly everything I could have hoped for as my original ideal concept of life. And now I just have to decide if I like enough to continue in this vein or if the interpersonal restrictions are stifling me and choking my ability to develop real friendships. Maybe it's just too soon to tell.

*(shrug)*

I'm going to be here awhile yet. Plenty of time.

Here's to the masks we wear.

Dick_Bill

A flame without fire

noreply@blogger.com (Dick.Bill) — Tue, 05 Apr 2005 03:58:00 +0000

Incandescence in it's truest form. Illumination, understanding, compelling reason. In this void we burn, a flame without fire, emitting bursts that can only be perceived by those capable of receiving along the same wavelengths. A glare shining down upon us from above, the over mind, the greatest construction of conception, the accepted reality. As tungsten we play our parts as relays, bouncing around the flashes and flares of ideas, burning our own abilities to conceive even as we burn upon our retinas and form wrinkles in our brains to represent the possibilities we've thus far been able to grasp without letting go in pain or denial. Yet even as we shine to show the path to reason our minds eye creates shadows that obscure, and our imagery paints that picture to others for the future without all that we can no longer see. So we are little light bulbs in projectors that play images across the blank screen of the world, and deny its truth with our light. We shows forms and display figures, waggling our digits in unison. All at once creating something from nothing, and destroying what there is to see without us.

Life and times

noreply@blogger.com (Dick.Bill) — Thu, 28 Apr 2005 19:42:00 +0000

Well, I decided to take a critical look at myself in the mirror as I have had a number of people lately comment on how much weight I've lost and said that they barely recognize me from November. And holy shit. I don't know if losing more weight at this point would be healthy. I now have a flat stomach, very defined shoulders and back, and nearly no waist. The belt I bought a month ago, size 32, no longer has holes enough to be tight on me. I haven't had the opportunity to weigh myself, but I can't have lost any less than 30-35 lbs. So I have at least one happy thing to report. Everything else seems to stay at status quo. I fixed my computer, only to have it die again the next day, *(that's another story, I'm getting the motherboard replaced free at least.)* Any connections I make with people are still fleeting at best, but that's alright, that's the name of the game here. Work is as well as could be expected, they love me, and give me the worst shifts because I'm the only one who can be trusted to consistently do them, and I end up helping everyone else in the process. We'll see how long it takes to be promoted again.

Nothing much else happening here. Maintaining sanity through liberal use of a dry, cracked, and bitter sense of humor/irony. Kind of living day to day and trying to keep perspective on this partial existence.

Hope all is well with all of you, sorry I haven't been updating this as much as in the past. once I get my computer running, if ever at this rate, I'm sure I'll be more motivated to use the internet.

All the best.

DiCK_BiLL

The finish line is a cubical with my name on it.

noreply@blogger.com (Dick.Bill) — Thu, 07 Jul 2005 06:06:00 +0000

Yes I know that this concept would make a great many of you very sad. But for me it is the height of glory and redemption. My soul weeps with joy at the prospect of once again working with computers in a clean, relaxed, low-impact environment and getting paid well to do it. This has been my longest stretch of unemployment in my adult life. And while I recognize that I'm pretty lucky to be able to say that, at the same time I feel that even six weeks is too long to be an unemployed couch surfer. I could have had a dozen different jobs by now, but I held out for the one I came up here for because I knew that, in the long run, it would be worth it. No more kitchens, no more coming home smelling like a restaurant dumpster, no more getting called in at the last minute and actually GOING because I feel responsible for the welfare of the business. Nine to five, Monday through Friday, casual dress, good health benefits, nothing more need be said on that.

OK, to catch those up who may not know what the hell I'm talking about considering that this blog is dedicated largely to my experiences in Yosemite. I've moved back to Eugene. In a manner that, I know now, was nothing short of ill advised. I gave two weeks notice to the Ahwahnee, I called my friend to come pick me up, and I saved about $1500 to live off of till I found work. A few problems came up in transit, $200 for gas, $50 for my bike to come along, I bought my friends debt from someone else which was to the tune of $360, and had to buy clothes that fit and would be suitable for an office setting as that's the employment I was seeking, which was another $200+. So with just less than $700 I set out to live in the bustling metropolis of Eugene for what I figure by all accounts will be about 2-3 weeks maximum before employment hits. More the fool I. So here I am six weeks later, having spent that $700 pretty swiftly I have since been picking up a dollar here or there with odd jobs, and supplementing that with poker, and whatever my friend can afford to pay me back. I've been managing to make enough to survive, but not enough to really get anywhere with.

But that's all over with thankfully. Got the job, it's good stuff, and while I can't say that just having this job and income makes me happy, because nothing can "make" you happy, I can say that a decent level of stress, frustration, personal questioning, and general concern have been abated.

So that's the life and times of Richie Harris, where in this we learn that while you can't buy happiness, you can certainly be in debt for it.

Thank you for reading, I wish you all your dreams gift wrapped with a card that says, "You deserve it"

DiCK_BiLL

Doo be doo be doooooo

noreply@blogger.com (Dick.Bill) — Tue, 26 Jul 2005 06:46:00 +0000

The only thing I'm learning right now at work is patience.

But that's OK, because I'm being payed pretty well to study the private effects of boredom.

In other news I should be getting my own apartment soon enough. This coming weekend/next week. I'm much happier now that I have a job to speak of, and I've already been made the lead for my team. Given keys, asked to provide the first line of retort for general questions, and generally asked to perform a supervisory role. Which is good. And bad.

Good because it has been recognized that I am a dedicated person that has strong potential for a long term position with the company.

And bad because I have no REAL authority as I'm still a temp, but the responsibility to make sure things don't get f'd up and no extra pay for it.

But in the long run I can be relatively certain that I will be one of the very few out of twenty to be hired on full time, which is good.

So everything is going OK, not great, not bad, OK. The sooner I get my own place the better everything will be, the sooner I have more to do at work than stare at a screen hoping we get mail, the better, but overall I really have nothing to complain about, which is somewhat irritating in and of itself.

That's all for now, thanks for reading, I wish you all the best.

DiCK_BiLL

Greasy Spoon

noreply@blogger.com (Dick.Bill) — Thu, 04 Aug 2005 23:14:00 +0000

I really like to juggle. Mind you this isn't something that I can honestly claim any real skill in, but it's something that I find myself reverting to in an occasional fit of boredom. I enjoy the act of juggling, or in my case attempting to juggle, much the same way as I like to balance things. It's not uncommon for a friend of mine to stop by or walk into the room and find me with a guilty expression on my face and a half-dozen things piled in no meaningful order into a leaning tower configuration, teetering on the brink of disaster on a coffee table. Sometimes I'll find joy in the simplest of things, such as seeing how long something will stand upright on it's pointed end. Sometimes this involves spinning the item, or just holding my finger on top until the air seems still enough for the stage to be set. But most often I end up going overboard with props. My most famous act I ripped off from my freshman physics book. It involves two forks, a butter knife, and a glass. Fit properly together the forks and knife can be balanced on the edge of the glass so as to teeter and not fall. I do this a lot when sitting in a booth at 4 a.m. drinking coffee.

Balancing things is close to an obsession of mine. It extends to every aspect of my life, and unfortunately, I don't seem to be as adept with more important things as I am with random knick-knacks. Balancing work with a relationship, or just a social life, is something that I've always struggled with. And while I've come to terms with my inadequacy in that department, I haven't yet met someone that's as patient with me as I am. Trouble starts when I really get interested or engaged in whatever work I'm doing at the time. If I'm involved with someone I tend to only be capable of holding a meaningful conversation if it is in regards to my work. I can still be an attentive listener, and a sympathetic ear, but anything I contribute seems to come out as either a paid endorsement of the company I work for, or an acceptance speech for employee of the month. This has landed me in trouble at various times in my life, and all with the same woman.

It's not something that I have previously been properly capable of relating to someone. But it's true. I don't see two precious and equal things that need balanced carefully and sensitively. I see one thing that I get up for, take a shower for, get dressed for, and get paid for, and another thing that's just kind of there when I get home. And while I realize that this balance is way off and if I use this framework it's all going to topple and I'm going to lose everything I care about, I have trouble recognizing it when I need to. But while for me the perfect relationship is one of comfort and simple companionship rather than heated passion, I envision the perfect job as something that's always exciting and new, something that challenges me and forces me to expand my horizons.

So in standing in my apartment looking for at least three things of relative weight to juggle it occurs to me that, this whole time, instead of two forks and a butter knife resting lightly, teetering on the edge of chipped plastic water cup on a counter top in an old diner, what I've really had was a shrimp fork and a pie server, stuck to a toothpick that keeps falling off the edge of the silver chalice I insist on placing it on. And while my friends are shaking their heads at my antics, I stand to proclaim my dominance over gravity as it tumbles and falls apart behind me.

True Romance

noreply@blogger.com (Dick.Bill) — Thu, 04 Aug 2005 23:36:00 +0000

I'll admit that most people would probably categorize me as stereotypically hopeless when it comes to romance. Though I feel that this is an unfair, if altogether understandable, misapprehension. My idea of romance is more attuned to that of the sedate retired couple holding hands in their respective rocking-chairs. Easy. I haven't had the opportunity to discuss at length my romantic tendencies for a couple of reasons. First of all, I feel sort of silly describing them, and second of all, I don't really feel obligated in any way to justify myself in this regard. But just this once I'm going to go ahead and describe them in detail as I feel it would make an interesting story.
The only time I've had the chance to set my special brand of romance into effect, it didn't have the intended results. I was in a relationship with a woman for close to five years, wherein I tried my damnedest to recruit a follower of my philosophy, and instead drove her to leave me for someone that happened to seem more exciting and dynamic. That certainly wasn't the only telling point that made her decide to drop me like a bad habit, but I feel it was towards the top of a long list. I can't really blame her for feeling that way. I'll be the first to admit I can be boring at times. But that doesn't mean it didn't hurt.
First off, something that I've said many times and I'll try to just touch on rather than expound upon, I don't believe in marriage. While I very much believe in long-term monogamous relationships, I feel that the culmination of them shouldn't need to be an expensive party including clergy, lots of alcohol and legal documentation. That formula can be used many ways, and very few of them don't end up in disaster. If you don't feel permanent in a relationship, a photo album moment and a slip of paper isn't going to help.
Secondly, I don't want to have children or be responsible for raising them. This is something else I've discussed at length, so I don't feel it necessary to really go into it.
Another thing, the reason I will never live up to the fairy tale dreams of some women, I have a tendency to eschew the giving of love-letters and flowers, and focus instead on practical day-to-day things that a lot of people would never think of or notice. My idea of romance is making sure that whomever I'm with always has whatever it is that they want all the time. If they are a soda drinker, I'll notice when they're down to their last one and run to the store for more without being asked or telling them. If they're a gamer and there's a new game out I know they'll want to play, I'll buy it and install it on the computer before they can suggest it. Little things. Little things that should add up to show that I love them and want nothing more than for them to be happy. Unfortunately, it is the tendency of almost everyone to grow accustom to these things, and be more apt to notice the lack of heart-shaped boxes of chocolate and love poems.
The last major difference of opinion I have with contemporary sentiment regarding romance is that two of the most romantic outings to me are shopping and laundry. Most people go in for the clandestine camping trip or the overnight stay at a nice bed and breakfast. And while I can appreciate these things as well, give me a shopping cart or a laundry basket and I'm in love. Nothing spells long term commitment to me like two people that can wander through a department or grocery store together, and ENJOY it. And I don't think that there is anything more blissfully domestic than working together doing laundry, playing cards or sitting close reading a book waiting for the next load. These are the things that I think of when I hear the term "romance." And that's why I'm likely doomed to dissatisfy women right and left, and in the long run get myself black-listed in everyone's day planners.

Breathing, Living, Blogging

noreply@blogger.com (Dick.Bill) — Mon, 31 Oct 2005 14:35:00 +0000

Daylight savings was very welcome this last weekend. I'd have preferred an extra day for sure, but an extra hour's certainly better than nothing. Although this means I walk to work in the dark instead of at dawn.

So yeah, I work at 7am now, which means I get up at 5, leave my house at 5:50-6 and get to work around 6:30. Then I sit down at my desk and do random stuff, like blog...*(bet you guessed that)*, until it's time to start. I've been getting better lately about not just starting whenever I show up. They frown upon people making their own schedule. That and the fact that I'm trying to be less addicted to work. That's right I said addicted. I actually have some form of withdrawals when I'm not working. I really need to focus more of my attention elsewhere, hopefully in enriching pursuits that make me happy, but if not than lazy stuff would be good to. It's just that when I'm working there is no room for anxiety, no room for fear or stress. When I walk in it's like I'm on PCP. I grow bulletproof skin and know everything, and then when I walk out, I feel as though I'm less than I was before. As if I'm spending vitality at a higher interest rate during work hours, and it's got to stop. I thought that getting out of kitchen work would help, and it has, a little. I'm not wasting myself physically anymore. I'm not going to be one large, calloused burn scar with no perceivable joints by the time I'm 40. But I may be a washed out brain-dead geek, capable of only reciting port numbers and release specs for old software versions.
I figure the key is recognizing my competitive/egotistical nature. I sometimes feel that if I'm not the best that I'm not any good at all. And that's not the case. I have to let others hold up there end and stop trying to do everything. If I don't, then they'll just expect me to do everything and then I'll HAVE to.
So I guess this is my lesson of the month. I've learned I have to relax and just do my job. There's only so much I can do, and realistically, they're not paying me enough to put myself out.

Hope to hear from all of you soon, thanks for reading.

Illness? Depression? Boredom?

noreply@blogger.com (Dick.Bill) — Fri, 02 Dec 2005 05:45:00 +0000

"You see that glass there? Yes that one with water in it... If that were to be handed to me at no cost or obligation, it would be half-empty. If, however, I were to purchase said glass of water, trading effort or something of value to earn it, it would be half-full."

I've been diagnosed as being many things, and accused of a number more. As I have a tendency to appear outwardly cold a lot of the time, especially when under stress, I have been diagnosed as a sociopath. As I tend to be a creature of habit, and to not be terribly fond of unnecessary changes in my circumstances or lifestyle, I've been diagnosed as being agoraphobic. And I'm openly and repeatedly accused of being a pessimist in light of my ability to find something bad in any good thing that happens.

A rough quote that I believe fits under the circumstances, comes from "Wayne's World"

"Once, a doctor said I had mono for like 6 months. Turns out I was just really bored."

I believe that while certain aspects of any of these disorders/illnesses/states of mind may at one time or another apply to me given proper circumstances, I also feel that we are all more than the sum of our bent psyches and neurotic behaviors.

For instance, while I'll be the first to admit that the first thing that comes to my mind when I hear "road trip" is "stranded in the middle of nowhere on the side of a deserted highway", when something bad happens I don't say, "yep, that's right". I try to focus on the positive in bad/stressful circumstances. Such as when I used to work in restaurants and we'd suddenly get slammed all at once with orders. The first thing I'd say is, "Well, this means they won't be able to seat anymore for a while. We just have to get through the tickets we have, then we can take it easy for a few." But when we were slow, or at least not particularly busy, I'd be constantly on edge waiting for that rush to hit and overwhelm me. I don't seem to be able to allow myself to relax and enjoy a good thing because I'm not used to it. I'm much more comfortable with crappy situations; I feel that I've had much more experience in that regard, so I'm more familiar with how to handle it. But everything seems to even out, the more perfect something is, the harder I look for flaws. But the more messed up something is, the more endearing I find the positive qualities of whatever it happens to be. I don't think that I would necessarily say that I'm a pessimist, but would agree that I tend to lean that direction.

I feel, sometimes, as if I have accrued some massive debt to the universe in some way. And that my life is an ant farm in the hands of some sadistic little shit. They watch in silence, and wait for the perfect moment to lay waste to everything I try to accomplish. I don't feel as though I've been spinning my wheels. I feel more like Sisyphus. Allowed to feel accomplishment and advancement only to have my life crush me as it makes it's inexorable descent. I feel this way very seldom actually. Usually sometime in the middle of a week, as I make my sorry way back from a bar. Having played pool by myself for the evening, I begin to wonder if I truly have a place in this world. I'll feel sorry for myself for perhaps an hour or two. And inevitably the pendulum will swing, and I'll begin to question the value of the world itself, and honestly wonder why I haven't been crowned god-king of all. Which will also fade quickly, and balance out to where I'm back to my standard sense of being perhaps a bit above average in some ways, and sorely lacking in others.

Oddly, the majority of the time, I sort of drift through life without feeling any great impact of emotion one way or the other. I've had discussions with a number of people that have commiserated with my sentiments in this matter. I've spent a considerable amount of time and effort ignoring or debasing emotion itself. Trying to see past it or simply be objective in spite of it. And in having done so, sometimes, I find it difficult to have natural emotional reactions. It's not unlike having extreme calluses on your hands. You might get cut at the same spot and depth as the guy next to you, but while they're clutching a gaping wound, bleeding all over, you're looking at a bloodless painless laceration over dead skin. I think that a majority of people have an inclement fear of showing how they really feel. Even if they CAN acknowledge it to themselves, it's very difficult at times to trust others with raw emotion. There's a sense of powerlessness, and at the same time fear of ridicule. While I have felt this, more often I simply feel a lack. It's as if I pull the bucket up from the well and I find that it's been filled in.

I would say that the most common reason people with-hold sentiment is fear of ridicule. Deep down they doubt their opinions/feelings/emotions are valid or worthy of notice, or at least that someone else would think so. And they can't risk having someone confirm that.

The aspect of myself that deals with being afraid or paranoid of change, is pretty obviously tied to a need for stability. Or, in other words, I lean towards being a control freak in some ways. I don't try to control other people; people, oddly enough, don't actually play into this paranoia. I'm happen to be more concerned with the circumstances of my living situation. Where I live; I hate to move. Where I work/what I do for a living; I hate that "new job" feeling, where I'm not sure exactly what to do. Spending time with groups of people I don't know very well; at a bar you can remain anonymous and therefore need not invest yourself into anything, in a large social gathering you're expected to "get to know" people. If it's one-on-one, or a small group;3-4, I can handle it. Large party, 10+? No way. Mind you none of these "preset patterns of behavior" are by any means set in stone. I have, on at least one occasion for each, broken away from the mold of these apprehensions. And while I may not have actually ended up enjoying the experience, at least it WAS an experience.

So. My outlook on everything that I've said here. Is that, while I'm certainly not perfect, *(WARNING)I may not agree with this statement in a few hours* I'm certainly not as messed up as any one of these individual traits might make me sound. Because, in the end, they actually add up to make a reasonably adaptable and functional human being.

Therefore, the next time you see something about yourself that you don't like, or that you regret, or that you think needs improving. Just consider all the things that are wrong with me..;) I seem to get by okay.

Thank you for reading. And for writing me telling me to write. And for being my friends. You may all have imperfections and quirks, but along with your qualities they add up to make you something far more beautiful than any single virtue could ever be.

DiCK_BiLL

Life is like a peach, once you clean up from enjoying it, it's over.

noreply@blogger.com (Dick.Bill) — Thu, 02 Feb 2006 04:24:00 +0000

I hear them ask quite often, "Richie, how can you have the same great taste, and be less filling?" And I explain, "You see folks, it's all a matter of content." *(more on that later)*

Seriously though,

Life is an amalgam of constants that won't stay constant, and changes that won't go away. This is a rather well accepted aspect of life. Although, perhaps, not said or considered in that manner. I'm doing my best to not go the depressing route here. I've already had to delete about two paragraphs worth of writing to get back to here. I don't think that change or growth need be a depressing subject. I've been trying to keep myself open to change. I've gotten a membership to a gym and have started trying to work out regularly, I want to feel better, not just physically but about myself in general. This was a change that started shortly before I moved to Yosemite, and I lost track of shortly before I moved back to Eugene. Since back I haven't spent a whole lot of time or effort on it. Honestly I've been busy trying to either de-stress about work, or just escape life in general. But now that I've picked it up again I feel that this is a positive way for me to do all of the above. I can feed my stress/anxiety into exercise, and actually get positive returns instead of just canceling them out.

Besides that, work is work. No real news there. I'm starting to be more recognized and respected to a degree. Or at least people don't have a glazed look in their eyes when I start talking anymore, they've begun to listen. I've found that you can only be right so many times before people start coming to you for answers voluntarily.

Anyways, I thought I'd say something as I've been told that my silences can be deafening. I still very much enjoy writing here, I just haven't had much to say lately as life is just kinda going along. I'd like to think that that's a good thing. But you never know.

A complete wash

noreply@blogger.com (Dick.Bill) — Tue, 04 Apr 2006 06:01:00 +0000

The moment of awareness, the realization; it came to me during an afternoon out at a local mexican restaurant. My companions, completely unaware, chewed onwards, solely mindful of the gustatory fireworks display arrayed before them on thick ceramic dishes. These dishes are of a type one might find in any ethnic eatery, and are placed upon woven placemats, as much for the integrity of the table as for thermal insulation of the waitresses hands. As the vinyl covered bench and the plastic, diamond flag streamers indicate, this is neither an expensive nor luxurious establishment. This business is based purely on the movement of two things; your money, and cheap, heavily seasoned, highly dairy oriented, foodstuffs, of a decidedly hispanic bent. All of these observations were meandering their way through my synapses the moment directly before, and oddly enough during, my epiphany. Upon a single moment in time, I was stricken with the knowledge of one sure thing, that, deny it as I might, could be no less true and no less certain than gravity or the sun setting in the west. I was about to embark on an adventure that I had hoped to avoid all my life. I would soon meet the fate of many before me, for I had an upcoming appointment with, the dentist.

Thankfully, this realization didn't come at the cost of my pain threshhold. I was perhaps mid-way through an over-sized meal, when, I felt in my mouth an altogether inedible foreign object. It was more of a dawning understanding; not unlike waking up and realizing that you dreamt getting up on time and it's ten minutes till you have to be at work. There is a period of disorientation; this can't be happening, and then anxiety coupled with acceptance; a plan of action is set before you. Steps materialize full formed and fleshed, wearing pale green bibs, goggles, and white plastic gloves. I continued to eat, having surreptitiously removed the article that was once an integral portion of a lower manbibular protrusion. And upon finishing, excused myself to the restroom, whereupon I said farewell forever to the traitorous portion of tooth in a singularly unceremonial manner; I dropped it carelessly and without regret into the over flowing waste-paper receptacle.

It wasn’t until later that following week that I was able to arrange for a visit to a local dentist office. Having never before had to procure the services of a member of the dental practice, I enlisted the assistance of work associates and friends to suggest a suitable port towards which to plot this maiden voyage. After many referrals and suggestions it came down to the one that not only accepted my insurance, but could see a new patient within a month. After speaking with the receptionist/secretary for the office, and hearing the unmistakable lilt of an Hispanic American, I felt a certain sense of completion. I’m not sure exactly why, but since this whole experience had started out with a dish of Hispanic styled food, it seemed fitting for it to end with a visit to a business owned and operated by a Hispanic doctor.

The day arrived, as many do, with the waking up and going to work routine that I’ve come to affectionately term, “the forward stumble”. I have an unreasonably high turn around time between physical wakefulness and cognitive consciousness. I may be able to stand, walk, perform simple tasks; i.e. take a shower, get dressed, and even form coherent sentences, but I assure you, at no point between getting up, and at least an hour from that time, do I have any conscious awareness of my state of being, let alone my surroundings. So on this propitious day, whereupon I was to commit myself to the first leg of my journey, I made no preparations whatsoever to make myself more presentable to the oral hygiene Nazi that awaited me.

Upon setting off from work to meet my scheduled fate, I took for granted the area I was trekking through afoot. I was fully aware of the address and its environs; it just somehow didn’t occur to me what this meant to me as a pedestrian. The region in question is that of the 5^th street market shopping center. This touted downtown retreat for all things brand name, is often the tromping grounds of the social elite, and/or those willing to torture themselves with “window shopping”. My foray through this complex of wanton consumerism led me to a number of other realizations, altogether distinct and quite different from the one in relation to my oral health. I noted during my route as it passed through the 5^th Street Public Market, that “rules of the road” changed somewhat. Motorists seemed to have a less than healthy respect for yours truly; healthy for me that is. I felt a certain disquiet about them. A maddened sense of drive or a fever if you will. The passion of the rabid consumer on a mission to procure the newest brand-labeled bauble from the most fashionable and expensive boutique within driving distance for an Eddie Bauer SUV puking copious amounts of sadly unfulfilled fossil fuels. And I was an anomaly to them, one that they would rather ignore. A pedestrian. A man on a mission quite different from their own. Someone who, while they had money to spend, would prefer to spend it on something more, or less in their eyes, than this place had to offer. Someone, un-American.

I survived my traipse through this heathens den of chintz and cookie-cutter clothing outlets, and was able to arrive in one piece to the establishment wherein my fate lay in the hands of someone I quite hoped wasn’t a closet sadist. First entry into the office revealed to me three things immediately. The smell was not that of a normal doctor’s office. There was tang of mint and eucalyptus in the air. There was a hanging clock that operated by old fashioned means; a pendulum swings to and fro actuating gears upon each pass thereby turning the hands in an orderly, and timely, fashion. This gave the office a personal and home-like appearance, that assuaged the anxiety one feels upon entry into the variety of practice this room represented. The third and most prominent thing I noticed in reference to the décor/make-up of the room was the distinct lack of waiting clientele. The average doctor’s office will contain anywhere from 3-10 seemingly desperate individuals, ranging in age from 4-70 displaying symptoms that can only be described as anti-social in nature. This, thankfully, was not the case here. After a short introduction to my case and appointment the receptionist sat me down with paperwork. Finally, familiar territory.

To be continued

About Time

noreply@blogger.com (Dick.Bill) — Mon, 02 Apr 2007 05:51:00 +0000

Yes.

It IS about time. This post that is.

It's strange how something that is so subjective, arbitrary, and yes, fleeting, can consume us so. Time is nothing more than a concept that simplifies entropic decay.(I realize that that's somewhat redundant) We watch the clock tick by our days. Either in horror at the rapidity of it's pace, or in disgust at the slowness. Hardly ever are we content to exist outside of time. Our society as well as our mortality bring us to focus more on the quantity of the time that we spend, rather than the quality of that upon which we spend it. So many adages prove to enforce this. "Time flies when you're having fun", "A watched pot never boils" are a few examples.

I'm as guilty as the next person of this. I ignore the passage of time when it's inconvenient for me to take it into consideration, yet it's difficult not to mourn it's passage regardless. We regret spending time doing what we want, and yet dread spending time doing what we have to. There are certainly periods that I can name in my life that I feel could have been much better spent. But, unfortunately, buyers remorse of this type cannot be assuaged be merely making more to spend.

We're all given a limited credit line, and none of us can know when our card's going to get revoked. Some people jealously guard their time, while others give it away freely. Both feel that they have the better system. Again, I say it's all subjective. Those that give their time to others, whether it be for volunteering for a cause, or just using time to help a friend, they come away with something. They've invested their limited allotment in something no more tangible, but every bit as real. Those that spend their time purely on their own self-indulgence and aggrandizement gain something as well, but the value of it can only be measured by their satisfaction in it. Often, I've found these people to be less satisfied in what they reap. But who am I to say. I have regrets and doubts and have questioned where I've been and where I'm going and why every bit as much as anyone. My only insight is, try and find something in every day, every hour, that brings you joy or enlightenment. Strive to learn and grow to know yourself all you can. The better you know who you are, and what you want, the more fruitfully you will be able to spend this precious resource called life.

All so well worded drivel and pseudo-philosophy, and all so dreadfully true. Nothing that someone else hasn't said before in different words. But in the writing and constructing of these words I've found a certain peace. Onward then. The best is always yet to come.

This post is as much about how I'm feeling as it is an apology. For all those that I have neglected, and for all those that I will neglect in the future, please forgive me. My time here, as yours, is limited, and I'm trying not to spend it all in one place.

DiCK_BiLL

A Little Thing Called Politics

noreply@blogger.com (Dick.Bill) — Tue, 12 Feb 2008 05:38:00 +0000

Everyone in this mad and distracting world of ours chooses positions and perspectives with which to relate to their fellow man. Something as simple as a food preference, 'you like fried bananas too?!’ can lead to sharing and communication that opens the door to new perspectives and shared experience. Simple moments like this can also lead to perceived differences that generate gaping clefts and insurmountable roadblocks to interpersonal understanding.

In no aspect of society are petty grievances or misunderstandings more divisive than in politics. That in a supposedly 'enlightened' culture we debate the relative merits to voters of a y chromosome, or the color of someone’s skin, or their weight, or their youth or their age, leads me to feel as though I've missed something fundamental in my judgment and to lose that much more faith in humanity. A particularly apt quote from Robert Heinlein comes to mind, "Never underestimate the power of human stupidity. Or better yet, a quote from respected statesman and political figure Sir Winston Churchill, "The best argument against democracy is a five minute talk with the average voter."

How would you choose someone for an executive office of your company? Would you trust what they've written on their resume? Would you factor in their appearance or their strength in rhetoric? Would you not expect to receive evidence of their accomplishments and their character? Would you not question their motivation for becoming an executive officer? Would you take into account their previous work performance? Or would you be swayed by the fact that they eat the same food you do? Maybe that they play an instrument that you like? Perhaps the fact that they seem like someone you could be friends with? How then would you choose a President of your country? Should we hold our political leaders to a lesser standard and operate, as Stephen Colbert would describe, by our gut? A quote fitting this is from one of the greatest orators and politicians in recorded history. Cicero described this by saying, "Men decide far more problems by hate, love, lust, rage, sorrow, joy, hope, fear, illusion, or some other inward emotion, than by reality, authority, any legal standard, judicial precedent, or statute."

Some would likely think that there's no more unlikely source of apt and insightful political commentary than could be found in children's literature. A perfect counter argument to that notion is Theodor Seuss Geisel's The Butter Battle Book. Geisel, better known as Dr. Seuss, wrote The Butter Battle Book in 1984. At the time the book was written as a cautionary tale regarding the cold war and the arms race that ensued between the United States and Russia. But there is a more fundamental message at the core of this tale about the Zooks and the Yooks. That message resonates today in the current United States elections for presidential candidates. And it is quite simply this; people, at the most fundamental level, are petty. We are willing to find the smallest, most inconsequential detail about someone and make an empirical conclusion regarding their character or their worth, while at the same time completely disregarding any and all evidence to the contrary. Where so many people would agree that there is a creator who influenced or brought about the existence of all living things, and would even agree on many if not all of the fundamental aspects of that divinity, they instead choose to draw lines in the sand about menial and torturous details to the point of hatred and bloodshed. Where so many people would agree that there are problems that need addressed, and that those problems may have more than one solution, they would instead prefer to trade invective and bile regarding strict ideological approaches to them.

We have had, as a race, over two thousand years to read, digest, and ultimately grow from the teachings of such great philosophers and political and legal minds as Marcus Tullius Cicero, who has such wisdom attributed to him as "He only employs his passion who can make no use of his reason", and " I prefer tongue-tied knowledge to ignorant loquacity." Yet as if a culture in it's infancy we act as though there is no historical precedent for the problems we face. We make decisions and judgments based not upon verifiable fact or reason, but upon emotionally biased contexts as how something makes us feel. And in no arena of human thought are we more impeded by this than in politics.

I am no exception. I am moved by speeches by powerful orators that manage to use a considerable amount of words to say nothing, and yet am cynical in the face of someone offering determinable solutions. I hold an innate personal bias against members or representatives of either political party or of any religious affiliation. I also truly and desperately want to believe that there are actual choices available to be made in this election that will have a noticeable and positive impact on the lives of every citizen of the United States and even the world.

And then I actually go to the effort of educating myself as to the positions and accomplishments of the candidates. Or I engage in conversation with an avid supporter of one candidate or another hoping to be convinced by virtue of the same reasoning that they have been. I want someone to follow; I want something to believe in. Sadly, once again, I cannot say that anyone offers the answers I seek. Not a single candidate has demonstrated that they have integrity, accomplishment, and economic or social understanding to inspire my support. And that's regardless of hairstyle, skin color, gender, age, religious affiliation, wit, conviction, or oration. I have chosen to educate myself. And so educated, find once again that Neverland is a fairytale. Santa Claus is a myth. The frog-prince is a folk-tale. And politicians are politicians are politicians. We all have to wake up some day.

Checking in

noreply@blogger.com (Dick.Bill) — Sat, 16 Feb 2008 11:13:00 +0000

I'm posting this now as an open letter to the people that I have neglected. I have neglected them not only in the social sense, but in the real sense in that they deserve better than I have offered them. The fault for this is entirely my own. I have no real excuse for my reticence other than the most basic level of building expectation of fear. The longer communication languishes, the farther apart the lines of any given conversation are drawn, the more difficult it is for those lines to come back together. It is observable in physics as in an oiled downward slope. The farther an object falls the more velocity and inertia it has, therefore the more energy it will take to stop let alone reverse direction. So, after even a relatively short period of time, one may begin to wonder is it too late? Is this trend reversible at all? Do I have the energy to get it back where it was? If I fail and it gets dropped again is it going to crush me?

These are the thoughts I have while considering whether or not to pursue communication at times. The truly sad part is that I'm not the only person that I'm hurting, and often it's my own fear that is unsubstantiated and merely fabricated by my innate tendency towards isolationism.

This is something I will always fight. There will be times that see more success than others. There are times I will crawl into my shell for fear of the image I see of myself in others' eyes, and there will be times where I shed my shroud and proclaim myself to the world.

This is not meant as a personal appeal. This is merely an apology. An admission of acceptance. I accept that I have failed some of the people that I have cared the most about for purely puerile and selfish reasons. I accept that no amount of apology or appeal to sentiment can make up for the, in some cases, years of distance and silence. I also accept that in many cases the lines have ceased to exist and are not capable of being redrawn as they were.

But today, I am willing to make the effort. Today I will seek to draw these lines together once more. The paradox is this; the more distant and removed you become from the world, the smaller and more restrictive your world becomes. My horizons are resting lightly on my shoulders. Tunnel vision is only a restriction to those that know that there is more to see. I have seen much, and known many, and yet have allowed my eyes to go blind.

I want to see again.

Of space and dreams

noreply@blogger.com (Dick.Bill) — Sun, 17 Feb 2008 01:58:00 +0000

We are battered by soliloquies of song and sonnet and psalm proselytizing, advocating, marketing fear as a commodity, amassing a supply that far exceeds demand proving only to devalue all emotion and delivered with fervor unmatched by whispered pleas for justice or reason. These profiteers and prophets feed on the stew of madness while brewing larger and stronger batches of hatred and xenophobia as a layer cake iced with nationalism, and seasoned with blood.

Offering tears of solace in one glass and the blood and wrath of vengeance in another they approach us as saviors, asking only for our consent to be saved from the bogeyman, the unknown, the other, the very threats they've worked so hard to make real. We are asked to suspend our cynicism and distrust of power and their misappropriation, misinterpretation, misapplication, peculation, of our rights and offer in trade the irrational, aberrant, injudicious, incongruous concept of both trust and fear based on faith in their word.

Our modern McCarthyistic marauders against reason, thought, debate, dissent, and dialogue, are starting to face the inevitable swing of the public opinion pendulum for their sophistry and praetorian adherence to profligate methods. All people have fears, concerns, hopes, dreams, desires, phobias, doubts, and needs. The longer and more stridently you scream that the sky is falling, it's falling, it's falling, the longer and more determinedly you prove yourself and your claims false. We live our lives from day to day, from week to week, and from year to year, within our spaces, and in search of our dreams. Fear is a fleeting thing. A gnat purposefully and perpetually on a cyclic flight searching ever to feast on the core of our being. But in order for it to succeed, for it to win, we must surrender our will to believe in ourselves, and in our own ability to prevail. And even if every last man and woman but one succumbs, it takes but one voice to begin a chorus that reminds us all of the substance of who we are, and the strength of our purpose, and that fear is nothing more than one more emotion to be felt and acknowledged like any other in the effort to understand not only ourselves, but each other and the world around us.

The more you know...

noreply@blogger.com (Dick.Bill) — Thu, 21 Feb 2008 05:49:00 +0000

This might surprise some that have read my earlier blog posts without knowing me very well personally; I am married. I've been married for about 4 months now and it suits me just fine. Prior to our marriage my wife and I had known each other, been friends, been dating, living together, broken up, friends again, dating again, etc, over the course of about ten years. We decided to get married in a less traditional fashion by running away to Maui for a week and sealing the deal on the beach at sunset. This of course paints an image of all manner of romantic as well as terrifically irresponsible behavior most typically attributed to newlyweds and/or the average human astride the derailed train of crazy called love. It was, however fun and interesting, a largely relaxed and even somewhat restrained week. We were not two people diving head-first into untested waters; we were two people that knew quite well what we were getting into and were well prepared for it. Or so we thought.

Any time that you learn something new about a close friend it can be disconcerting, and moreover the question becomes, 'why didn't I know this before?' Sadly, the answer to that question isn't simple. It has roots in everything from the psychological phenomenon of projection, to the most basic instincts we have to avoid possible confrontation. My wife and I had almost never broached the topic of politics as anything more than passing commentary. We had never discussed our reasoning or judgment regarding specific political ideologies or even that we had an interest in political debate. What we found is that while our comparative opinions and ideologies were very similar, the paths of reasoning we took to formulate those positions were quite distinct.

This brings me to the segue I was intending all along. Which is the topic of our discussion today, and is also an expansion on the theme of an earlier post. Every person is imbued with specific prejudices that inform our ability to be objective or to formulate well-reasoned opinions. The current presidential primary race provides a perfect example of this.

In the example of Barrack Obama we see a figure that exemplifies an almost diametric opposite of our current President. President Bush is often bumbling, finds it difficult to express himself without feeding his critics with more and more sound bytes to ridicule, is the product of a rich dynastic family, was barely able to make it through school, and was a failed business man even with significant financial support from outside sources. Barrack Obama is the product of a broken home, raised with a strong multicultural background, an African father, a mother from the midwest, and a step-father from Indonesia, he graduated with honors from Harvard Law, was made the first African-American President of the Harvard Law Review, and he is a powerfully evocative and eloquent speaker. But, while these things, if looked at objectively, paint a picture of an intelligent, well-rounded, and competent person, many are so unaware of their innate prejudice, or are so willing to operate purely based on that context, that they find ways to view these things in a negative light.

Those with xenophobic tendencies see him as a threat to their 'pure' view of America. Cynics, like myself, find his speeches and oratory grating or believe him to be intellectually dishonest because he sounds too good to be true. Many try to characterize his academic accomplishments as nothing more than affirmative action or luck.

Then there are those that base their positive judgments not on an objective view of his personal, political, or legislative record, but based purely on a projected image of their hopes and desires for a mirror opposite of the last 50-100 years of United States politics. They're willing to forgo all reason purely on the basis that since he portrays himself as different, that he must then automatically be better.

I, myself, am not immune to these prejudices. I too long for someone different. I too desire to hope and to see my vision of this country become a reality. I too, also, want to see the rancor and division of Washington politics dissolve into an informed discussion regarding realistic solutions. The issue at hand, however, is whether or not Barrack Obama is actually the best person to make that happen, or if he's simply the easiest to project that hope upon.

The only way that we will ever be able to operate on anything other than faith when it comes time to step into the voting booth, is if we take steps to divorce ourselves from our prejudices. The only way that we'll ever move past the venom and bile that can be found in any ideological discussion is if we reduce the factors regarding these types of choices to the most fundamental. And the only way that we'll ever see our vision of our future come to be, is if we all work together , not to visualize it, not to expound on the virtues of our dreams, but to sit down, and determine in an objective manner, what those dreams are going to cost, and what compromises will need to be made to see them come about.

That is something that I would dearly love to see happen. My words are the only weapons I have to fight this war against reason. And for all of my hope, and emotional projection, I see only an endless horizon of people willing to ignore my words because they don't already fit their predetermined world-view. The only correlation that I've been able to draw regarding a person's ability to operate objectively is this; the more well-rounded an education a person receives, the more likely they are to be able to demonstrate the ability to formulate an opinion that is based on the basic principles or fundamental facts regarding any topic, and eschew value judgments based largely, or even purely, on their spiritual or emotional prejudices. The first step of course is to recognize that you have these affixed influences, and to actually acknowledge them as part of who you are.

And that is why, the more you know...

The World as we Know it

noreply@blogger.com (Dick.Bill) — Wed, 19 Mar 2008 06:27:00 +0000

The very simple and inescapable fact of US politics is that it's both a roller-coaster and a shell game at the same time. Candidates play three-card Monty by gauging public opinion and voter response and working to appeal to the majority, whatever that majority happens to be at the time. The effect of this is the roller-coaster ride we see between ruling majorities of partisan politics. At any given point in any country there will be challenges that need to be faced, and there will be people that feel that their needs are not being met or that they are not being represented. Politicians play the role of the conciliatory negotiator. They take on the mantle of martyr as an image and march to Washington on the backs of people that believe in them.

The problem that we are facing right now is that once they get there, there is no true accountability. There can be no accountability without transparency. Therefore, the single most important thing to me, and many others, in this election season is transparency of government, and personal accountability of it's officials.

We are not discussing electability, we are not discussing the amount to which one candidate or another appeals to our moral or personal ideals. We are discussing the direction in which our government must turn in order for it to responsibly address the issues that our country faces.

In this election year have been offered many choices, and have been left with only three. Of these three there are two that are representative of standard political fare of the last three decades. John McCain, for all of his appeals to honesty and forthrightness has been shown time and again to stand on, and for nothing. Hillary will refute any notion that she is a standard candidate by simple virtue of the fact that she is a woman. Last I checked, a vagina doesn't in any way afford you any special insight or level of political, economic, or social acumen needed to properly address the real problems that our nation faces. Neither does her 'experience' as an arm decoration for the POTUS for eight years provide an argument for precedent of validity. Barrack Obama has, however, repeatedly shown himself able to rise to challenging occasions with stunning alacrity. Many would question his experience, as if political experience actually qualified someone to be a leader, or the lack of it could be defined as a disqualification. Yet others would question his sincerity. It is the realm of the cynic to be automatically skeptical of any unknown quantity, and rightly so. But that leaves us with the option of 'the devil you know.'

Then there are those that somehow still manage to define themselves as 'conservatives' that tow the Republican party line year after year, and would define Barrack Obama as a 'tax and spend' liberal. For my money, I would vastly prefer someone that intended to spend the money that they have, not the money that they can borrow from someone else. I would prefer someone that approaches tax dollars as income to spent on the people that pay it, not on paying off special interests. I would prefer someone like Obama that has endorsed the paygo system. These are the same people that would have you believe that his plans are too expensive, and that he would ruin the economy with new taxes. With absolutely no evidence forthcoming regarding how responsible fiscal policy, and investing money in the future of technology business and education could endanger the economy, they fall back on the 'they want to steal your money and give it to poor people!' line. The sad truth of the matter, is that this is a democracy. Guess what, poor people vastly outnumber the rich, they have more votes they get what they want, that's they way it's meant to be.

For all of the above reasons I feel confident that Barrack Obama is the only rational choice left for President of the United States this upcoming election year. He has repeatedly shown the courage and the forthrightness to challenge the willful oppression of progress, both in social matters, and in economic matters.

If he's elected he may well not accomplish anything. We could easily see another shift that puts the Republicans back in charge of Congress which would lead to further gridlock and maintenance of the status quo. But at the very least, he wouldn't actively pursue known flawed policies and attempt to defend failed ideas for the sake of politics or blind, stubborn arrogance and ignorance. If Barrack Obama gets elected, it's also possible that we will see an end to the world as we know it. And I can't wait.

The issue of energy independence.

noreply@blogger.com (Dick.Bill) — Thu, 20 Mar 2008 06:35:00 +0000

Energy independence for the United States may well not be seen in our lifetimes. The argument being that the inertia that the industry has accumulated over the last century is staggering. We are shackled to oil as religious fundamentalists are shackled to socially outmoded dogma.

The question that lies, or should, at the forefront of any debate regarding the pursuit of energy independence is not a moralistic one regarding the environment. It is purely, what can be done, and what is it going to cost. At the root of any question regarding government action is, 'is this something that the federal government should be involved in'. Too often this is ignored. The answer to this can be easily found in the ROI of whatever program is proposed. The problem right now is the fact that this question is not being addressed. It is not even a bullet point. The current administration saw fit to pander to the mid-west corn growers by passing legislation to provide massive subsidies based on ethanol production from corn. The efficiency, ROI, of this is without question well under what we should be shooting for. In business terms in order for any investment to be viable it must have at least a thirty percent return. Corn based ethanol has an estimated 24% return on energy investment. That's before even analyzing the externalities of the effect on world markets for grain and livestock. Quite simply, this was a fundamentally flawed approach both from the business aspect and the interest in energy efficiency.

Long story short, we must, without a doubt, begin to dedicate serious research into alternative energy sources, including alternative fuels and bio fuels production other than corn based ethanol. At a certain point we must reexamine the role of fuel in our lives, and in the marketplace. Fuel that is used in every walk of life, and effects the very nature of our society is a commodity. It is an energy source that defines how we live every bit as much as electricity. How then can it be responsibly left in the hands of the marketplace. How can this pivotal and fundamental part of our lives be allowed to be manipulated by foreign corporate interests with no concern over whether our middle-class can afford to drive to work, or whether a single mom can afford to pay for rising food prices due to increased overhead for distributers? How can we even think that this is a reasonable course of action? We are facing an energy crisis that could very well bring this nation to it's knees. We can ignore it and keep sucking at the teat of foreign oil interests, or we can stand up as adults and work to see this country free and energy independent. Is it going to be cheap? No. Is it going to be easy? No. Is it going to happen tomorrow? Of course not. Do we need to start today? Yes, we need to start as soon as possible.

Sweet Somber Soulful

noreply@blogger.com (Dick.Bill) — Fri, 10 Apr 2009 04:48:00 +0000

Ever a breath away, riding on the winds. The taste of laughter, the smell of sorrow, the sound of fear, the feel of...indifference. All of the senses and nonsenses we hold dear and hostage to our self image. Our vision of ourselves will forever be tragically rooted between what we fear that we are and what we hope others believe that we are. In occasional fleeting moments the texture of our being comes into focus; the more sharply rendered the more quickly we adjust the composition so as to create a more obscure perspective. We reduce, reuse, and recycle our emotion, acceptance, empathy, and save, borrow, lend, and purchase outrage, joy, fear, and schadenfreude with our attention. Spans of certainty mar this landscape of doubt. To be certain is not to know, but to not know how to accept what is. Is this the means or the end...are we seeking a destination or have we arrived...does it matter? Truth is what you arrive at when you run out of imagination.

Grab a seat

noreply@blogger.com (Dick.Bill) — Wed, 22 Apr 2009 06:28:00 +0000

I have in the past, many times, usually to myself, ranted about the price tags attached to certain things. I realize that there is a certain amount of fogey vibe that goes along with bitching about things being expensive, but I feel that certain things are simply unjustifiably priced. A perfect for instance, in my mind, is the Humanscale chair. Humanscale offers all manner of types of chairs and configurations of each type. What they do not offer, is any rational justification for the prices they charge for their products which range from bottom-end ~$200 to top-end ~$1300.

I'll put it this way. If I spend $1300 on a chair I should be able to die a happy man for having the opportunity to sit in it. A chair that costs $1300 should be crafted from unknown materials out of Area 51, upholstered with the hide of the Loch Ness monster, and padded with the down from the goose that lays golden eggs. It should survive nuclear holocaust. I would expect to experience the rapture the moment my ass touched the seat because my cheeks would be resting on the pursed lips of God. The civilization of intelligent cockroaches that survive us on this planet should find these chairs and be able to determine why we ultimately failed as species.

I cannot begin to fathom how it can be said that a new desk chair could be objectively valued at $1300. Was it hand carved from a single piece of petrified wood that somehow survived millions of years of geologic turmoil only to be ripped from the ground and shaved and sliced to meet some artists rendition of the contour of the perfect human rear? No. It was, as the site describes it, "designed by legendary industrial designer Niels Diffrient, who is considered by many to be the world’s greatest chair designer."

Really? World’s greatest chair designer? Is that anything like 'world's greatest dad', or 'world's greatest coach'. Who gives a fuck if they were designed by Leonardo da Vinci or Bob from accounting? They're manufactured on a god damned assembly line like every other mass produced 'luxury' item. If the Venus di Milo had arms and cupped hands for a seat I could see paying $1300 for that. It would be a work of art. An irreplaceable one at that. But I wouldn't sit in it. It would be a conversation piece that would collect dust and eventually be forgotten and unappreciated. Much like the Humanscale chair. It shall pass on to the ages. An aluminum and plastic lament to the wanton consumerism and absurdest quest for style that spawned it.

noreply@blogger.com (Dick.Bill) — Sat, 02 May 2009 03:09:00 +0000

It grows in rivers, valleys, mountains, swamps, dirt, rock, on trees, amongst weeds, and through concrete. Light, air, water, and seed are it's only needs. But we prefer to primp, process, prefab, precinct, parse and poison the land. Shorten your stride and lengthen your view. It's amazing what a little perspective can do. Grocery cart or garden hose, pick your labor down cultivated rows. Retail, for sale, by the pound, aren't you proud. Sun grown, or lawn mown, in the ground, or drive to town.

The artist without

noreply@blogger.com (Dick.Bill) — Sun, 03 May 2009 06:08:00 +0000

I have never really considered myself an artist per se. I'm more of an itinerant dabbler in a variety of art forms. Line sketching, pen/pencil, charcoal shading, chalk, acrylic paint, free-form prose, rhymed poetry, photography, carving, molding, video/sound editing/production/composition, you name it I've tried it. Some of my literary conceits I've even subjected you, my hapless readership, to.

Lately I've found myself drawn more to the f-stop, filter, zoom, variety. To whit, I've become quite enamored of Deviant Art of late. I spent the better part of a day cropping, resizing, and posting photos to my account there.

I invite any and all of you who may pop in to check it out. I find I'm most drawn to land/sea/skyscapes, with a particular penchant for sunsets, but do have a few flowers, trees, etc.

A number of the photographs available there are photos from Maui and Yosemite, though some are from the Central Oregon cascades. I do try to label them appropriately.

Let me know what you think!