Idea IX: Forty Stories

Driving in the car the other day, I started thinking about the people that I know and the stories of their lives. I could write them down, but they would end up neither accurate nor complete. Even if they don’t think that their stories are interesting, they are to me. My question is how can I elicit those stories from them?

Idea X: Programming

Next time that you think that you make your own decisions, take a walk on a concrete path through a grassy area. Even if the path takes you an immensely circuitous route to your destination, and there are no “Keep off the grass signs,” you will remain on the concrete path.

Why?

Idea XI: Re-Think

A balmy day and a warm sunset can do wonders for my soul. Today, I sat on a jetty by the bay watching the bay lap so gently at the shore that it made two bleach bottles in a makeshift buoy look like two tiny people kissing,

peck…

peck…
peck…

peck…

…with only their heads visible above water.

As the reds deepened in the sky soothing my eyes, the sounds of the bay lapping at the shore soothed my ears. Not to be left out of the symphony, the wind blew off the ocean to smooth the wrinkles from my brow, while my companion, gently smiling, silently soothed my heart.

If you think that any wage can buy moments like this, think again.

Idea IV: Lord of the Dance

Dance recitals are fun for about 5 minutes, while you watch the kid that you know dance. Unfortunately, you have to sit through a couple of hours of everyone else’s kid to get there. The one that I attended this weekend featured 24 acts for 12 sets of dancers. The first twelve acts were tap, the second twelve were ballet slippers. When the second round began, at act thirteen, the three year old in row front of me realized that the girls were the same as the ones from group number one.

Again? They’re going again? No, Mummy. Pleaaaaaaasssseee. Let’s goooooo. Pleeeeeaaaaaasssse.

Idea V: Notel Motel

Is it possible to recycle all the Hotel soaps that get used once and thrown away? For sanitary reasons would you have to shave off the outer layer of soap (or at least comb it nicely)? Is there money or value in such a proposal? Would it be beneficial to tell people that the soap was recycled? If not, would you have to tell them?

Idea VI: The Cricket

Is it possible to create a device that will interact with the electronic part of a musical birthday card to make it remote controlled? Then you could hide the thing in someone’s desk or room, and shut it off the minute they start honing in on it.

Like a cricket.

Idea VI: I was a Teenage Zombie

Say you’re dreaming that you’re running away from zombies. You know that if they bite you, you will become a zombie too. You are very careful, running a lot, hiding a lot, and shooting a lot. Then, you get bitten.

Shit. Now, you’re a zombie, too. You confirm this by looking into a mirror and seeing dark circles under your own eyes. So, you say “fuck it,” and go sit on the black leather sectional sofa and hang out with the other zombies. You find that you feel pretty much like you did as a normal person, with the exception that you now have dark circles under your eyes. Nothing’s really changed except that you are no longer running away, being paranoid, and fighting all the time. You find that being a zombie suits you.

Then, some idiot finds the antidote for being a zombie, and you’re outnumbered once again. People begin to set up zombie traps, and build stupid obstacles that zombies aren’t supposed to be able to cross. You’re on the run again, breaking down doors and hiding in empty houses. You try to act normal when in the presence of normal people, but they pick off that you’re a zombie almost instantly by the dark circles under your eyes. You think to yourself, “I should just take the antidote,” but for some reason, you keep running…

and running…

and running…

Idea VII: High Balls and Lucky Strikes

Rat Pack Impersonators (Frank, Dino, Sammy, for sure. I’m not sure if Lawford and Bishop will be overlooked) will be playing at the Wonderland Ballroom in Reveah on May 17th. It’s a full on show with dinner, and it costs around $45. I’m going to try to get tickets, and if you want to go, I suggest you do the same. I cannot vouch for the quality of the show, but it is being advertised on stations like Easy 99.1 FM, and WXKS 1430AM, Boston’s die peacefully (to Sinatra) in your sleep stations. For info, call (781) 289-3080. If it’s sold out and you have tickets, I will kick myself for this post. Now where’s that skinny tie…

Idea I

God is an idea that keeps you securely and comfortably planted in the illusion that you are not allowed to do things that you want to do. Because you’re too afraid to do them anyway, god is not only cool, but very convenient.

Idea ][

Our Hierarchies are ingrained in us to the point where we will blindly accept the authority of another based solely on a uniform, or even a simple clipboard. You are ultimately in control of your life. You are. You.

Idea ]|[

Repeat after me.

One day…
One day…

My life…
My life…

Will be my own.
Shit.

Say it.

Thanks to my sister, I am now reading yet another anarchist book. This is probably the most extreme of the political/sociological books that I have read so far, and it has given me even more to think about. It not only attacks government and corporations as the source of our problems, but the structure of our society at it’s base.

I tried to write a brief description of what it is about, but I rambled on and on with no end or point in sight. In essence, what it says is that Capitalism is not healthy for us, and until we can shed the societal rules that bind us for the principal purpose of creating consumers, we will not be free nor happy. It is very idealistic at times, but makes some outstanding observations.

For example, we are consistently led to believe that it is immature to seek adventure, sex, and spontaneity out, yet within 10 minutes of turning on a television, you will be bombarded with advertising for products that sell the idea that the product will bring sex, spontaneity, and adventure to your life simply by purchasing them and that without them, your life is dull, and you are incomplete. No one is more of a victim of this than the American woman.

I am of the opinion that if you have access to an American woman, it is in your best interest to try to make her feel beautiful, because no matter what you might give them to lift them up, advertising will bring them down 10x. Their asses are too big, their boobs are not big enough, their hair is not pretty enough, their clothing is not nice enough, and the minute that they cross out of their teen years, they are utterly invisible to males. Horseshit. Some guys can’t stand teenage girls, and actually like big butts.

CrimethInc. has a fake beauty ad with a really thin model in a bikini with these words…

Nobody looks like this. It’s not even healthy. But millions of women worldwide paint themselves, starve themselves, even have medical operations to live up to social standards of beauty. Who sets these standards? We do - we, the fashion and image industries, with our magazine covers, “miracle” diets, and synthetically engineered celebrities.

Why is this in our best interest? First, insecurity sells. The more unreachable the standards we set for you, the worse you’ll feel about yourselves, and the more of our products you’ll think you need. Second, it’s important that we keep you thinking of yourself as a body, first and foremost. All our images of women as bodies, from classical art to twentieth century perfume advertisements, conspire to make you think this way. If you conceive of yourself as a body, and you measure your own value as such, then you’ll believe it is our body accessories you need most of all to be happy…not an exciting life, creative projects, a safe and beautiful world, etc.

For the sake of these absurd “beauty” standards, we’re willing to kill dozens of women with anorexia each year, to make thousands and thousands more sick with bulimia and malnutrition, to make women pay thousands of dollars for plastic surgery and dangerous breast implants, to make non-white women pay money for products that will supposedly make them look more like the white beauty queens, to make millions of women and girls across the world miserably insecure about their bodies and themselves. And men’s desires are shaped by our conditioning, too, so that they end up pursuing a glamorous image of “woman” that doesn’t exist in reality, while missing the real beauty right next to them on the streets and in their homes.

Why do we have all this power? Because in this competitive “free market,” our mercilessness in the name of profits has been rewarded by higher sales than our more humane competitors. Our way works in the capitalist economy, our way sells more, it dominates and conquers in a system where money has more value than human happiness.

CrimethInc. You’ve Come a Long Way, Baby.

Ladies, don’t believe everything that you breathe. Ask Sir Mix-A-Lot.

Presence
Tonight, I not only got my semi-annual food shopping done, but I picked up some crap at Bob’s dirt cheap. I was wandering through the aisles, happy as a lunatic, and enjoying the idiosyncrasies of the other patrons, when I realized that I must look completely nuts. I had an open expression, and a smile that reached from ear to ear for no other reason than I was grocery shopping. Attractive older lady: aisle 2. Little Debbie snack cakes: aisle 1. I must’ve looked like a complete lunatic, but I didn’t really care. Happiness was springing internal, and by the faces of the other patrons, it worried them.

So, sue me. I got whole milk, with all the fat left in. And I got bread, with the partially hydrogenated oil left out. And butter, not margarine. mmmmm. Why wouldn’t I be happy? I’ll tell you one reason: I was going to get some cookies, but I couldn’t find one single package of decent cookies without partially hydrogenated oils in it, so I didn’t get any. I figured I’d just make some, but all the pre-made cookie doughs had it, too. As the stuff is supposed to be pretty bad for you (explanation), I figured I’d just forgo them for now. That left me with no damned cookies. Look, drinking people come home and unwind with a beer. Smoking people light up a Lucky. Psychotics unwind by dragging the spare parts down to the basement and chewing off a finger or two. Me? Milk + Cookies = relaxation. Hell, I had a good bucket full of chocolate covered pretzels at home, but their not cookies.

As I was contemplating the delicious, not-cookies pretzels at home and smiling my ass off, I resigned myself to an aisle behind a blonde, blue eyed, pony tail wearing, late thirty something, ultra casual zip up sweatshirt and sneakers type lady. I don’t think that she even looked at me once. I don’t know if she even looked at the checker once. I was thinking to my ultra-smiling self that this lady is either from Hingham, snotty, snotty and from Hingham, or thinks that I may be completely nuts, and doesn’t want to push the nutty guy behind her into a insane episode by inadvertently smiling or acting as if he were really there. It was then that I heard the highest little voice behind me yelling, “Oh, noooo! I’m falling! Ahhhhhhhh!” in a tone that was so absolutely devoid of fear, that it was a tiny enigma. It seemed to be emanating from the one person present that was currently on my plane.

He was 3, in a shopping cart, thoroughly self absorbed, and fully entertained. He barely noticed me trying not to suppress full on belly laughs at his high pitched, full volume antics. I was enjoying the show nearly as much as he was, and I couldn’t understand why everyone else didn’t enjoy him as much as I did.

It wasn’t that they didn’t. I think it was that they couldn’t. It was probably because none of them were really there.

Physically, sure. Arms, legs, torso: yep, all there. But, where were their heads? The checker was thinking how Jimmy would be totally like crying at her funeral for cheating on her with that little slut Kelley, but it would be too late. And she would like be such a hot dead chick that he would like totally cry even more, and then Kelley would totally dump his sissy ass. What a loser he is. The woman in front of me was prepping dinner, getting the kids in bed, and because it was Tuesday, she would be getting it on with her husband right on schedule, while dreaming of the pool boy. And the father of the boy that I thought was so hysterical desperately wanted to clean this woman’s pool.

We were all there together, and the only two people entertained by this kid were him and me.

Lesson 1: Setting out to entertain yourself can easily bleed over into entertaining others.
Lesson 2: Presence can be a blessing.

When Bob’s has a 70% off sale, and you are looking through all the shirts, and calculating the cost of each to be under three bucks, remember this: If it is button down and has flames on it, tigers on it, or tigers and flames on it, no matter what you paid for it, you are going to look like a Chinese Pimp on holiday. If you are an American, white, and not a pimp, they are going to laugh you right out of Chinatown, my friend. Also, if you have the opportunity to buy shit two for one, you are still buying 2 pieces of shit. If you stay present, you will return all of your Chinese pimp clothing to the rack, no matter how funny you would look on your web cam. You would. All six of articles. Damn. They better be there tomorrow…

Happy Birthday!

…To my beard. It’s 3 months old today, and it’s showing its age. I can’t wait until it’s old enough to get me a Santa gig, or to tuck into my belt.

Games, Baby

Can you name that tune in 3 notes? Some are German songs, so this can be tricky. I don’t know how it is on slow connections.

Back when video games were called arcade games, one of my favorites was a game called Tempest You swirled around the outside of a web shooting stuff in to the middle. One of my recent favorites of online games involves making groups of three or more marbles, rubber balls, apples, whatever, to make them disappear before the time runs out. (See Bounce Out for an example). Well, I just came across a game that combines the Tempest and Bounce out, called W.R.A.X. It’s not too hard, and a real time waster.

And Finally…
When trying to explain to a Protestant coworker who Martin Luther was (You know, the FOUNDER of Protestantism?), I came across Martin Luther’s final words to his wife as he lay dying,

“I am fed up with the world, and it with me. I am like a ripe stool, and the world is like a gigantic anus, and so we’re about to let go of each other.”
-Martin Luther

I walked out of work today into bitter, bitter cold. It’s 7 degrees, and for some reason I’m still pretty concerned about the homeless. I’m not a very empathetic person. I never have been. I need personal experience to wake me up to circumstances that affect other people’s lives. Before I broke my elbow, I wasn’t all that sensitive to my friends when they broke something. The’d get a quick, “Man, that sucks,” and I’d move right along. After I broke my elbow, I could understand the grinding discomfort, the need for a little sympathy, the frustration of expending a lot of physical effort for little progress at mundane tasks. That’s the way I’ve always been.

Life has thrown obstacles in my path, and has provided me with a ton of different situations to to do nothing more than nurture an empathy that, in me, is not innate. I know what it’s like to win, and I know how it is to miss the brass ring by a hair. I know what it’s like to be told that you can’t when you can, and what it’s like to be told that you can, when you can’t. I know how it is to be an alcoholic, and to hit the bottom. I also know how hopeful that things can look from there. I know what a joy, and pain in the ass it is to smoke two packs of reds a day, and what’s like to quit cold turkey. I know what it’s like to lose someone close, and to find someone special. I know what it’s like to be married, and go through a lengthy divorce. I know what it’s like to be in love, and what it’s like to be truly lonely in a crowd. I know what it’s like to be dumped after tattooing someone’s name on your arm (beat that one), and what it’s like to bury that girl in a shallow grace in Tulsa, Okl…nevermind that one. I know what it is to get fucked over, and I know how sweet revenge can seem. I know what it’s like to feel trapped, and I know how it feels to run away from home. I know how it feels when someone burns your house down, and I know how it feels to rebuild it. I know what it is to owe, and what it is to lend. I know what it is to be a Muslim and a Christian as well as a Republican, Democrat and Libertarian. I know what it’s like to be a prick, a jock, and a misfit. I know what it’s like to really care about even the most minor details, and what it’s like to not give a rats ass about anyone or anything. I know what’s it’s like to have bad genes, and I may someday know the luck of a kidney transplant. I know what it’s like to be picked on day after day for just being yourself. I also know what it’s like to bang a bully’s head on something until he knows what he’s doing is wrong. I know what it is to fly under the radar, and to have the disciplinarian watch your every move. I know what it’s like to be loved, and I know what it is to be feared. I know what it’s like to have someone consistently forget your name, and what it’s like to be the guy that always forgets yours. And the list gets longer every day…well, every month, anyway. I think it’s just so that I might have some sort of idea where people might be coming from, and that we might share something as simple as a smile.

There are a ton of things that I can’t know, and some that I will hopefully never know. I don’t know what it’s like to be homeless, and I don’t know how it feels to live on the streets. And when it’s this cold, the ones left out there, by choice or by necessity, are the ones who die. In a “civilized” society, I really don’t think that it’s very fair. For some reason, I am very empathetic, and it’s way out of character for me. If I only knew just what to do…

To recap:
11:30 PM: Jon goes to bed
7:30 PM: Jon gets up and eats.

I didn’t read, I didn’t listen to the radio, and I didn’t accomplish much in terms of solving the world’s problems. I drifted in and out of sleep trying to figure out just what I wanted in life, what was important to me, and how to correct those personality flaws that make life difficult. I really didn’t make a lot of headway, but it seems like both the right and wrong way to take care of things.

Times like today make me feel lost. I don’t relay know where the country is going, I really don’t know where I’m going, and it’s hard to tell what is right and what is wrong. I have that need to just drop out. Walk away. Hike the Appalachian trail for six months. Pull myself out of the process to hopefully pull the process out of me. But, then where am I? The world has moved on without my vote, and I have given the process control. I am then an outcast. A homeless outcast. Ugh. A nameless drifter. Ok, sounding better. A superhero with an underground lair and a cool utility belt. Ok, I think that’s more like it. Yea.

I don’t want to live in one place my whole life, or coast on through going to work every day and breaking up the days by going to the gym a couple times a week. There has to be something more, because as nice as my life is, I don’t think that I’m where I want to be. Which raises the question, “Where do I want to be?”

Therein lies the problem. I have no idea. None. I want to feel attractive. I want to feel smart. I want to feel cared for. I don’t want to feel like I let anyone down. I want to feel like what I do makes a difference. I want to be appreciated. I want to be relaxed. I want to be free and secure at the same time. I want…

I want to be externally in motion, but internally at rest.

Wow. You have witnessed an actual breakthrough. It was so simple. I think that I’ve been doing the complete opposite for a while now.

Mandrake
Mandrake-linux, the distribution that I use, may be no more. The distributuion’s creator, MandrakeSoft, has filed for bankruptcy protection. It’s understandable, as it is difficult to sell a free product, and seems like a bad business model to sell services on a free product, but who am I to judge. (Full Story).

Fun
This is a simple little game in which you ride your dirtbike over a simple course. The only reason that it is really amazing is the physics models use to create it.

“They who would give up an essential liberty for temporary security, deserve neither liberty or security.”
-Benjamin Franklin

“The average man does not want to be free. He simply wants to be safe.”
-H. L. Mencken

Today, I got in a really heated argument with a right-wing republican about how foolish it is that pocket knives and nail clippers are considered dangerous weapons. I think it’s really stupid that I am subject to random searches without provocation or suspicion before boarding a plane. All I got was smart answers like, “Don’t fly, then.” According to consensus, I should be restricted from speedy forms of travel based upon my belief that I am still covered under the Bill of rights against unreasonable search and seizure.

Then the topic turned went into how he believes in racial profiling, and I nearly lost my mind. People who like racial profiling obviously don’t belong to the race being profiled. We’re Americans. We all have rights. When you profile a group, not only are you creating a case of guilty by association, you are creating a situation where the profiler is the ultimate authority, and that guy or gal can be wrong.

You are a terrorist profiler. You need to protect the airport. What group of people makes the most terrorist attacks on the U.S.? Right. So , every person that looks like he could be middle eastern should be pulled aside and prodded. Plus, you’re going to put me on the list just to be cute. Easy right? Wrong. You are detaining the wrong group.

The biggest group of terrorists against the U.S. is Latin America. Check the facts as they’re from a report put out annually by the U.S. government called “Patterns of Global Terrorism“. Big deal. A few more than the middle east than Latin America… For every one attack that the middle east makes, Latin America makes eighty six. 86:1. Latin America makes more attacks on the U.S. than the rest of the world combined. Combined. Why don’t you see that on the news? Ever? Oil? Could it be oil? What is oil, Alex? I think my buzzer is broken. So, the criteria that you used to detain honest people was wrong. You’ve launched an attack on a people based on race. Nice job. It’s American.

The government used to attack blacks with dogs, kill students for speaking up, kicked the crap out of union organizers for trying to fight corporations, put full blooded Americans of Japanese descent in internment camps in WWII, and now they’re going for the middle easterners. That’s the government. If you give up your rights and put yourself in their hands, you deserve what you get. The government exists to serve the people. If you act like it’s the other way around, it soon will be.

I understand that planes can be used as bombs, and that’s why we go through metal detectors. There is no reason to wave a wand over my body, pat my crotch, or make me take off my shoes if I don’t set off any alarms. Random searches are not reasonable searches. Last time I checked, I was a U.S. citizen and I used to have protected rights. And if you think that searching you at an airport and confiscating your nail clippers has anything to do with preventing terrorist attacks, you need a lesson or two. If you can kill a man with nail clippers, the confiscation of the actual clippers won’t matter much if you decide to make a move. If you’re a well-funded, well-trained terrorist, I don’t think that the lame security at the airport are going to catch you, anyway. These things are in place to make Joe Public feel safe. Or violated. Or subservient. Or all of those.

You don’t have to agree. We can always agree to disagree. Just take a good look at the plate of shit that you’re handed before you swallow it.

The results of my political poll from the 15th were mis-linked. Now you can see the pretty graph without getting an error.
The story that I linked to about the 95 million to N. Korea on the 14th was from April of 2002, and for non weapons grade plutonium; not for missiles. I need to check the facts sometimes. When Mike pointed this out, I got one of those moments where I thought that I may be on the wrong track. Maybe everything is not falling apart. Maybe I’m seeing what I want to see. Maybe I’m scanning the headlines and gleaning information that fits in with what I want to believe rather than what’s really there. Maybe I’m expecting certain information, and converting what I see into what I expect to see. Damn expectation. I love getting that wake up call…

“Mr. Dyer? Yea, Hi. It’s Mike at the front desk, sir. Did you want that wake up call at 7 or 8?”
“Hm? Wha? Uh. Oh. Uh. Six, actually. What time is it now?”
“Uh. Nine fifteen.”
[click]

“Mr. Dyer? Yea, Hi. It’s uh, KevManDude down at the front desk. Uh, someone…”
“Right…”
“Yea. Well, someone’s got to rule the world, dude. Might as well be us. Bomb Iraq.”
“Uh huh. Listen, KevManDude, those hookers better be on their way up here. And by hookers I mean chicks, not you.”
“No. Yea. Right. I’m on my way. Wait. Did you say ‘not me?’”
[click]

I love when I think I’m so smart, and someone calmly but irrefutably points out that I’m wrong. I think. I change. I grow.

I’m restless. I don’t know why, but I am. I want to drop the dead end job, and travel, or write, or move to the big city and be a movie star, or something. I need to do something That actually utilizes my brain or is at least gut wrenchingly different. It’s a combination of too much T.V., too few friends, and a complete lack of mental stimulation for eight hours a day.

It’s winter, and that’s how winter is. If it’s temporary, so be it, but life is temporary. And that, my friends, is a tragedy.

I did come up with an idea that 3 people agreed was really good, and may be patentable, though.

If you believe…

If you haven’t yet heard the argument that the moon landing was made on a Hollywood sound stage, someone is now presenting an argument that there is no physical way that the U.S. could’ve had the rocket power to actually lift back off of the moon. I guess the moon lander would’ve had to have a really big rockets. All I could do was sigh when I started getting into it, because pinhead certainly does present a good case, and if correct would bring into question everything that this government has done for the last 60 years. I wasn’t really ready for more doubt, so I stopped halfway through. (Full Story)

Instant Messages

Mr. A: I wish you married my girlfriend so that I could visit two of my favorite people at the same time.
Mr. B: LOL!
Mr. A: …Then I could sneak over your house and have sex with your wife while you weren’t home.
Mr. B: not LOL.

For the new year, I have decided to try to use Linux a little more, and use Windows a little less. The windows licensing schemes are way out of control, there is no real way to determine how invasive they are with my information, and they throw their weight around like a 400 pound gorilla.

Am I on the boat with the crew chanting, “Windoze sucks!” at the top of my lungs? No. I think Windows is a valid O/S, and a good one at that. There are security flaws (as there are in all operating systems, despite what the geeky masses say), but their latest interfaces (2000 and XP) are relatively stable, and they’re configurable and usable for most people.

Here are the two things that work for Windows: You can get support, and you don’t have to be a mega-nerd to run or administer it.

Apples are good, too, if you drive a beetle and need a sassy little machine to compliment your tie. They edit video well, and are the first choice among a lot of graphic designers.

So, if Microsoft and Apple make decent products, why boother moving to Linux? Why spend all that effort moving to a system that when it crashes (and it will) is going to make me cry like a little baby? Why drift in the sea of poorly written drivers and total lack of blameless support? Because it’s free? Sure. Because it’s for geeks? I guess. Because it’s not backed by an immortal entity that can buy and sell you 5 billion times and can push more weight around than you, your friends, and your uncle (who’s in the army) put together?

Yea, something like that. Submitting to an entity, with immortality, superhuman rights, and an inclination to bully isn’t cool for me. And Microsoft isn’t the only one. Most corporations are like this, or want to be. They are treated as if they are real people under the law, yet they can’t be given the death penalty if they knowingly make cars that kill you, or if they dump toxins on your kids heads.

If you do any of these things, you will go down for it. You may even be put to death. Corporations do it every day, and there’s no one to blame. Because there’s no one to blame, the cycle continues with corporate heads make decisions that rely on lack of culpability.

It’s just business, right? Right?

Not only can the corporation operate outside of the law, but because the corporation is immortal, it can operate outside the law indefinitely, gaining more influence and power than one person could imagine in a lifetime.

If there were no corporations, there would be blameability, and people might stop suing for spilling coffee on themselves, and take the blame for making their own mistakes. Blaming a pseudo-person and a corporate symbol is much easier than facing another person in court, to say “You are the reason that I am an idiot and spilled hot coffee on myself. Not me. You. You will pay for the rest of your life for my stupidity.” I think that people would be less likely to do that. Buh-bye lawyer culture.

If there were no corporations, there would also be no stock market. No pension plans, No trades, no puts, no calls, no worries. You would have to work hard to eat, and rest for the rest of the time. Then, your family would work and would have the time to take care of you when you got old. There is the possibilty that you might die sooner, and have to forgo the 15 years of tubes, but there is also the possibility that you might also live longer from the lack of stress.

Your life would be much, much different. Towns and cities could retain their individual character, without being blighted by a McDonalds or a Foot Locker on every corner. You’d have to go to the local deli, where they make the food fresh, and the conversation light, rather than popping into the local McDonalds to eat their beef-like formulations while the underpaid counter help barely cares enough to take your order the correct way, nevermind giving a shit whether you come back, or have a nice day. She has no stake in the place. She just works the crappy job, so that she can make enough to eat, you can have an overpriced, undernourishing sandwich, and some stockholder can make an 18 cent dividend.

Who wins?

Not me. Not you.

So, will I refrain from going to BestBuy and the Home Depot because I have some deep seated conviction? Hell, no. I’d rather not see corporate giants infecting the way we live, by creating a culture where individuality and attention spans are hard to come by, and targeted advertising is around every corner. A time when wages are being depressed, and the only ones clamoring for war, don’t even have bodies to sacrifice. The world is moving towards a time where laws and policies are at the expense of the many, and the benefit of the few.

I don’t want to be controlled. I certainly don’t want to be controlled by en entity that doesn’t even have genitalia.

So, for now, I’ll just try move back towards this Linux thing.

By the way: I am writing this in a split screen browser window on a Mandrake Linux Box right now. Can you split screen your browser window?

To my friends

I’d like to see you for who you are, and not what I expect nor want to see. Yes, you.
I’d like to be someone that you can rely on. Yes, you.
I’d like to show you places that I know. Yes, you.
I’d like to make you smile, and enjoy your laughter. Yes, you.
I’d like to help you see that you are much more valuable than you will ever know. Yes, you.

Another Blog

She’s a 16 year old runaway with a blog. I had to read. It’s amazing if it’s real. At 30, I could walk away from everything without a problem if I had 1/10th of the nuts of this 16 year old girl. Greyhounds, after leaving years at the track behind, will seek solitude in their cages even when free to roam. No matter how long this beard gets, I will probably always look at the unlocked cage as if it’s solidly locked.

Dirty Movie Quote of the Day

“I want to put the beef in your taco…I want to take my crotch puppet to the midnight show at fuzzy’s…where are you going?”
-Nutty Professor II: The Klumps

A coworker asked me if she could borrow an Eminem CD. It was a very confusing few moments, as I visualized this mother of three singing along to hits like “Just don’t give a Fuck,” “Bitch Please II,” and “Kill You”. She snapped me out of my daydream after I had added a bass tube and tinted out the windows in the minivan, but just before making it into a low-rider minivan, by explaining that she wanted to check it out before her kids do. It’s nice to see people getting in tune with their kids, and trying to examine and explain rather than forbid.

If the kids know that a good portion of the music that is pushed to them is essentially the equivalent of either a marketing ploy or acting for audio at worst, and clever expression of emotion at best, then I don’t see anything wrong with them listening to whatever they want to. Let them explore and find out what they like.

When the music is forbidden, it’s more attractive. When messages can be explained by tuned in parent, the messages and their resultant emotional responses can be less confusing.

Hell, it’s just music.

On that Note…
Music… note… Ah, forget it.

On that note, I found an interesting site that revolves around the incredibly strange music of song-poems. What is a song-poem you ask? According to the American Song Poem Music Archives (www.aspma.com), a song poem is a long running scam where a company places an ad in a magazine looking for new ideas for hit songs. People then send in their poems on the hopes of striking it rich by writing the next big hit. Then the scammer calls the mark looking for seed money to get a demo together for the incredible piece of writing that the mark sent in. The scammer takes the money, and sets the poem to music with factory speed and minimal effort to produce a demo to send to the mark.

The mark, upon receiving the song, waits for the riches that come with writing a hit. Unfortunately, hits are made in distribution, marketing, not to mention good writing, none of which have been even considered with respect to the demo. And while the mark waits, the scammer is too busy churning out the next “smash hit” demo for the next gullible person in line.

So? Why do you care? For one, one of the Song-Poem ads on the site is from the home office in Quincy, Massachusetts, and second, the site provides access to a number of these horribly amusing recordings for free download. I’ve sat and enjoyed a number of them including “Heart Break of Love“, “The Ballad of Juan Rio“, and my favorite, “Five Feet Nine And A Half Inches Tall. You want more? See ASPMA’s MP3 page. While your listening, please try to remember that the songs authors are the victims here, not you.

Bahleeted

A friend contacted me today looking for a way to recover some pictures that she accidentally deleted from her PC. Most of you would think that once you empty that recycle bin, the files are lost, but that’s not really the way Windows machines work.

Say you delete a file. The PC asks, “Are you sure?” You say, “yes.” The file is then moved to the recycle bin, for safekeeping (unless, of course, you held down [SHIFT] during the deletion process, which bypasses the recycle bin altogether).

You’re sure that you want the files gone, so you go to empty the recycle bin. The PC again asks, “Are you Sure?” You ignore this second safeguard, click YES, and whango, the files are deleted. All too often in our love/hate relationship with our PC’s, we say things that we don’t mean. Now, you are screwed, right?

Actually, No. See, Windows doesn’t actually erase the file on your hard drive. It merely erases the reference from the File Allocation table. This is similar to erasing chapter three from the table of contents, but not ripping the pages out of the book. Once the reference has been erased in the file allocation table, Windows sees the space that used to be occupied by the file as free even though the file may still be there. It’s like saying, you can white out chapter three and write grocery lists in there if you want. It will treat the previously occupied space as free space when saving new files, which may, over time, destroy the old file data, but until new files are written, the info is still there. And, if it’s still there, and it can be recovered rather easily. How?

PC Inspector can do it, and it can do it for free. I tested it on several files: some came up, and some didn’t, but I had no idea how old the test files were, or if parts of them had been overwritten. Recent deletes came up without a hitch.

Bahleeted Pt. Deux

I know what you’re thinking, Mr. Paranoid: If files that I deleted can be recovered pretty easily, what about those files that I don’t want anyone to see? Could they be recovered? You bet. I can take this utility and view every place that you have been on the internet, and everything that you may have downloaded and deleted, no matter how many times you clear your cache, Mr. Smart Guy. Do I need a perfect file to figure out your browsing habits? Not really. I can make educated guesses based on file fragments.

You don’t want me watching that Naked version of “Thriller” that you filmed last week! What do you do? You overwrite the supposedly “blank” portions of your hard drive with random data. Eraser is a free util that will do just that. It can overwrite with random data, it can overwrite to Department of Defense specs of 7 passes, or it can overwrite each block 35 times for the complete paranoiac. This takes a long time to complete for larger drives, and may lower the shelf life of your drive if used often enough over time. Take it easy, read the documentation, and be careful. If you fuck this up, and accidentally tell it to delete your drive, you will not be getting the information back.

The simplest method of clearing the unused space on your drive is to install this util, right click on C:\, and select “Erase Unused Space from the resulting menu. Be careful, and don’t call me when you fuck it up.

Bahleeted III: Why?

There once was a man named King Dubya who, according to Article 2 Section 1 Clause 8 of the Constitution, had to go through the formality of making a silly oath. It went something like this:”I do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my Ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States.”

Now, obviously the framers of this “Constitution” thingy forgot to add “no crossies count” at the end, so King Dubya crossed the a couple of his fingers on the hand facing away from the public, and at the same time, raised a single finger on the hand facing towards them. Then King George then created the Patriot Act and the office of Homeland security, which blatantly violates some of the lesser known and periphery parts of this Constitution thingy known as the Bill of Rights via his giving out your medical records to anyone who asks, and via his Total Information Awareness program.

The TIA is the Orwellian Big Brother organization that we thought would never come which seeks to log not only all of your online travels and preferences, but all your purchases as well, to create a personal profile for you. Then the office can privately determine if you are, in fact, a terrorist. We are assured that the information will not be misused, and given the high governmental failings in the security arena, I’m sure that no one would think to break into this database and take over your life, either.

But, they don’t have to get the information from you, either. They can take the info from your employer, or from your ISP. You never need to be involved or made aware that you are being monitored. They’ll do it all quietly behind your back.

Given my propensity towards authors like Chomsky, Vidal, and other subversives, I don’t feel very secure using a credit card to even purchase any of their books. In the United FUCKING States of America, I am nervous about what books I buy. What are we coming to? We’re coming to a bad place in America history, that’s what. We are falling into one of those shameful and scary places like when we pushed Native Americans onto reservations, or ruined suspected Communists, or rounded up Japanese-American citizens in internment camps. They’re already rounding up Middle Eastern people, and no one seems to know how many, where, or for how long. What can we do about it?

Cities around the country are adopting resolutions encouraging its citizenry, law enforcement, and businesses to resist the Patriot act. Here is an example from Northampton, Massachusetts. Is your town or city there? Mine’s not. Boston was, but it’s no longer there. How can you resist? How can you resist without the support of others?

I thought of 5 ways that one can resist (in order of severity):

1. become a lawyer or political organizer and fight the law,
2. Make 100 plus million dollars and be above the law,
3. Join the rest of the country and put a goddamned flag on your car and act like life is great, visiting Wal-Mart and fag bashing on a weekly basis,
4. Just ignore the law, or
5. Simply find a new country in which to reside.

All of these are amazingly difficult options, and all carry consequences. Here they are, respectively:

1. Martin Luther King Jr. was a man like that. He was great. He’s dead, now.
2. The quest for the 100 mil will turn you into one of them, and it won’t be enough.
3. The odds of growing to love Wal-Mart and fattening up and dying on the couch with your hand in a bucket of pork rinds while watching Friends reruns increases 10,000%
4. Ruby Ridge, Waco, Texas
5. What country has not yet to be overrun by the U.S.? The choices are vast. There’s Vietnam. And oh Cuba. mmmmmm. and uh… mmmmm yea. Those two. No PlayStation and a language barrier. Crap. And who’s to say that the American Military machine is not still on the rise? Crap Hell Crap.

I guess you can grow a beard and go live in the woods, too, but they’ll come for you eventually.

Bahleeted IV: Epilogue

I know, I know, it’s TMI, it’s a rant, and it might not make sense, but if you made it this far, you may as well check out the top 10 conspiracy theories of 2002. And check out an alternative source of news. If you think that the newspaper and the TV are not owned by the same powerfull guys that are supporting war for oil, you may want to reexamine if all of your news sources aren’t stemming from the same trunk.

Always leave them smiling…

If life were like “Truth in Advertising”, things might go a lot smoother.

Over the last couple of days I thought up a second experiment. I would like to know if you participate, and I would like to know the results. I would like to know if you can stop watching T.V. and reading the newspaper for 7 days. For some of you this will be easy. For some of you, this will be a monumental task. But, it’s just 7 days.

Why?

Four reasons:

First, T.V. shuts you down. If there is a T.V. on in a room, I am drawn to it. I feel compelled to watch it. I can’t hold conversations, I can’t focus, and I find that I can’t function. It’s a powerful draw, and I can sit for hours, just wasting time that I will never be able to recapture. It is time that I could have spent doing something that I actually enjoy. Or time that I could be at least thinking about something that I enjoy. When I stopped watching, I reclaimed so much time during the day that I found that I had time for most of the things that I felt compelled to do, along with the things that I wanted to do.

Second, the T.V. is not your friend. It cannot interact with you, and you cannot interact with it. How often do you come in and throw on the T.V. for background noise? I used to do it all the time. It makes it feel like someone is there with you. But, they’re not. You are alone, and you cannot even enjoy it. If we are lonely, we should call out to someone, not something. The T.V. is actually preventing you getting the interaction that you need by providing a false sense that you are interacting with someone. If you are not lonely, the T.V. is not letting you enjoy something that we have forgotten: solitude, peace, and being truly at rest.

Third, the name “News” is misleading. The “news” is full of things that you do not need to know. Most things that appear in the news are things that happen in places that you will never visit, involving people that you will never know driven by circumstances that you will never encounter. By knowing the information, you are not helping yourself. You are focusing on issues that will never touch you rather than the issues at hand. And you will think about those images and stories not only for the hour that you watch it. You will be affected for time to come, wasting brain cycle after brain cycle.

Fourth, most of those stories that you see/read are negative. Really negative. Horrific, usually. You are bombarded with atrocities that, whether you think they do or not, affect how you feel. They affect how you act. They affect how you view the world. The world is not as the T.V. makes it out to be. And you are not the person that T.V. makes you out to be. You are kinder, and more relaxed, and much happier.

So, give it a try. Some of you are going to be bored, some will be agitated for no reason, and some of you are going to change. Experiment with your life. It’s yours to do with as you please.

Or you can blow off that hippy crap and watch some short films from Atomic Cartoons. I was really impressed that it was Flash…

Experiment #1 (from my aunt): Point to yourself. Just do it. Don’t read further until you have done it. Where did you point? Most of you will have pointed right at your heart, not at your head. You have indicated that you are not made up of what you know, but what you feel.

WWDLRD? “What would David Lee Roth do?” is something that I came across years ago that we all can use to answer even the toughest of life’s questions. For example: It’s Tuesday. Do you: A.) go out with your buddies, or B.) study for the exam? Before you make that tough decision, ask yourself, WWDLRD? Would Dave pick A or B? Neither, bitches. Dave would pick C.) Do a cartwheel and go find some hot women. Hummalazeebala.

Right on! Thanks, Dave!

I thought WWDLRD? was pretty common, so I checked Google. The only things that came up were lists that seemed really familiar. As I was reading through them, I noticed the mention of “Seka”, (my friend Tim’s band that was really short lived, and not too well known), and Roadsaw (the band I did a website for).

As I read, I realized that these lists were copied and/or modified from a list that I had modified from the original The Metal Test by James Morrison and Patrick Dalton back in 1999. I couldn’t imagine anyone quoting me, so I looked for my original list and found that I had indeed written what I was reading years before.

Here is the list. About half the points are Dalton/Morrison, and half were written by yours truly.

You Are/Were a Metalhead If… (75 Clues That You Might Be a Metalhead)

1. You at one time tried to make the sawblade wrist bands that Blackie Lawless wore AND/OR you tried to make the Kerry King nail armband.
2. You know that the Dio logo turned upside down reads “devil.”
3. “NOT” was in your vocabulary.
4. You remember when Metallica was never on the radio or MTV.
5. You were in love with Lita Ford or Doro Pesch.
6. You saw the movie Trick Or Treat.
7. You constantly had to explain to people that “Bon Jovi is not metal and he SUCKS.”
8. When you watch MTV News you recognize Megadeth’s “Peace Sells” bass line at the end of the segment.
9. You liked the Beastie Boys because Kerry King played guitar on “License to Ill”.
10. The brim of your baseball cap was turned upward with MOSH written on it.
11. A D.R.I. mosh guy and Misfits t-shirts were must-haves.
12. “Poser” was in your vocabulary.
13. You learned a little history by listening to Iron Maiden.
14. You or someone you knew had “The Number Of The Beast” album cover painted on the back of their denim jacket AND/OR your denim vest was covered with pins and embroidered patches.
15. You had discussions on Metallica vs. Megadeth.
16. “Caught in a mosh” was going to be the title of your A&E Biography.
17. You wore Jams.
18. You played “I’m The Man” to some of your rap friends.
19. You had albums on Combat Records.
20. You thought German metal would be the next big thing.
21. Bands like Poison, Winger, Trixter, Kix, and all the bands with the word “White” in their name were killing you.
22. You know how to pronounce and spell Yngwie Malmsteen.
23. Chicks in high hair and spandex ruled.
24. Guys in high hair and spandex sucked.
25. You really hated Tipper Gore.
26. You secretly liked Queensryche.
27. You wrote on your pants.
28. Your pants were in their prime when they ripped.
29. At every show there was one black metalhead (and you thought that was pretty cool).
30. You can name all the members of SEKA.
31. You think Cliff Burton should be canonized.
32. You find that “Angel of Death” would make a catchier national anthem than the Star Spangled Banner.
33. You find yourself yelling “SLAYER!” at shows they don’t even play.
34. You think Iron Maiden is classic rock.
35. You thought Ministry was dance music.
36. You won’t drive in a car if there’s no tape deck.
37. You wore fingerless gloves even in 90 degree weather.
38. You wanted to draw comic books for a living
39. You thought Chris Holmes was cool in Decline of Western Civilization Part 2: The Metal Years.
40. You can name every guitarist Ozzy had after Randy Rhoads.
41. You thought KISS actually meant Knights In Satan’s Service.
42. You always remember the “J” in Yngwie J. Malmsteen.
43. You think the higher the hair, the better the woman.
44. You wish Ozzy was your dad.
45. You thought hair shorter than shoulder length was selling out.
46. You thought hanging earrings were tough.
47. You had a skull ring.
48. You regularly measured your hair to see how long it got, and felt intimidated by guys with longer hair than you.
49. All your favorite songs had one note bass lines.
50. Ozzy could fart in a microphone, and you would force yourself to like it.
51. You fought over whether Motley Crue’s makeup made them Glam.
52. Camouflage shorts/pants were a good portion of your wardrobe.
53. You thought the measure of a man was how high he could sing.
54. You owned either leather pants, a leather vest, or chaps, and you’re not a cowboy.
55. You don’t feel tardy, awwww you think the clock is slow.
56. You know that after “Nothing else matters”, nothing Metalica put out did.
57. Your most memorable concerts had 15 minute guitar, bass, and drum solos.
58. You’re working hard to bring back baseball t-shirts.
59. You KNOW in your heart that the mullet haircut WILL come back someday.
60. You refer to Roadsaw as the ’saw, and Judas Priest as ‘Priest.
61. You knew what Steve Vai was “saying” to Dave on his guitar.
62. You know the difference between M.O.D., S.O.D., and D.R.I.
63. You fully lace up your work boots only for weddings.
64. You think that concerts without explosions are a “rip-off”.
65. You think that a concert with under 5 encores is a “rip-off”.
66. You cut the sleeves off of your denim jacket so it would fit over your leather jacket.
67. You owned either shorts or a sleeveless t-shirt with the British flag on it.
68. You remember when the quality of a band was directly proportional to the “slutiosity” of its groupies.
69. Like a cape to a bull, white baseball caps triggered a violent response in you.
70. You thought it was funny to ask for a “bottle of anything and a glazed doughnut to go” at the kwiki-mart.
71. You thought that wearing a leather vest WITH a shirt was a fashion faux-pax.
72. “Old School” was in your vocabulary.
73. When confronted with tough life decisions you ask yourself, “What would David Lee Roth do?”
74. You have had a subscription to one or more metal magazines.
75. You give people the hand sign of the devil when they do something cool.

A thought struck me in a funny way today: Life is like a shipwreck.

Some of us are struggling to stay afloat. Some of us are truly sinking. Some of us are merely diving, thinking that we are sinking. Others of us are sitting in our little lifeboats, desperate for someone to rescue us: Not paddling, just praying for someone to save us. Some of us are paddling away from everyone else out of fear that they will either drag us down, or find out what provisions we have acquired.

And some of us have paddled away from everyone for so long, that with one hand we are firing up signal flares to see if anyone is still looking for us, and with the other we’re paddling like crazy to get back with everyone.

And most of us are sitting there staring at our paddles saying “I wasn’t supposed to be in a shipwreck.”

Me? I’m drinking seawater: Sweet, sweet brine. This is probably the reason why I’m passing the time by signaling to everyone about the status of my mirror, comb, and pet snail. And doing it nearly every day.

Where are you?

“Your time is your own until you decide to give it away.”

I feel like I’m deciding to give all mine to work lately. That’s not fun. It’s also not really that true. It’s just a perception. My dad puts in more hours in two days than I put in three. So, working a couple of weekends shouldn’t make me feel like this.

But, I’m not my dad.

Not exactly, anyway. I usually need a solid two days away from work to feel good about Monday. That hasn’t happened in a couple of weeks. I’m not crying because I know that a lot of you work way more on a regular basis. I’m just greedy about my time. Maybe it’s over valued, and heading for a market correction.

But, the experts highly doubt it. As any 1st year Economics student will tell you, the value of an object is determined by its demand and relative scarcity (I can get you a nice chart if you need it…). I don’t think that there is any greater demand for my time. It just seems to get more valuable as it becomes more scarce.

Giving my time up for work makes me feel a little like this.
Or like AngryBot.

I need another bit of peace, and a bit of quiet. And some cookies. Man, I could use a sleeve of cookies. And a huge glass of milk.

…Maybe I just need a nap.

(29 people a day seem to be reading this, and I always wonder who the hell the other 26 are and why? Let me know: Alpha@dyers.org)

“Devils and ropes around my neck, cursing them all..” -QOTSA

I can’t hear rats.

My estranged wife things I’m dating. I don’t where she got the idea or why she cares, but she has a conception about me. It’s eating her, and I can’t understand why. Why can’t people mind their own business and make an attempt, however futile, at making themselves happy? Why must they focus on absolutely insignifigant details, and let eat them inside?

At first, I tried to diffuse the situation, but that didn’t work. She was going to believe what she wanted, and she was going to let it bother her. Fine. And she was going to take out her frustrations on me. Fine. If it will make her feel better, why not?

But it didn’t. The less I fit into her mold of what she wanted to believe, the more angry she became. The more angry she became, the more angry I became. Then the competition started. You know the one. The I’m-going-way-off-topic-just-to-hurt-you-and-make-you-feel-bad competition.

Then I thought, “Why am I doing this?” I just engaged in this to make her feel better, but now I’m feeling worse. Why am I feeling worse? Do I really care about this issue?”

Nope.

Then it hit me. Why do we all think that happiness springs externally? It doesn’t come from a car, or cash, or a promotion, or the hot waitress down at the diner. Happiness comes from within.

No matter what I did, she was going to be unhappy.

And she wanted to drag me down with her.

“This is the captain speaking. We have reached 20,000 feet, and you are free to move about the cabin. Please refrain from busting into the cabin and wrestling the wheel away from me, as I can fly this bird just fine.”

I don’t need any more burdens around my neck, weighing down this bird, now do I? Thanks for the offer, but I’m staying right here at a comfortable cruising altitude. I hope you feel better eventually.

This too, shall pass.

(as I was writing this, I got a phone call and she’s OK. We are all alowed to freak out once and a while, I suppose. Did I mention I have a QOTSA t-shirt on under this business casual attire? I do.)

I wrote this really big post, and then I wiped it out. I guess it would be interesting to someone who was studying my life, but not really.

Summary: Life is messy, and it doesn’t stop. It’s all in the way that you handle it.

Summary 2:
Life is all a big joke. And we’re not in on it.
Not everyone’s story ends with “…and he lived happily ever after.”
Not everyone will die peacefully in their sleep. Nor should they.
Things are rarely what they seem.

I almost deleted line number 3 for fear that someone would read into it and think I was planning something. Which I’m not. We are so stupid. And we are all afraid. And fear leads to losses of freedom like we’re seeing in the world today.

Why the hell do I have to take off my shoes to get on a plane?
Why can the idiots in airport security search my bag without cause, when the police can’t?
Why is the government exploring the possibility of smart cards and national ID’s?
Why is income tax ratcheted up along with governent spending year after year?

To see if we’ll tolerate it.

And the sad thing is: we do.

Land of the free, my ass.

Say you’re big government. How would you seek to control your people? Take away a third of their money. Bingo. Make them work harder, so that they have less time to look at what your doing. Sounds good. How about issue a National ID, or put “speed passes” in their cars to track where they are going? Right on. How about putting GPS systems in rental cars? Then what?

How about a chip implanted in our heads?

I want freedom. And I want that chip in my head, too. Then people could track me and make sure I don’t fall into any open sewers. No, wait! I could order pizza, and give the guy my latitude/longitude. Legitimately this time.

Mmmm Revelationlicious.

Man, life as a pimp is not as easy as it looks! You try finding a purple suit and a matching purple hat. It ain’t easy my friend…

Ok, so I have nothing today.

I’m keeping my promise of keeping this thing going, but I’m in a really odd mood. I can easily describe it as “lazily impatient”. I think that means that I want 200 things completed by tomorrow, but I want to hire someone to take care of them for me. Maybe I could I hire this dude.

Although he probably spits in everything.

I need to relax and focus on the moment, but maybe I can do that later on. I’ll put it on my calendar with a 15 minute reminder. Or plan a meeting around it. Or formulate an action plan for said focus. Or, maybe I’ll put it on one of my thousands of lists…

…and throw it in the wash with the rest of them.

“Can you admit that you are afraid of liberation?” was a quote that I really liked from www.unamerican.com. Another was Stop playing Dead.

I can grind through my job for the next 30 years, and expect some sort of payout in the form of a nice retirement. I can follow institutional morals instead of my heart, and expect to be rewarded with “heaven” (which is the coolest possible scam in history. If I told you that if you do as I tell you, I’ll pay you back after you are dead, would you think that I was insane?).

If I drop my expectations of payout, or any expectations, all my decisions take on a new, and immediate air. Dropping expectations, means dropping disappointment, and every decision moves into a positive light. Your decisions are truly your own. And, they are all correct. If I could fully do this, I would be in the present tense.

Give and don’t expect a “thank you.” Let someone merge ahead of you because you want to, not for a stupid wave.

Or, you can wait at that stoplight at 3 AM.
And wait…
And wait…
For no reason at all.

Can you admit that you are afraid of liberation?