So Bush approved the naming of names via Cheney, eh?  Does anyone imagine that anything will actually come of this?

Spiff, you owe me bet money from the whole thing about Katrina or wiretapping or whatever we were taking about last month.

Want to know why I’m not political?  Bush and his administration have taken us to war under false pretense, effectively plunging a country into chaos with (from all that I’ve read) absolutely no long term plans.  He’s ignored warnings of the results of natural disasters, and his cronyism led to even worse results than should have been expected in the short and long terms. He’s decided that rules don’t necessarily apply to him and decided to wiretap at will.  And now, evidence erupts that he may have had a hand in ruining the career of a woman just because her husband fought him by presenting factual evidence that ran counter to his goals.  Oh, and lied to the American people about firing anyone with any knowledge of White House leaks.

Clinton, on the other hand, got a blow job and lied about it.

Guess who had impeachment proceedings brought against them, and who didn’t?  And won’t?

I suspect at this point that Bush could execute an abortion doctor on live network television, and ten days later, not only would he still be in office, but no one would be taking about it.

And that’s what pisses me off — not that congress is dragging it’s feet on holding Bush and Rove and Cheney and all the other old Boys’ Club members accountable; but that rather, the people of this country aren’t doing so.

Is this really what the majority of the country wants? An utter lack of accountability? Laws that apply only when they’re not in your way?  Hiring people to do jobs that they’re helplessly unqualified to do because they’re old friends or made contributions to your campaign?

This is you all that I’m talking to.  This is cool with you?

I mean, hey, majority rules.  If this is what 51% want, then it’s fair, and saying any differently is sour grapes on my part. But I just want to know the rules before I start playing the game.  Unless those change, too.

How much longer until we start to see after-effects from the way our current dictatorship is treating the people with total disrespect?  I’m going on record and saying at least November; probably more like November of 2008.  Unless we manage to piss off enough of the rest of the world, and then it just won’t matter at all.

Politicians sicken me.  But maybe even moreso are the people that support them.

Jesus, am I really about to quote Tom Petty? Publicly? Really?

Oh, god, someone stop me. Cause I can’t stop myself:

Well yeah I might have chased a couple of women around
All it ever got me was down
Then there were those that made me feel good
But never as good as I feel right now
Baby you’re the only one that’s ever known how
To make me wanna live like I wanna live now

Shit yeah, I went there.

I’ve spent my life doing things the wrong way. That’s what I’m reminded continously, though. I can’t be thirty four and still acting like this, staying up until all hours of the morning, dressing like I do, growing out my hair and never really knowing what color it was originally.Maybe I’m not wrong, though. Maybe it’s the rest of you that are. Everyone used to think that Galileo was wrong and that everything else revolved around the Earth. People used to think that the Earth was flat. I know people — I can name names, bitches — that thought the second Star Wars trilogy would be worth a damn.

But maybe we’re both right. Is it possible that some people are meant to live “normal” lives, and some of us aren’t? That you can wear your suit and go to work at 8 AM and settle for far less than you ever dreamed of, and that’s okay — but that I can wear whatever grabs my eye that morning, and I can keep looking for my life’s pursuit, and I can refuse to be content with anything less than what I’ve always hoped for? And maybe we can both be okay?

Sure, that’s possible. I think it’s true, even better. You live your way, I’ll live mine, and we can shoot quizzical looks at each other when we think the other is crazy for living that way.

One thing that I do “wrong” and always have is dive into things headfirst. And I know the problems with that. I’ve documented them here. But you know what? By doing so, I’ve lived. I mean, really lived. It’s hedonistic, fine. But I feel that I’ve milked every moment from every situation I’ve been in, and you’ll never catch me saying that I wish that I had pushed things a little farther, or had a little more time so that I could get around to enjoying a moment for all it had.

Yes, I’m talking about relationships. And I’m to this day being criticised in some quarters by people who tell me that I shouldn’t be jumping in wholeheartedly as I am wont to do. I know that some people are concerned for my feelings, and I know that other people see this behavior as cheapening my feelings, making them somewhat or somehow less than I think they are.We’re all entitled to our opinions. But mine are right. So there.

At the same time, I’m fascinated in a very academic way by the whole dating thing. I don’t get it. I don’t understand how you can’t want to spend every waking moment with someone that you’re interested in, how you can not be tempted to blow off work or prior engagements or sleep to be with that someone who has caught your eyes.Or maybe you all do want this, and I just have the self-discipline of a three year old; I’m not discounting that idea, either.

But me, I can’t date. I’m never interested in multiple people, and I can’t imagine investing time and energy across more than one woman. Of course, I’m extremely picky, and I think (mostly) I can spot immediately if I’m interested in you on more than a physical level, so it’s easy to rule most women out without even a single date.

That, and I have the self-discipline of a three-year-old. Impulse control is not one of my strengths. If I’m interested in spending all my time with a new romance, I will, as my long-time friends will probably bitterly attest. But that’s me. Do it goes.

There’s this woman; I’ll call her Red, for some semblance of anonymity on her part. You’ve read her name here, and you might have seen her around. She’s a beautiful spirit, and a beautiful creature. She’s got a lot of spirit, a lot of quirks, and a lot to offer the world. She’s also extraordinarily appreciative; she recognizes the little things and shows it, and the big things too. I didn’t even realize how important a lot of things were to me, how hard I’ve been searching for certain qualities in a woman, until I spent some time with her.

Who knows where it’s going? It’s going forward, where it will; the universe unfolds as it should. But I have faith that it’s going in the direction that I hope it will. She says that she’s like me, that she’s a headfirst diver, but that she wants to take things slow. And she has good and valid reasons for wanting to do so.

And it’s not easy; this is opposite of what I know, of what I’ve always known.I’m willing to chance things, though, to risk that I may invest my heart and soul to an uncertain wind, because she’s unflinchingly honest and, bless her heart, communicative. She’s been up front about everything, and equally important, understanding of my insecurities and emotional muscle memory. Those are rare qualities in the humans that I meet everyday, and they mean the world to me.

As hard as it is for me, given that I’ve known differently for so long, I would wait for her as long as I have to, becuase I think the good things are worth waiting for. Is this some sort of message from the universe? God, all that stuff I say about the universe could be total blather; it’s the closest I come to faith in a higher power, but I have no idea, really. But maybe, just maybe, this is my time to learn that maybe patience isn’t a wasted virtue, that maybe there’s a reward for waiting instead of pain.

I wait, because she’s worth waiting for. And even if it all falls apart, I’ve spent as much time as I could with a person who is one of the best people I’ve ever known, and loved every moment so far.

Option anxiety?  Nope.  I’m not a woman getting ready to go out for a night on the town with her BFFs, standing in front of a closet bigger than my office and agonizing over which boots will match the new earrings she bought that afternoon.  Nor, to be fair to women everywhere, am I myself standing in front of the DVD shelf at Best Buy trying to narrow down my purchasing options.

No, in the spirit of the crossover with Spiff, I’m referring to the choice of perspective on the world. I agree completely with him — that there is no good or bad until we decide that it is.  And you can, with the right effort, decide to shift your view, as I’ve said here many times.  Not only here, actually, but to other friends a lot lately.

Those who can, do.  Those who can’t, blog.

Detached, I can see the choices.  They’re right in front of me.  There’s a lot of stuff in my life that it’s easy to view as good: I’m clothed, housed, fed (if I could remember to eat, that is), with a nice car, nice enough stuff.  I’ve got lots of friends and plenty of opportunities for making money.  The potential for romance is out there, nearby, at least close enough that I can pretend for a little while (even if I am misinterpretting signals, for which I have a knack).  I’m talented and smart and blah.

But on the glass half-empty side, it’s been a long few weeks.  I’m overloading myself, which is not unusual, only this time I may have found my envelope and snapped the boundaries.  I just spent way too much money getting that nice car repaired (just three months after purchasing it, I might add).  I am so busy that I continually — moreso than usual — forget to eat, and I’m getting even less sleep than usual.  My chosen career sucks, but in order to keep fed and housed, I don’t have a lot of other options at the moment. My house is a wreck, and for someone as borderline anal retentive as I am, that just adds to the stress.
I’m at least keeping myself from sinking into the familiar depths of funk by focusing on the former and doing my best to push the latter from my head.  There’s that.  Knowing that you’re bipolar doesn’t fix things, but it does make it easier to cope.

But I’m tired, honestly.  Tired of struggling, and tired of my ideas and plans to lessen the struggle backfiring on me.  I begin to understand more and more the people that withdraw from the world and become hermits in the woods, sending scathing rants scrawled on unlined paper to their local newspapers, thinking anyone gives a shit about how they feel about the decline of their once beautiful United States, surrounded by animals that they talk to by name with an earnest sincerity that would spook the boldest of therapists.

I want to push all this out of my head, not only because it’s a waste of perfectly good mental and emotional energy, but because I fear that I will miss out on too many of the small moments that I have faith are headed my way.

What I wouldn’t give to trade this for a simple case of option anxiety.

This line of thinking is largely a response to Spiff’s wonderings today, but that’s largely because it’s one of those puzzle pieces that has fascinated me for a very long time, one that I keep coming back to (as does Spiff). I would summarize, but I assume you can read, so go. I’ll wait…

…

Back?  Okay, good.  I’m not sure if you read the comments, but here was my response:

“Some moments do “just happen” totally independent of your control. You have to learn to recognize them — better, to intuit them, so that you can feel them coming and better steel yourself to appreciate them.

In fact, having said that, the best moments – the ones that most of us, you and I especially, live for — happen outside of our ability to control or capture. Otherwise, we’d be making those moments all the time, and then they wouldn’t be so special.”

To which he responded, via email:

“Yes, moments happen not only as a result of our actions, but others’ as well. But do we not choose where we are, and when we are there? It’s like the tree question: Does it make a sound if no one is there to here it? Does a moment occur if we don’t experience it? If you’re not paying attention, it’s not a moment. And I don’t mean those life-changing, euphoric moments either. If we choose them to be, everything we experience – even something as simple as typing these words on the computer – can be a moment from which we can learn, which we can enjoy, and so on. In some ways it’s a very microscopic view, but in others, it’s grand and sweeping.”

(And this is where the conversation will turn to a three dimensional jigsaw puzzle, and I will at some point walk away because all the tangents are tangled and convoluted. But since this is an intercompany blog crossover — the first of its kind, maybe? — I’m hoping that Richard might pick up a few threads and either run with them or argue with me, helping me to clarify my own thoughts. And any of you that wish to join, leave me a comment if you do; I’ll make sure that we start including you in the circle of talking.)

It sounds as though Spiff and I are sitting on opposite sides of the table here,  but I don’t think we disagree at all. I’m not saying these mystical moments in life are out of our hands; I’m also not saying that they are.  Rather, I think that’s maybe reducing the concept down to a binary line of examination, which is a bad idea.  There are many contributing factors in the experiencing of moments: where and why and when and how you have chosen to be.  What your intentions are going ahead a week or two weeks. What else and who else are in the same environment.  How receptive you are to the situation, and how perceptive. How receptive other people are. Whether that butterfly you let go in Nebraska last week has made it to New Zealand yet.

Try making one of those moments — and I’m talking about the big, life-changing ones that you remember forever.  It’s like starting from a fresh chess board and trying to accurately predict what the board will look like 53 moves from now against a player you’ve never seen before.  Not impossible — nothing is, really — but highly unlikely, at best.

Next: does a moment occur if we don’t experience it?  Yep.  I can look back and realize how many I missed by being too distracted by fear.  Not to mention that you’re assuming that moments are defined by us, and are purely perspective based. I think I agree there.  But maybe not; maybe these moments are universal, and we simply choose to envelope ourselves in them or not.

My last bit: We are the definers of the big moments.  Those moments — for me, a first kiss, or winning the Sidewrite competition, or getting lost in the solo of a song — are chosen by us, not necessarily consciously, and our definitions of big shift from day to day, depending on our tastes, our desires, our needs, and our environments.  The small moments, if you choose to take a Zen approach, can be just as joyous, possibly as overwhelming (though I think that requires a need for such a feeling, alongside the discipline to recognize it).  But then, you’re getting back to my view that nothing is good or bad until we as individuals define it as such.

It’s all perspective.  But what is the path to adjusting your perspective to allowing the small moments to be huge?  Or even to recognizing the rarity of the big moments, such that you don’t miss out on them through meaningless and trivial distraction?

Ah, questions for the ages.

For thirty years where have I been?
Eyes open but not getting through to me.
-Dream Theater, “Octavarium”

I wrote a little while ago about the struggles that I’ve had to confirm and retain my identity in the face of societal expectations. It’s something that I’ve wrestled with all my life — coming to terms with the fact that the things that I was told all my life that I should do, the things that I should work towards, the things that I should enjoy and find fulfilling; coming to terms with the fact that these things don’t mesh with the things that I want.

This is not something that I’ve just started dealing with, which may explain my frustration with the topic. I’ve been fighting with my parents’ ideals and goals, and to some extent, greater society on the whole, since I was in my teens. I wanted to be a musician; I should have been an engineer, or a lawyer, or a computer scientist, because those things pay good money (especially working with computers), which will allow me to have a family and provide and blahblahblahblah. And I never was too good at wearing the things that I was supposed to wear, or listening to what everyone else did, or thinking or saying things that went along with the mainstream.

I’ve learned over time that being someone outside the norm is a wonderful thing. There are all sorts of benefits – you’re more noticeable, more memorable. You think differently than most, and so your outside-the-box contributions are often in demand. And you don’t feel pressure like most do, if you learn to accept the place that you’ve put yourself; there’s no keeping up with the Joneses. Occasionally, something you do comes into vogue, and you’re a trendsetter for a little while.

But it’s not easy. Not always, at least. My brain, for a long time, has to varying extents continued to choose between what I want and what people want for me, often getting the two catalogued into the wrong category.

Kasey held up a mirror to me today, though, and while I am perfectly aware of what’s going on in my head — introspection ain’t pretty but it sure is fun! — it was a good reality check for someone else to slap me in the face with my own advice. After all, if I can’t follow it, who can? And who would, for that matter?
Lately I’ve come back to sorting through what’s me and what’s the brainwashing (poor choice of word, though not completely) I’ve picked up all my life. That’s tough, figuring out what you really want, especially when you’ve trained yourself to second guess and question every answer. But you have to force yourself through these conversations with all the voices, to figure out where you are, where you want to go, and how you should best get there. Not to mention figuring out which voices are yours and which are your families’, friends’, whatever. And which ones just need a little more alcohol, because you’ve got to sleep sometime, damn it.

The point of all this, though, is not that I’m struggling with my identity. We all do that (right?). I’ve got a ways to go to get all this figured out, and I’m okay with that.

This is more of a public thanks, to Kasey, specifically, for accepting me as I am and letting me know that she does. But also to Wade, and James and Mandy and Katie and Mom and Dad and so many others who have (mostly) not given me grief about my choices and decisions, for realizing it’s my life and I am the only one who can live it (at least, where the parents are concerned, for the past decade or so). It’s important when reestablishing who you are to have people behind you that will support you, especially if you are making unconventional changes in your life, or when you’re trying to get back to an unconventional or unpopular state.

Those who spend their lives with their well-being dependent on making other people happy, on living up to the expectations, of others, are destined to be miserable. Doing your own thing doesn’t guarantee you happiness, but it’s a much better path to follow than the alternative, I suggest. Though again, I watch Wonder Showzen and laugh like there’s no tomorrow, so my advice might be better off on a bar napkin at Bailey’s on a Saturday night.

If you have someone in your life who does eccentric or quirky or strange things, and those things don’t hurt you and don’t risk hurting the other person, why not support them? Just because you don’t like tattoos or long hair, or blue jeans and polo shirts, or country music or FRIENDS, why not tell them that it’s great that they do? Or just shut up about it, because do you really want them doing exactly what you do?

They have their own lives to lead, as do you. If you’re going to be travelling the same path for a while, it might be best for you to be ready to support them, as you hope they will be ready for you to do.

Once you’ve accepted that you’re ultimately on your own in life, and demanded that people accept your for who you are — not just select bits and pieces that fit comfortably in with their ideal, but all of you, shadows and dirt included — it makes living happily and freely a much easier process.

I do my best to live my actions and speak my words in such a way that I will never regret any of them.

If nothing else, no one will ever have power over me by threatening to reveal a secret that I hold. Make that threat, if you want, but go ahead and hand me the phone so that I can dial your intended caller for you.

When Sir Walter Scott said “What a tangled web we weave / When first we practice to deceive” (Marmion) (not Shakespeare — there’s your trivia for the day), I think he was talking about the mess you find yourself in when you lie, and how it draws you in deeper the more you try to untangle yourself from it. I could be wrong; I’m functionally illiterate, and obscure Scottish novels are never published with pictures.

But I think that there are many forms of lying, and hiding or not revealing information is just as powerfully sticky as a blatant mistruth.

I’m not a good chess player, because the strategy comes in-game, and I’m terrible at adjusting my plans on the fly when it involves other thinking beings.  But goddamn if preparation isn’t the key to winning — or at least never having to play the fucking game.

“Live never to be ashamed if anything you say or do is published around the world, even if what is said is not true.” –Richard Bach

I was asked recently what the most romantic thing I’ve ever done for anyone is.  It’s a tough question — I’m a romantic at heart, and I’m constantly doing things to show the person that I’m seeing / interested in / married to (wow — how many other people would add that to a list of ways to describe “significant other”?) that I’m thinking of them.  I like doing that, both for the obivous reason — that would be to show them that I’m thinking of them, for the mentally incapable at home — as well as to make them smile, and hopefully feel a little better about life in general.

I used to think — as we’re all programmed to do — that it’s all about money, and buying gifts.  That certainly is a valid point, but that line of thinking is dangerous, not only to your credit rating (ask my accountant if you have lingering doubt) but to your ability to be romantic.  Don’t misinterpret — I love to get gifts, small or big.   But sometimes, the best gifts are free.

I love things that are not generic, little things that are geared obviously to me. Flowers are nice, sure (ladies: every guy in the world except for those with tiny tiny penises would love, just once, for the woman in his life to give him flowers.  For the record.) but even better are those things that show that I’m the one in your thoughts.  A friend once made me — by hand — a book, a journal for me to write things like this in, made from printer paper cut in half and duct tape and some of her art (it’s much more attractive than I’m making it sound).  It’s quite possibly the best and most cherished gift that I’ve ever received.

I once wrote a song for Melissa.  I’ve written poetry (you can laugh and point all you want, but don’t knock it until you try it), and even an (award-winning) screenplay (Muckfuppet  – coming soon to a film festival near you).  One of my tattoos was an anniversary gift to Melissa*. I’ve drawn things, and hand-picked bouquets of flowers.

So, maybe you’re poor and utterly uncreative.  You know what’s romantic?  A random email or text message, one or two lines only, something inspired by your significant other (“Remember what I said about your smile?  Well, I guess I meant it about all of you.”). If you’re in the same house as them, walk over to them and give them a hug, or a gentle kiss, suggestive of nothing.  Clean their apartment while they’re out of town with the girls for the weekend.

The best thing about relationships (being in them, specifically) is the chance to show and receive romantic gestures, from the cosmically grand to the everyday and seemingly insignificant. All of it adds up, in the end.

And don’t take these things for granted — when you’re alone again, single and living it up, once all the memories are comfortable again and you’ve finally gotten used to cooking for one and stretching out across your whole bed, it’s these little things that you’ll still miss.  Getting and giving.

I know I do.

* To those who wonder if I regret that tattoo: no. Melissa was a major part of my life for five years, and those five years largely dictated many things about who and where I am.  I make sure that all of my ink means something to me that I want to hold on to for life, and I think that bit of ink is among my favorite, because it keeps me from forgetting a lot of important things.  And it’s a cool design, too. 

If you have always wanted to live a stress-free, dramaless life, there’s just one very simple step:

Drop all people from your life.

Mostly, by and large, I don’t have stress issues. Over time, I’ve adopted a philosophy that has helped me take control over large parts of my life, and that has helped me recognize the things I don’t control (and consequently, to let go of my concern about those things).

Unfortunately, I still have a few human beings as friends and family. Don’t get me wrong — it wouldn’t be any better if I had them as pets. But still.

Some people around me are quite good at keeping their own lives in check. I love those people. And I’m the first to admit I invite my own fair share of drama into my own life — hell, I create some here and there. But I bore easily and have ADD, if anyone needs an excuse.

It’s the shit outside of those parameters that has swarmed into my life this week. And I love the people involved — at least three of them; and I know they’re going to be around for a while, or so I hope. The drama’s not going away — if it’s not in its present form, it’ll be in some other disguise. But this week, of all weeks, for the needless bullshit that could be avoided with a word or a walk in the opposite direction – I would say something about it being Friday and how great that is, but when you work your second job on the weekend, that doesn’t mean as much as it should.

But goddamn, I’m looking forward to this weekend. I’m making absolutely no plans outside of my responsibilities to work, because I’m going to have three days of not being let down or disappointed or dragged into (read: stepping willingly toward) someone else’s wild, wild life. I’m going to catch up on my own things instead of getting bogged down in someone else’s. I may even get drunk. Yeah, that’s right, drunk.

Which of course will lead to me drunk dialing Kasey and telling her that I want to marry her. That’s where problems always begin — drunk dialing leads to Vegas weddings, which in turn lead to tabloid stories, more stalkerazzi, car chases down Sunset Strip, lawsuits, and community service.

Nothing kills the drama like a bright orange jump suit in the Alabama summer. But then divorce is usually right around the corner, and I kinda like Kasey, so maybe I should put this off for a month or two. Or set-up a good prenup, at the least.