Oh — that’s R*u*ffles, isn’t it?

In volunteering to do more for Sidewalk, my favorite group of people in town, I’ve apparently signed up to help sell raffle tickets.

I’m not a salesman. Used to be; would rather die choking on someone’s hair than go back. But it’s a good cause — the money raised is split evenly between Sidewalk and Artwalk (another fine group of folks, raising cultural awareness by nearly double in this town).

So here’s the deal:

• The raffle tickets are a mere $5 apiece.
• The raffle is for a 1971 Vintage Vespa (that’s a scooter, for those of you in the wonder — and a rather sexy one at that).
• You don’t have to be present to win. Though, the Vespa’s being awarded at the Sidewalk Film Festival award ceremony, so you might be there anyway, right?
• If I sell enough boxes of Girl Scout Vespas, I get neat prizes.

  (I’m thirteen, all over again, only without the cracking voice and acne breakout)

Contact me at kenn at insomniactive dot com if you’re interested.

Hey, even if the Vespa’s not your thing, you’re supporting local film and art, and that’s nothing but a good thing. Spread the word, and send ’em my way.

CNN.com – Youth pleads not guilty in baseball bat killing – May 2, 2005: “A 13-year-old California boy pleaded not guilty to murder charges Monday in the killing of a friend with a baseball bat after a youth league game last month.”

SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES

is sometimes — quite often, actually, and inexplicably — read by my eyes and brain as

SOMETHING WICKER THIS WAY COMES

which is frankly more horrifying than anything by Bradbury.

It’s especially funny when a death metal band records a song with the former title and I interpret it as the latter.

m/ FURNITURE FOR THE DEVIL! m/

When I find the astrologer who will not bother using her predictive powers for the forces of good, but rather just tell the damn truth, I’ll start paying her very good money.

For instance: I’m tired of the generic “This is a good month for love.”

It’s ALWAYS a good month for love. What about ME?

“Wealth is on your mind, and you’ll find yourself surprised.”

Wealth is often on my mind, yes — much like the rest of America. And I usually do manage to find myself surprised at least once in the day, but it usually has nothing to do with money.

What I’m waiting for is this:

“You’ve got death and destruction on your mind, and why not? People suck, and you know it. If there’s ever a time to stop thinking and just act, this is it; the stars are on your side, and for the next twelve hours, you might even get away with murder.”

See, this shows up in my email, and I’m automatically thinking that they love to use cliched phrases like “get away with murder.” Nostradamus meets Hallmark. Predictions for the cleverness impaired.

But damn, if they really menat it?

Nancy Reagan would have NOTHING on me.

Secret Service probes missing Time Warner employee data – May. 2, 2005: “Time Warner Inc. said Monday that data on 600,000 current and former employees stored on computer backup tapes was lost by an outside storage company and that the Secret Service is now investigating.”

That goofy looking army girl — England, right? — she’s guilty. Duh.

That girl who ran away from her wedding? She’s gonna be a criminal. Let this be a lesson, kids, that you should NEVER imitate Julia Roberts in her home state.

North Korea’s testing missiles, Iran’s threatening nuclear testing, and more soldiers die in Iraq every day we stay. You go, Shrub! Well done.

And writing documentation for a product in a constant state of flux: fun.

If you define fun as something entirely different, that is.

By now everyone with an interest in science or computers has stared in wonder at pictorial representations of the amazing fractal called the Mandelbrot set. If you are one of the few remaining holdouts, then do yourself a favor and explore the full color illustrations of this infinite mathematical labyrinth (one readily available source is James Gleick’s popular book Chaos). These images, depicting seemingly endless layers of complexity and geometric inventiveness, strike deep intellectual and emotional chords. A large part of the magic is due to the fact that as you plunge deeper into the Mandelbrot set you encounter ever-more-tiny copies of itself within the riot of detail. This “worlds within worlds” aspect, or self-similarity, calls to mind the famous poem of William Blake:

“To see a World in a Grain of Sand…
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower
Hold Infinity in the Palm of your hand
And Eternity in an hour.”

A truly remarkable thing about the Mandelbrot set is that it is not generated by long strings of incomprehensible equations, but rather by a simple recursive algorithm that can be embodied in a few lines of computer code. So the seemingly infinite complexity of the Mandelbrot set has a simple underlying order. Here one is reminded of Coleridge and his “unity in variety.” Using this fractal as an archetype, one can say that two hallmarks of fractal systems are: (1) inherent hierarchical organization, and (2) self-similarity, i.e., the copies within copies within…motif…

[more can be found here]

I wish I had learned earlier than I did that excitement and drama are not necessarily the same thing. I crave a life filled with excitement; I also cravea life empty and devoid of drama.

Fortunately, over the past few years, I’ve managed to avoid people who will bring drama to me. Mostly, I should say… And again mostly, I’ve managed to avoid behaviors on my part that will do the same. I’m learning to recognize the signs of people that crave Springer-esque moments, and trying to keep them at arm’s length (at worst).

There are certain behaviors that I just can’t understand, and those people tend to display them with utter disregard for the world around them. And I wonder if there’s something deeper that they are gaining from their actions, something more meaningful than creating their own little soap opera. There must be, right?

I know, I’m totally mistaken.

Perhaps it’s an issue of misery loving company. Or maybe excitement and drama are more equitable to some.

Yuck.

And then there’s the thought, crossing my mind at this moment, that the only true way to avoid this sort of thing is to move to a log cabin in the deep woods somewhere, and hermitize oneself. But that idea, while occasionally appealing, is overall not a part of what I want for myself.

The other answer is to live with no regrets and no secrets. God knows I’ve done enough stupid shit in my life that I probably should have kept quiet, but I didn’t. I learned a long time ago that actions have reactions (even reactions have reactions), that a butterfly in Nebraska is causing a hurricane in the Atlantic. And I’ve learned to take no action that I am not willing to deal with any reactions. Any secrets I have belong to me and me alone, because lips flap. Photographic evidence is already something I’m aware of.

Babbling. Rambling like no one’s bidness.

The solutions to life are found not from a distance but immersed in the heart of the question.

Or maybe by spending an equal time between the two?

There is no reset button in life. But perhaps the key to getting what you want is starting every day as if it were your first? Not ignoring the past or things you’ve hopefully learned, but opening yourself up to constant re-evaluation and redefinition. Change is not easy, but it is necessary and a fact of life; less resistance and a more fluid defense might be the key.

Locks and keys. What opens when you find the right one?

There’s a numerical basis underlying all of this, patterns in the ivy.

Eric and Chance can now get married happily.

The bachelor party went better than anyone could have reasonably hoped. Mnay people showed up to send Eric and Chance off. Mnay drinks were consumed. No one was arrested. Eric made it home by 2:30, as drunk as I’ve ever seen him and smiling like a loon. Chance was spotted heading to his house around 5:30, so I assume he made it to Marty’s for his desired cheeseburger. And an ex-stripper just happened to be in Bailey’s last night, and was kind (drunk) enough to put on a little show for Eric and Chance.

Right place, weird time. Love it.

Congratulations, boys. Now go get married, and hurry back. We’ve got music to make.

No. That’s all. No matter what the story you hear, I am still, at 33 and with all the encouragement in the world, a complete puss.

On the other hand… I’m ready to kill. There is no need for such drama, and honestly, at the moment, I’m not entirely sure to whom I should be directing my anger toward. It’s entirely possible that that person is me…. But no.

I’ve got better things to worry about.

“What a tangled web we weave
When first we practice to deceive.”

Fuck all.

{note: I was drunk enough when I wrote this that I’m not what I meant by most of this. I might have an inkling of an idea, but nothing solid. And that amuses me to no end at all }