[Yeah, so, I started this post 31 July 2008 and never finished it... so now, nearly a year later (5 may 2009), I'm publishing it as-is.)
So it's been over a year since I finally left the part of the country I called home for most of my life. It's been a damned great year. I've learned so much--and to me, learning is what life's about. As of tomorrow, it's a year ago since I arrived in Hawaii. That's where I learned the most vital lesson so far on this journey.
As I mentioned in the previous blog, I was pretty much living a life of luxury* with a job paying $14/hr, and splitting already-low rent and utilities three-ways with the coolest roommates in the world. I knew I had to leave these comforts behind (since 2001, my primary motivation in life was a dream that told me to 'go to the monastery'), but I really didn't know just how far that would have to go.
I told myself I'd save up "enough" money. Problem is, what is enough money? Enough for what? Well, for anything. Anything could happen, so I would have liked an inexhaustible backing (as I mentioned, I became obsessed with winning the lottery). But I was also realistic enough to know that a couple thousand dollars would probably suffice. If I was going to be in the monastery, I could sell my car when I got there--not because I'd need the money, but because I wouldn't need the car. Do you see the problem with the way I was thinking? If you do, you're better off than I was. I wasn't thinking about how much I needed the money, or how it might be useful; it just never entered my mind to have no money at all.
----- ---- --- -- -
*A couple of weeks ago, James Funderburk called for a chat. I told him about all the things I'd done in Seattle so far, and he told me he didn't get to do much while he lived here, because he had to work so much, living on "the verge of homelessness." I reflected that for me, the "verge of homelessness" is a step away from that condition, rather than the last step before it. To me, now, the verge of homelessness seems like a leisurely, decadent lifestyle.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
[general]
I post MySpace bulletins from time to time (i.e., that's pretty much how you can tell on which days I have access to the internet) with a "Song of the Day." I basically take the lyrics to a song I've heard within the past 24 hours, which stuck with me or made me feel something, and I rework those lyrics as prose. Today I did two Saul Williams songs ("1987" and "Tao of Now"), but this is the real song of the day. It's so catchy, I just might get circumcised.
I'm going to eventually get around to revising the tags on my previous posts, and using only very general and common tags. There's just no use for so many. I think I'll narrow it down to things like "revolution" for my rants, "adventure" for my, well, adventures, and "piracy" for my Big Idea. And even though I already have sixteen blogs, I just might start up one for book reviews (actually, there is one among those sixteen; I suppose I'll just update it--I last posted there almost six years ago) and another for song-of-the-days... I have it in my head that now I'm actually living an interesting life, I might just start up a website rather than make use of MySpace for all my publishing needs.
Oh yeah, and I'll definitely keep the "wx" tag, because weather in Seattle is worth mentioning. It's July--the end of July, even--and it's not going to get over 70°F today. Here's some perspective:
Murfreesboro, TN: currently 91° (feels like 100°), with 57% humidity
Tucson, AZ: 103° (98°) 14%
Killeen, TX: 100° (109°... good Lord, dad, leave) 38%
Seattle, WA: 69° (68°) 42%
Let's see... what else is up? Josh (Jenn's boyfriend) moved in with us, so now we're three people living in a one-bedroom apartment. We're planning to relocate next month, hopefully to another, equally affordable place in the area. Also, I'm squirelling money away in the hopes of being able to afford rent & deposits for the new place and still make it to Burning Man. As long as I limit myself to the supermarket (i.e., cut out Red Robin and the Joker--but Jolly Roger's still cool 'cause it's cheap), I should be able to save up weird amounts of money.
I remember working full-time for T-Mobile, making something like $14/hour... what a life of luxury! But the thing is, I always lived up to my means... I have just as much spare cash as I did then, it seems, even though here I pay nearly double the rent, and over double in gas (even though it's a 30% shorter drive to work).
And I was obsessed with winning the lottery, then. I was spending $50/month on lottery tickets and thinking about what I'd do with the winnings.
And do you know what I was going to do? I was going to live more simply, and travel more. With the excess dough, I was going to do things that would help people. I actually thought to myself, "if I had more money, I could help people."
And then I thought to myself, "what are you doing to help people with the money you have now?" I stopped playing the lottery, then.
And then I did an even crazier thing: I quit my job. So not only did I have less income... I had no income.
And do you know what I did then? I lived more simply, and I traveled more.
This is treatening to turn into a much longer post that what I've resigned myself to (I'm about to head to the library to pick up a book that's being held for me), and so I'm going to change tack (but note to self, add "money" to the list of blogs-to-come) and just mention that me:income / water:pitcher. Whatever size container my employer grants me, I conform to its shape. I see no reason to do that, when I could live even more simply, and have even more money... and then I could actually use that money to help people--for now. Ultimately, I intend to help people with no money at all. But until I work up that much nerve...
Oh, yes, and other things I've been up to:
last Monday, Jenn, Josh and I met up with coworkers+ at Golden Garden (the beach not far from our home; have I mentioned we hope to find a new place in the same general area?). It was a good time, although I managed to get embarrassingly drunk, and Jenny (one of my coworkers) told me it's going to be a weekly event now. Perhaps with a bit less alcohol, though. So anybody coming to visit Seattle, be sure you're here on a Monday.
The day before that, Anna and I went to the Center for Wooden Boats to take part in the free sailing they make available on Sundays. Most of the voyages were booked full by the time we arrived, but there was room left on the last one--which was on John Wayne's yacht! So we got to go out for a 45min trip around Lake Union. Very nice. When visiting, also plan to be here on a Sunday.
Yesterday, I saw the new X-Files movie. I was very pleased. Katie said it wasn't like the X-Files. It wasn't like an episode of the show (it was, in fact, like a movie), but I thought it had everything that the X-Files had ever had going for it. Katie complained there wasn't enoug Skinner, but that's because she's a perv.
Top it off with a good (abeit short) conversation with Nathan, and making Jenn watch V for Vendetta, and yesterday was just another good day in a good week in a great city.
I'm going to eventually get around to revising the tags on my previous posts, and using only very general and common tags. There's just no use for so many. I think I'll narrow it down to things like "revolution" for my rants, "adventure" for my, well, adventures, and "piracy" for my Big Idea. And even though I already have sixteen blogs, I just might start up one for book reviews (actually, there is one among those sixteen; I suppose I'll just update it--I last posted there almost six years ago) and another for song-of-the-days... I have it in my head that now I'm actually living an interesting life, I might just start up a website rather than make use of MySpace for all my publishing needs.
Oh yeah, and I'll definitely keep the "wx" tag, because weather in Seattle is worth mentioning. It's July--the end of July, even--and it's not going to get over 70°F today. Here's some perspective:
Murfreesboro, TN: currently 91° (feels like 100°), with 57% humidity
Tucson, AZ: 103° (98°) 14%
Killeen, TX: 100° (109°... good Lord, dad, leave) 38%
Seattle, WA: 69° (68°) 42%
Let's see... what else is up? Josh (Jenn's boyfriend) moved in with us, so now we're three people living in a one-bedroom apartment. We're planning to relocate next month, hopefully to another, equally affordable place in the area. Also, I'm squirelling money away in the hopes of being able to afford rent & deposits for the new place and still make it to Burning Man. As long as I limit myself to the supermarket (i.e., cut out Red Robin and the Joker--but Jolly Roger's still cool 'cause it's cheap), I should be able to save up weird amounts of money.
I remember working full-time for T-Mobile, making something like $14/hour... what a life of luxury! But the thing is, I always lived up to my means... I have just as much spare cash as I did then, it seems, even though here I pay nearly double the rent, and over double in gas (even though it's a 30% shorter drive to work).
And I was obsessed with winning the lottery, then. I was spending $50/month on lottery tickets and thinking about what I'd do with the winnings.
And do you know what I was going to do? I was going to live more simply, and travel more. With the excess dough, I was going to do things that would help people. I actually thought to myself, "if I had more money, I could help people."
And then I thought to myself, "what are you doing to help people with the money you have now?" I stopped playing the lottery, then.
And then I did an even crazier thing: I quit my job. So not only did I have less income... I had no income.
And do you know what I did then? I lived more simply, and I traveled more.
This is treatening to turn into a much longer post that what I've resigned myself to (I'm about to head to the library to pick up a book that's being held for me), and so I'm going to change tack (but note to self, add "money" to the list of blogs-to-come) and just mention that me:income / water:pitcher. Whatever size container my employer grants me, I conform to its shape. I see no reason to do that, when I could live even more simply, and have even more money... and then I could actually use that money to help people--for now. Ultimately, I intend to help people with no money at all. But until I work up that much nerve...
Oh, yes, and other things I've been up to:
last Monday, Jenn, Josh and I met up with coworkers+ at Golden Garden (the beach not far from our home; have I mentioned we hope to find a new place in the same general area?). It was a good time, although I managed to get embarrassingly drunk, and Jenny (one of my coworkers) told me it's going to be a weekly event now. Perhaps with a bit less alcohol, though. So anybody coming to visit Seattle, be sure you're here on a Monday.
The day before that, Anna and I went to the Center for Wooden Boats to take part in the free sailing they make available on Sundays. Most of the voyages were booked full by the time we arrived, but there was room left on the last one--which was on John Wayne's yacht! So we got to go out for a 45min trip around Lake Union. Very nice. When visiting, also plan to be here on a Sunday.
Yesterday, I saw the new X-Files movie. I was very pleased. Katie said it wasn't like the X-Files. It wasn't like an episode of the show (it was, in fact, like a movie), but I thought it had everything that the X-Files had ever had going for it. Katie complained there wasn't enoug Skinner, but that's because she's a perv.
Top it off with a good (abeit short) conversation with Nathan, and making Jenn watch V for Vendetta, and yesterday was just another good day in a good week in a great city.
Monday, July 21, 2008
... then the laundry
I don't like my last post. it's lame, boring, and poorly written. However, editing or rewriting it would make me think of the Summer Jam again, and I'm just not willing to do it. Removing it would be counter-productive to this blog.
So I'm going to write another article to feel better about myself. Also because, I tend to do anything but laundry on laundry day. Blog excessively, for example.
I never minded doing laundry. For one thing, I usually wouldn't have done much else with my day. I would sit and watch TV or play games or laze about in my room. Laundry would not stand in my way, except for the few minutes it took to move a load from washer to dryer.
Now, though, I have to go to a laundromat. I'm way lucky and perhaps even spoiled to have lived thirty-one years before going, but that only makes it worse now. I can't watch TV--when I'm doing my laundry, the TV is two miles away. I can hardly read, since I have to check and recheck and finally move the laundry (when I had my own washer/dryer, they would get moved when I felt like it; it was rare that someone would be waiting in line). (This is not to say I don't read; it's just frustrating, is all.)
But the real bother to me isn't that I can't sit at home & be lazy--it's that I wouldn't sit at home and be lazy. The day of laundry (and at this point it will be a day, since I haven't done laundry in something like three weeks) is a day where I am forced to sit and be lazy.
After yesterday's tedium, I would love to get out and do something today. I would like to go to Portland, specifically. I could have gone out this morning, checked it out, spent the night [somewhere], and come back tomorrow in time for work. Except that I need clean clothes to wear to work.
Of course, the real issue isn't how long the laundry will take, but how long I'll take to do the lanudry. I woke up at 9:00AM. It's not after 2:30PM, and I still haven't done it. I'd be back by now; I could be on my way to Portland by now, even.
This is one of those of those backwards ways my mind works. I'm wicked prone to procrastination. I can talk myself into waiting for or delaying anything. I can also distract myself with a billion things that suddenly seem interesting. For example, I've watched three episodes of "The X-Files" today (okay, that's a weak example; "The X-Files" is interesting). For example, I've read the imdb.com trivia page for the movie Like Mike today. For example, I edited my MySpace page today. And the thing is, I even have productive things I could do online (I can already feel Katie silently damning me for not reading her screenplay)! But: I Cannot Allow Myself to do productive things when there are more important productive things to do. I can't go to Portland--I have to do laundry! I can't read that screenplay--I have to do laundry! I can't break out the watercolors--I have to do laundry! I can't buy shelving for my room--I have to do laundry! I can't pick up my book from the library (oh shit, I had better do that, actually)--I have to do laundry! But I will get around to the laundry just after I watch this episode; just after I make my MySpace page orange; just after have lunch; just after this beer.
le sigh
So I'm going to write another article to feel better about myself. Also because, I tend to do anything but laundry on laundry day. Blog excessively, for example.
I never minded doing laundry. For one thing, I usually wouldn't have done much else with my day. I would sit and watch TV or play games or laze about in my room. Laundry would not stand in my way, except for the few minutes it took to move a load from washer to dryer.
Now, though, I have to go to a laundromat. I'm way lucky and perhaps even spoiled to have lived thirty-one years before going, but that only makes it worse now. I can't watch TV--when I'm doing my laundry, the TV is two miles away. I can hardly read, since I have to check and recheck and finally move the laundry (when I had my own washer/dryer, they would get moved when I felt like it; it was rare that someone would be waiting in line). (This is not to say I don't read; it's just frustrating, is all.)
But the real bother to me isn't that I can't sit at home & be lazy--it's that I wouldn't sit at home and be lazy. The day of laundry (and at this point it will be a day, since I haven't done laundry in something like three weeks) is a day where I am forced to sit and be lazy.
After yesterday's tedium, I would love to get out and do something today. I would like to go to Portland, specifically. I could have gone out this morning, checked it out, spent the night [somewhere], and come back tomorrow in time for work. Except that I need clean clothes to wear to work.
Of course, the real issue isn't how long the laundry will take, but how long I'll take to do the lanudry. I woke up at 9:00AM. It's not after 2:30PM, and I still haven't done it. I'd be back by now; I could be on my way to Portland by now, even.
This is one of those of those backwards ways my mind works. I'm wicked prone to procrastination. I can talk myself into waiting for or delaying anything. I can also distract myself with a billion things that suddenly seem interesting. For example, I've watched three episodes of "The X-Files" today (okay, that's a weak example; "The X-Files" is interesting). For example, I've read the imdb.com trivia page for the movie Like Mike today. For example, I edited my MySpace page today. And the thing is, I even have productive things I could do online (I can already feel Katie silently damning me for not reading her screenplay)! But: I Cannot Allow Myself to do productive things when there are more important productive things to do. I can't go to Portland--I have to do laundry! I can't read that screenplay--I have to do laundry! I can't break out the watercolors--I have to do laundry! I can't buy shelving for my room--I have to do laundry! I can't pick up my book from the library (oh shit, I had better do that, actually)--I have to do laundry! But I will get around to the laundry just after I watch this episode; just after I make my MySpace page orange; just after have lunch; just after this beer.
le sigh
KUBE 93 Summer Jam
I just saw an amazing shot, in a scene from the X-Files episode "Red Museum." Scully, Mulder and a third fellow are driving down a road in a pickup, with a grey sky and farmland visible in the background. It's the lighting and focus what made it great. That has nothing to do with anything... I just wanted to remember it.
What I'm really here to talk about today is KUBE 93's Summer Jam!!!1!OMG!
So my cousin Bria turned thirteen recently, or is turning thirteen soon (FYI: I am horrible at rememebering birthdays), and to celebrate she got three tickets to the big event. She really didn't want her parents to go with her (at the end of the night she admitted this, because she feared her parents would have locked her away upon discovering she listened to music about getting high/drunk/etc), but luckily Court moved to Seattle--which means I get to play Big Brother. Which means Bria, her friend Lauren, and I were on our way to see Ray J, Bow Wow, T-Pain, The Game, and Li'l Wayne!!
Unsurprisingly, Bria had the closest, most expensive tickets (as soon as she realized there were such things as Backstage Passes, she became obsessed with obtaining one). I don't think she had very realistic expectations, unfortunately. To her, being in the pit meant we'd be right up front! where all the action is! To me, it meant we'd be standing. For six hours. My expectations were not realistic either: we were standing there for eight and a half hours. I also did not expect it to be so dreadfully boring.
I'm no fan of any of the artists, but expected them to be at least entertaining. Alas.
Bow Wow was the most entertaining, mostly just because of his entrance (running up some stairs and leaping across the stage), but also because he was backed up by Khleo Thomas (the kid who played Zero in Holes). Oh, and because in one of his songs, he referred to beating a woman's ass "like Mike." Yep. That's as good as it got.
Although I really can't say enough bad things about the day, and actually don't have much nice to say about it either, it really wasn't such a bad day. It was pretty much like a twelve hour shift working at the cashwrap at BN... I stood there. It was long and tedious. And then we left.
Before I shut up about it (I was going to give a blow-by-blow description of the show, originally, but have decided I'm tired of thinking about it), I would like to make a special point of how unimpressed I was with T-Pain. I'd never heard of him before, so it's not like I had any expectations. But I've never been so bored by a performer. He had dancers on his stage, who danced like me but not as well (FYI: I am more embarrassed by than I am proud of my "dancing"). His songs were not very interesting, and either they were all very short, or he simply didn't finish them. But by far, the most incredibly irritating thing was that every [two-minute] song (except one) of his over-an-hour set ended with the same sound effect of an explosion as the DJ yelled "Ohhhh!" (the one exceptional song still featured the sound effect, but the DJ did not yell).
Anyway, I'm done with it. Over and out.
[blogs coming soon: fellow travelers, death]
What I'm really here to talk about today is KUBE 93's Summer Jam!!!1!OMG!
So my cousin Bria turned thirteen recently, or is turning thirteen soon (FYI: I am horrible at rememebering birthdays), and to celebrate she got three tickets to the big event. She really didn't want her parents to go with her (at the end of the night she admitted this, because she feared her parents would have locked her away upon discovering she listened to music about getting high/drunk/etc), but luckily Court moved to Seattle--which means I get to play Big Brother. Which means Bria, her friend Lauren, and I were on our way to see Ray J, Bow Wow, T-Pain, The Game, and Li'l Wayne!!
Unsurprisingly, Bria had the closest, most expensive tickets (as soon as she realized there were such things as Backstage Passes, she became obsessed with obtaining one). I don't think she had very realistic expectations, unfortunately. To her, being in the pit meant we'd be right up front! where all the action is! To me, it meant we'd be standing. For six hours. My expectations were not realistic either: we were standing there for eight and a half hours. I also did not expect it to be so dreadfully boring.
I'm no fan of any of the artists, but expected them to be at least entertaining. Alas.
Bow Wow was the most entertaining, mostly just because of his entrance (running up some stairs and leaping across the stage), but also because he was backed up by Khleo Thomas (the kid who played Zero in Holes). Oh, and because in one of his songs, he referred to beating a woman's ass "like Mike." Yep. That's as good as it got.
Although I really can't say enough bad things about the day, and actually don't have much nice to say about it either, it really wasn't such a bad day. It was pretty much like a twelve hour shift working at the cashwrap at BN... I stood there. It was long and tedious. And then we left.
Before I shut up about it (I was going to give a blow-by-blow description of the show, originally, but have decided I'm tired of thinking about it), I would like to make a special point of how unimpressed I was with T-Pain. I'd never heard of him before, so it's not like I had any expectations. But I've never been so bored by a performer. He had dancers on his stage, who danced like me but not as well (FYI: I am more embarrassed by than I am proud of my "dancing"). His songs were not very interesting, and either they were all very short, or he simply didn't finish them. But by far, the most incredibly irritating thing was that every [two-minute] song (except one) of his over-an-hour set ended with the same sound effect of an explosion as the DJ yelled "Ohhhh!" (the one exceptional song still featured the sound effect, but the DJ did not yell).
Anyway, I'm done with it. Over and out.
[blogs coming soon: fellow travelers, death]
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Revoeluations galore!
I just read this in Daniel Quinn's Beyond Civilization:
This only makes perfect sense to me. I used to think alot about the pilgrims, and how they set sail to find a place to start their life on their terms. I've had that on my mind a lot lately, too, and have been wondering if that's even possible today. Is there anywhere to go? (Of course, there are places. There are plenty cultures that aren't like our civilization, and it's somewhat imaginable that one could join something pre-existing; it's probably not necessary to start something NEW. But is there such a thing in a setting where one would want it? Is there some other culture to join into that's in as beautiful a place as, for example, Seattle?)
But that passage resonated in me, deeper than these recent thoughts, and it was a few minutes before I realized I'd read the best-ever description of Why I Don't Vote. I even knew that was why I don't, but I had previously been so unable to find the words, that I didn't immediately recognize them when they were presented to me. I don't support the current order of things, and not voting, to me, is as vital and significant a thing as being a conscientious objector during wartime.
My MySpace status: "Court Anonymous thinks that working for the man is part of the problem, and therefore could never be part of the solution." I've been doing things, and thinking things, and feeling things since I typed that, but haven't updated my status. Whenever I think to, I realize whatever else I might say is not as true as that statement.
Another insight I've had while reading this book today is on the subject of hierarchy. Leading up to that passage, Quinn talks a lot about how our civilization couldn't exist without a hierarchy. The ideas that sprouted from there also resonated in me. I got irritated several weeks ago, when I felt like people around me weren't the radical revolutionaries I perceived them to be when we would hang out together. It has a lot to do with the fact that I want everybody to be the revolutionaries, and I don't want to do more than anybody else--not because I'm lazy, but because I want people to live it as much (or more) as Itry aspire to. I don't believe in competition. I don't want anybody to be on top. The only person I compete with is myself (I hold the Thom Yorke quote, "Nobility is not being better than your fellow man; true nobility is being better than your former self," close to my heart).
My business ethic, as I have and am sure will continue to repeat many times, is: I want to be the best. And I want you to be the best. If I am better than you at something, I want to help you learn how to improve. If you are better than me at something, I would like to learn, with help from you, how to improve. Your success and mine are not mutually exclusive.
So to me, a hierarchy does not belong in my world-view. I do not belong in a leadership role (which will bring me to my next point in a bit), because a leadership role does not belong in my idea of life. But I do have an interest in people following the ideas that lead me into and through life.
So yeah, my next point was one of management. I've had many managers/supervisors/bosses over the years. I was discussing one of them recently (I won't say with whom, as this person still works for said boss; we'll call her Jill, and the boss Jane). Jill wascriticizing Jane telling me about how evil Jane is. In a business that was previously not about numbers (but rather about a love for the products we provided, and for our customers' appreciation for the products), Jane is ALL about the numbers. The business as a whole, as far as I can tell, is becoming very micromanaged, and Jane is micromanaging.
But the thing is, in her position, I would do (or hope to do) the same thing. I HAVE done that.
Katie asked me once why I refuse to accept another management position (after all, can't good come out of it? Didn't she and I meet when I was her manager?). My explanation is this: I want to do my job as best I can. As a manager, my boss would expect me to motivate (and hire motivated) employees to drive sales. I would be expected to make an effort to increase profits, and increase them again next year. But I have no natural motivation to do this myself. In my mind, profit is profit, and growth is unnecessary, and beating out the competition is pointless.
If, at my current job, I provide books to people, and I can maintain room and board, and my boss is able to maintain room and board, and her bosses are able to maintain room and board, and all the way to the top, everyone maintains room and board, then our business is a success. Period. Because it's my job to sell books, and that's something I beleive in.
It's not my boss's job to sell books. It's my boss's job to motivate me to turn a greater profit than ever before... which is NOT something I believe in. I believe in my job; I do not believe in my boss's job. That's simple.
But there is an allure to my boss's job: more money. A chance to change things. But this is where my personal failure comes in: if I take the job of a manager, then I want to do the best job I can. And if I'm going to motivate my employees to turn a greater profit than ever before, then I am going to micromanage the hell out of the place. I disagree with Jill; I don't think that Jane is evil, because I would do her job just like she does, and I do not think that I am evil. (Jill's other complaints, that she is passive agressive, and forces subordinates to confront eachother so she doesn't have to do it personally would, sadly, apply to me as well.)
But stepping back from that microcosm, it really cames down to the hierarchy. I refuse to rise higher in the workplace, because I do not believe in having a hierarchy in the workplace at all.
The argument that comes to mind, for me, is "if you don't want a hierarchy in the workplace, Court, then how do you expect your workplace to become/remain successful?" That brings to mind this other passage from Beyond Civilization:
But I would also recommend, to whomever might ask that question, reading this book. For all his talk about revolution and abandoning the current paradigm, every point in this book is actually a support for the argument that there is a better way to live--and he describes that way.
Because revolution in our culture has always represented an attack on hierarchy, it has always meant upheaval--literally a heaving up from below. But upheaval has no role to play in moving beyond civilzation. If the plane is in trouble, you don't shoot the pilot, you grab a parachute and jump. To overthrow the hierarchy is pointless; we just want to leave it behind.
As everyone knows (especially revolutionaries), hierarchy maintains formidable defenses against attack from the lower orders. It has none, however, against abandonment. This is in part because it can imagine revolution, but it can't imagine abandonment. But even if it could imagine abandonment, it couldn't defend against it, because abandonment isn't an attack, it's just a discontinuance of support. (p 95)
This only makes perfect sense to me. I used to think alot about the pilgrims, and how they set sail to find a place to start their life on their terms. I've had that on my mind a lot lately, too, and have been wondering if that's even possible today. Is there anywhere to go? (Of course, there are places. There are plenty cultures that aren't like our civilization, and it's somewhat imaginable that one could join something pre-existing; it's probably not necessary to start something NEW. But is there such a thing in a setting where one would want it? Is there some other culture to join into that's in as beautiful a place as, for example, Seattle?)
But that passage resonated in me, deeper than these recent thoughts, and it was a few minutes before I realized I'd read the best-ever description of Why I Don't Vote. I even knew that was why I don't, but I had previously been so unable to find the words, that I didn't immediately recognize them when they were presented to me. I don't support the current order of things, and not voting, to me, is as vital and significant a thing as being a conscientious objector during wartime.
My MySpace status: "Court Anonymous thinks that working for the man is part of the problem, and therefore could never be part of the solution." I've been doing things, and thinking things, and feeling things since I typed that, but haven't updated my status. Whenever I think to, I realize whatever else I might say is not as true as that statement.
Another insight I've had while reading this book today is on the subject of hierarchy. Leading up to that passage, Quinn talks a lot about how our civilization couldn't exist without a hierarchy. The ideas that sprouted from there also resonated in me. I got irritated several weeks ago, when I felt like people around me weren't the radical revolutionaries I perceived them to be when we would hang out together. It has a lot to do with the fact that I want everybody to be the revolutionaries, and I don't want to do more than anybody else--not because I'm lazy, but because I want people to live it as much (or more) as I
My business ethic, as I have and am sure will continue to repeat many times, is: I want to be the best. And I want you to be the best. If I am better than you at something, I want to help you learn how to improve. If you are better than me at something, I would like to learn, with help from you, how to improve. Your success and mine are not mutually exclusive.
So to me, a hierarchy does not belong in my world-view. I do not belong in a leadership role (which will bring me to my next point in a bit), because a leadership role does not belong in my idea of life. But I do have an interest in people following the ideas that lead me into and through life.
So yeah, my next point was one of management. I've had many managers/supervisors/bosses over the years. I was discussing one of them recently (I won't say with whom, as this person still works for said boss; we'll call her Jill, and the boss Jane). Jill was
But the thing is, in her position, I would do (or hope to do) the same thing. I HAVE done that.
Katie asked me once why I refuse to accept another management position (after all, can't good come out of it? Didn't she and I meet when I was her manager?). My explanation is this: I want to do my job as best I can. As a manager, my boss would expect me to motivate (and hire motivated) employees to drive sales. I would be expected to make an effort to increase profits, and increase them again next year. But I have no natural motivation to do this myself. In my mind, profit is profit, and growth is unnecessary, and beating out the competition is pointless.
If, at my current job, I provide books to people, and I can maintain room and board, and my boss is able to maintain room and board, and her bosses are able to maintain room and board, and all the way to the top, everyone maintains room and board, then our business is a success. Period. Because it's my job to sell books, and that's something I beleive in.
It's not my boss's job to sell books. It's my boss's job to motivate me to turn a greater profit than ever before... which is NOT something I believe in. I believe in my job; I do not believe in my boss's job. That's simple.
But there is an allure to my boss's job: more money. A chance to change things. But this is where my personal failure comes in: if I take the job of a manager, then I want to do the best job I can. And if I'm going to motivate my employees to turn a greater profit than ever before, then I am going to micromanage the hell out of the place. I disagree with Jill; I don't think that Jane is evil, because I would do her job just like she does, and I do not think that I am evil. (Jill's other complaints, that she is passive agressive, and forces subordinates to confront eachother so she doesn't have to do it personally would, sadly, apply to me as well.)
But stepping back from that microcosm, it really cames down to the hierarchy. I refuse to rise higher in the workplace, because I do not believe in having a hierarchy in the workplace at all.
The argument that comes to mind, for me, is "if you don't want a hierarchy in the workplace, Court, then how do you expect your workplace to become/remain successful?" That brings to mind this other passage from Beyond Civilization:
No special control is needed to make people into pyramid builders--if they see themselves as having no choice but to build pyramids. They'll build whatever they're told to build, whether it's pyramids, parking garages, or computer programs.
Karl Marx recognized, that workers without a choice are workers in chains. But his idea of breaking chains was for us to depose the pharoas and then build the pyramids for ourselves, as if building pyramids is something we just can't stop doing, we love it so much. (p 52)
But I would also recommend, to whomever might ask that question, reading this book. For all his talk about revolution and abandoning the current paradigm, every point in this book is actually a support for the argument that there is a better way to live--and he describes that way.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
another lazy post
once again, too tired to blog, but here's a few links (pulling a Neil here, posting these so I can close some tabs).
"Descending," by Thomas Disch
an amazing scarf (inspiring many kinds of clothing for Burning Man)
an interview with Salman Rushdie, including this quote: "If we don't say what we think or articulate what is being generally thought, then we are self-censoring, which is wimpish." and "Everybody needs to get thicker skins. There is this culture of offence, as though offending someone is the worst thing anyone can do."
Pirate ships!
Alcyone
And pirate ships for sale! (1) (2)
"Descending," by Thomas Disch
an amazing scarf (inspiring many kinds of clothing for Burning Man)
an interview with Salman Rushdie, including this quote: "If we don't say what we think or articulate what is being generally thought, then we are self-censoring, which is wimpish." and "Everybody needs to get thicker skins. There is this culture of offence, as though offending someone is the worst thing anyone can do."
Pirate ships!
Alcyone
And pirate ships for sale! (1) (2)
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
a short short story collection
Where It's At
I knew where Jenn would be, and when. I stepped off the 17 at 3rd & Pine, crossed the street and leered at her.
The bus stop at 3rd & Pike is not the most comforting of places... I don't really understand how the ghetto can be smaller than a city block, but it is, and it's at this bus stop. It didn't surprise me that Jenn didn't make eye contact, and it didn't surprise me that she ignored me when I tapped her shoulder. I was, however, surprised she didn't kill me outright when I yelled, "Hey!"
I told her my rent was on the shelf at home, and I was going to a show.
I walked a mile up the Hill and discovered I'd arrived an hour and a half early. So I looked around at this previously unexplored part of town. I heard music--good music--being played. It sounded live, but didn't seem to be coming from inside Neumos. It seemed to be coming from an abandoned building, in fact. I crossed the street and look in an open window, to discover a bar. Not much of one--there were three tables, and a bar, period--but they hosted good music at least. I don't know who they were, but they sounded like Over the Rhine.
After they wrapped up, I crossed the street again, and this time heard a violin. A short girl with a shaved head was playing, and quite well. The box next to her shook, and I assumed there must be some pet inside. Until I saw the eye through an airhole. And then the finger.
A knife penetrated the cardboard from within, and soon a new, larger airhole was created. And then another, still larger. An arm came out of one, a leg through another, and I wondered for a moment if I weren't watching a live production of Svankmajer's Alice.
The music stopped, and the girl pushed the limbs back into the box, and started playing again. Three pieces later, and the box was done for. The man inside put it into recycling, and then the duo were approached by Jason Webley, whom I was there to see. And then I heard music again from the bar with no name. This time it was a song I'd heard three times earlier in the day, but never before. It was something about watching television on a Saturday night, as well as I could gather, and I wondered at its significance. But I was snapped back to the world around me as Anna arrived and introduced me to the enormous and lumberjacinal Peter, John (whom I recognized instantly, just as I did James Funderburk when I had never met him before), and Webley.
As I heard stories of Jason Webley's amazing travels and adventures, and as the duo started another performance (this time a puppet dance, which became a puppet sex-scene, again to the girl's violin), Anna explained that this particular intersection was just like Burning Man.
Inside, my I.D. was in question. It didn't help that I got the ID just a few weeks before I left J140, and therefore didn't remember which address I'd put on it. Yes, I've lost wieght. Yes, I have facial hair now. Yes, I'm a long way from "home." I need a new I.D.
I finally made it in, and paid way too much for a drink ($4 for a cup of Blue Moon, later $8 for a large Red Stripe), and sat down to read Walden Two while the opening band played. Peter read Choke, and a passing guy stopped and told Peter what a genius Chuck was. I'd taken him for some frattish guy, but encouraged be Peter's, "Yeah?" he stayed long enough to really engage us with a description of Chuck's subtlety and style.
Downstairs, Jason Webley engaged us as well, having the audience emulate trombones and eventually tickle each other. There were two girls who seemed really out of place, and didn't look like they were having fun. I wondered why they would be at what was, for the most part, a Sleepytime Gorilla Museum show (and they didn't seem to appreciate Webley, either), but I didn't care, once SGM was on. It was loud and strange and hot by that point, and I was falling asleep.
The 4th of July
Independence day is an interesting holiday to work retail. I remember working it at Blockbuster in Dickson, TN, when nobody would come in past sunset. We were able to relax, goof off (not that much stood in the way of that most days, there). I remember standing outside, washing the windows, and hearing fireworks but not seeing any.
This year I'm working BN in Issaquah, WA, and it was nice. Everybody through the day was pleasant, and we closed early. I'd mentioned to my boss that I was thinking of going to Gas Works Park to see the fireworks. She told me she'd lived across Lake Union from there, and she and her neighbors used to get together on the 4th and watch the people as the park filled--people coming in as early as 8AM to get a good spot.
I got home and had a couple beers & supper, and wondered if I really wanted to walk to the park just to be crowded in and probably not get a good view. As soon as I realized the alternative was to sit around the house, I was out the door.
I had not been able to imagine so many people filling this park, so I was pretty amazed when I arrived. Since the sun sets so freaking late here, I decided to see how high up Kite Hill I could make it before the show started, and it turned out I could make it all the way to the top. I had plenty of personal space, and a great view of the lake. I realized then that I was surrounded by thousands of people, and that I'd have to get out of the park. Fortunately, after the best fireworks I've seen in the default world, I found that getting out was no trouble.
Once I realized that I wasn't going to be standing still for an hour as the mob exited the park, I set myself a goal of never slowing down. Of finding the simplest, most efficient way home. This was fun--I ended up climbing the rails from one level of sidewalk to the next, climbing on a boat trailer, and hopping a couple fences, and following heavy boat traffic. I actually ended up passing my house and having to backtrack.
And I was alseep in my bed by 11:30.
The Pirate Festival
I woke up Saturday and felt lazy. I knew I had to go to the Seafair Pirates' Landing, but really I just felt like laying in bed and watching "Heroes" on DVD. I texted Anna (who I may have come to reply on too much for adventure supply), but got no reply. I asked Jenn & Josh if they'd like to go, but they were looking forward to spending a day at home. So yeah, I watched "Heroes."
I finally did hear from Anna, who was on her way there, so I got off my butt & hit the road. I got there a bit before her and looked around... at how lame it was. There was some kind of pole vault event taking place--not very Piratey, but the most interesting thing going on. There was also a massive inflated pirate ship being taken down by a massive inflated octopus... which was really just a big, inflated slide--even better than the one at Rachel's halloween party in 2006 (but no, Scott, not because of the Asian girl factor, alas). And there were maybe four people dressed up in anything I'd call nearly-authentic pirate costumes.
So we left, and found food across the street. The sign on the building suggested they served soup, salad, and Pegasus, but the last turned out to be pizza. And they didn't even serve pizza with horse meat, which would at least have been (I'm supposing) a close approximation of Pegasus... Ah well, it was darn fine pizza anyway.
And then it started to rain. So we left, planning to invite Mark & Maitreya to join us at the Seattle Asian Art Museum. We didn't get ahold of them, and Jenn was alseep on the couch when I came back to the house, but we went anyway. Here's a great thing to know: the museum is free on the first Saturday of each month. Se we didn't have to pay, which is good considering they closed 20 minutes after we arrived.
From there we crossed the park to the water tower, which was awesome. It's your average metal silo of a water tower, but it's surrounded by two spiralling stairs and a brick wall, so you can walk safely and legally to the top of the tower and look out all over Seattle. It's gorgeous, basically.
The Amber Guard
Coming down the stairs, I stopped to look out windows and when I came out at the bottom, rather than finding Anna, I found ninjas. I was surrounded!
I ducked around them and spied some people in really breezy, comfortable looking hazmat suits, with gas masks. So we sat back and watched what we later learned was a short film being made, featuring costumes from lastwear.com (the link is to the deviant.art page, since the website's mostly undeveloped just yet).
The Bookstore That Read My Mind
Walking in to Capitol Hill's Half Price Books, I was troubled. Just two days earlier, I'd found a book at work that I thought I'd like to have, but thought also was overpriced. But now that I was at the store, I couldn't think of which book it was. At the bottom of the stairs, I turned and saw a copy of Dr No. Ah, yes! That reminded me, I was looking for one of the 007 books--but not that one. When I lifted Dr No from the shelf, the store seemed to say, "Oh, no? Well maybe... this one?" And behold! There, waiting for me, was For Your Eyes Only, the book I'd hoped for. A few minutes later, thought to look for Jonathan Carroll's books, but didn't know whether they'd be found in Fiction or Sci-Fi. I was in the sci-fi and turned to look where fiction would be, and there, between the two sections, was a display featuring a JC book I'd never heard of. Sadly, that's where the mind-reading stopped being useful, as I was looking for The Land of Laughs, which the bookstore did not have.
They did have a British edition of The Time Traveler's Wife on hand, which had a quote at the beginning that's not in the American edition. It wasn't a particularly wonderful quote, however. It did have sand in the bind, though, and I was pleased to know someone read it at the beach.
The Worst Statue in Seattle
"What do you think this statue means?"
Nothing good: four small men support a globe while one enormous man (all in top hats and tail coats) stands atop it, holding as much money as can fit in his arms. He seems to be taking a giant penny from a tiny woman.
"You don't think he's giving it to her?"
It's a penny, so I don't that perspective lends anything much better to the statue's suggestion.
To the man at the door of Seattle's Grand Hyatt (in front of which the statue stands): "Excuse me--do you know what the statue means?"
"Means?" This is not something he's asked every day, of course. "Capitalism," he guesses.
Another man appears behind him. "Interpretation," he says. "Any work of art is open to interpretation, and it means whatever you see in it. But," he adds, "the name is The Miser."
"It's been called the Worst Statue in Seattle," adds the first man.
An Unoriginal Novel
Walking up Pike Street in Capital Hill, I was stopped by a guy at a table. He handed me a piece of paper with a quote on it, and told me if I liked it, he'd tell me more. (Anna got a different quote.) I like quotes in general, so agreed to hear what he had to say.
His name is Brett Dean McGibbon, and he's written a book called Lucifer's Redemption. He's a character, and he has a sales pitch. He also makes his living, selling his book on the streets. In the past seven years, he's sold 11,000 copies. (He's written two other books. "I've stopped selling them, though, because people buy them," he said. He prefers to sell only this book, which he prints and binds himself.) He sells his paperback for $5 (or donation; I got my copy for $2), his color paperback for $10, and leather-bound copies for $20 or $30, depending on the quality of leather. It's not at all a bad-looking book, and the leather-bounds are really quite soft.
So here's the premise of the book (straight from his pitch): "So the devil is born on Earth, but this time he's human. Which means he has a human heart. Which means he can love. And he learns to love God--in a woman!"
And here's the description of the book (from the back cover): "...born on earth but with one weakness: a human heart. Riding a motorcycle to Alaska he finally falls in love with God-in a woman..."
Did I mention this book is self-published? Mr McGibbon seemed that I should be impressed with this novel idea, along with the mind-blowing revelation that there are "lots of different stories about the devil."
The next day, Scott and I created other stories that could benefit from Mr McGibbon's sales pitch. My favorites:
"Dolph Lundgren is a robot, but he has a human heart, and in that heart, there's a cybernetic implant that allows him to love. Finally, he learns to love Steven Segal--as a woman."
"An eskimo, ice-fishing at the North Pole, raises his line to discover... a human heart, which allows him to love. With this new ability, he comes to love God--in a polar bear."
But as laughable as the sales pitch was, I actually am interested in the book. The premise may not be original, but it's not necessarily common. And goodness knows I'm fascinated by stories what involve redemption and [self-]discovery.
And actually, I was grabbed by the quote he handed me originally: "Apparently, like a seed, for the stubborn like me, the hard shell of the heart must crack, be broken before anything worthwhile can bloom." After all, I'm out to break the hard shell off anyone's heart that I encounter... and I seem to have developed one of my own.
He said he wants to get this book out into as many hands as he can (he admitted, even before I gave him my $2, that he'd sell it for a nickel, if it meant it would be in the hands of someone who might get it). He believes the world needs compassion very much right now and (this would be one of the big reasons I bought the book) he believes his book can help.
If you like either his sales pitch or this one, check him out at Different Fish Publishing.
Kubota Garden
This isn't really a story. I just thought it would be a shame to talk about this past weekend and not mention the Kubota Garden. I heard about it on NPR the other day, and decided to check it out. It's just south of Seattle (technically, I believe it's in Tukwila, but really it was only a fifteen minute drive (if that) from the heart of downtown Seattle. It's a twenty-acre Japanese garden, with bridges and ponds and streams and hidden paths galore. And it's open every day (except specified holidays like Christmas), during all daylight hours (and have I mentioned that the sun is up by five, and down around ten?). Oh yeah, and it's free. Suck it, Cheekwood.
I knew where Jenn would be, and when. I stepped off the 17 at 3rd & Pine, crossed the street and leered at her.
The bus stop at 3rd & Pike is not the most comforting of places... I don't really understand how the ghetto can be smaller than a city block, but it is, and it's at this bus stop. It didn't surprise me that Jenn didn't make eye contact, and it didn't surprise me that she ignored me when I tapped her shoulder. I was, however, surprised she didn't kill me outright when I yelled, "Hey!"
I told her my rent was on the shelf at home, and I was going to a show.
I walked a mile up the Hill and discovered I'd arrived an hour and a half early. So I looked around at this previously unexplored part of town. I heard music--good music--being played. It sounded live, but didn't seem to be coming from inside Neumos. It seemed to be coming from an abandoned building, in fact. I crossed the street and look in an open window, to discover a bar. Not much of one--there were three tables, and a bar, period--but they hosted good music at least. I don't know who they were, but they sounded like Over the Rhine.
After they wrapped up, I crossed the street again, and this time heard a violin. A short girl with a shaved head was playing, and quite well. The box next to her shook, and I assumed there must be some pet inside. Until I saw the eye through an airhole. And then the finger.
A knife penetrated the cardboard from within, and soon a new, larger airhole was created. And then another, still larger. An arm came out of one, a leg through another, and I wondered for a moment if I weren't watching a live production of Svankmajer's Alice.
The music stopped, and the girl pushed the limbs back into the box, and started playing again. Three pieces later, and the box was done for. The man inside put it into recycling, and then the duo were approached by Jason Webley, whom I was there to see. And then I heard music again from the bar with no name. This time it was a song I'd heard three times earlier in the day, but never before. It was something about watching television on a Saturday night, as well as I could gather, and I wondered at its significance. But I was snapped back to the world around me as Anna arrived and introduced me to the enormous and lumberjacinal Peter, John (whom I recognized instantly, just as I did James Funderburk when I had never met him before), and Webley.
As I heard stories of Jason Webley's amazing travels and adventures, and as the duo started another performance (this time a puppet dance, which became a puppet sex-scene, again to the girl's violin), Anna explained that this particular intersection was just like Burning Man.
Inside, my I.D. was in question. It didn't help that I got the ID just a few weeks before I left J140, and therefore didn't remember which address I'd put on it. Yes, I've lost wieght. Yes, I have facial hair now. Yes, I'm a long way from "home." I need a new I.D.
I finally made it in, and paid way too much for a drink ($4 for a cup of Blue Moon, later $8 for a large Red Stripe), and sat down to read Walden Two while the opening band played. Peter read Choke, and a passing guy stopped and told Peter what a genius Chuck was. I'd taken him for some frattish guy, but encouraged be Peter's, "Yeah?" he stayed long enough to really engage us with a description of Chuck's subtlety and style.
Downstairs, Jason Webley engaged us as well, having the audience emulate trombones and eventually tickle each other. There were two girls who seemed really out of place, and didn't look like they were having fun. I wondered why they would be at what was, for the most part, a Sleepytime Gorilla Museum show (and they didn't seem to appreciate Webley, either), but I didn't care, once SGM was on. It was loud and strange and hot by that point, and I was falling asleep.
The 4th of July
Independence day is an interesting holiday to work retail. I remember working it at Blockbuster in Dickson, TN, when nobody would come in past sunset. We were able to relax, goof off (not that much stood in the way of that most days, there). I remember standing outside, washing the windows, and hearing fireworks but not seeing any.
This year I'm working BN in Issaquah, WA, and it was nice. Everybody through the day was pleasant, and we closed early. I'd mentioned to my boss that I was thinking of going to Gas Works Park to see the fireworks. She told me she'd lived across Lake Union from there, and she and her neighbors used to get together on the 4th and watch the people as the park filled--people coming in as early as 8AM to get a good spot.
I got home and had a couple beers & supper, and wondered if I really wanted to walk to the park just to be crowded in and probably not get a good view. As soon as I realized the alternative was to sit around the house, I was out the door.
I had not been able to imagine so many people filling this park, so I was pretty amazed when I arrived. Since the sun sets so freaking late here, I decided to see how high up Kite Hill I could make it before the show started, and it turned out I could make it all the way to the top. I had plenty of personal space, and a great view of the lake. I realized then that I was surrounded by thousands of people, and that I'd have to get out of the park. Fortunately, after the best fireworks I've seen in the default world, I found that getting out was no trouble.
Once I realized that I wasn't going to be standing still for an hour as the mob exited the park, I set myself a goal of never slowing down. Of finding the simplest, most efficient way home. This was fun--I ended up climbing the rails from one level of sidewalk to the next, climbing on a boat trailer, and hopping a couple fences, and following heavy boat traffic. I actually ended up passing my house and having to backtrack.
And I was alseep in my bed by 11:30.
The Pirate Festival
I woke up Saturday and felt lazy. I knew I had to go to the Seafair Pirates' Landing, but really I just felt like laying in bed and watching "Heroes" on DVD. I texted Anna (who I may have come to reply on too much for adventure supply), but got no reply. I asked Jenn & Josh if they'd like to go, but they were looking forward to spending a day at home. So yeah, I watched "Heroes."
I finally did hear from Anna, who was on her way there, so I got off my butt & hit the road. I got there a bit before her and looked around... at how lame it was. There was some kind of pole vault event taking place--not very Piratey, but the most interesting thing going on. There was also a massive inflated pirate ship being taken down by a massive inflated octopus... which was really just a big, inflated slide--even better than the one at Rachel's halloween party in 2006 (but no, Scott, not because of the Asian girl factor, alas). And there were maybe four people dressed up in anything I'd call nearly-authentic pirate costumes.
So we left, and found food across the street. The sign on the building suggested they served soup, salad, and Pegasus, but the last turned out to be pizza. And they didn't even serve pizza with horse meat, which would at least have been (I'm supposing) a close approximation of Pegasus... Ah well, it was darn fine pizza anyway.
And then it started to rain. So we left, planning to invite Mark & Maitreya to join us at the Seattle Asian Art Museum. We didn't get ahold of them, and Jenn was alseep on the couch when I came back to the house, but we went anyway. Here's a great thing to know: the museum is free on the first Saturday of each month. Se we didn't have to pay, which is good considering they closed 20 minutes after we arrived.
From there we crossed the park to the water tower, which was awesome. It's your average metal silo of a water tower, but it's surrounded by two spiralling stairs and a brick wall, so you can walk safely and legally to the top of the tower and look out all over Seattle. It's gorgeous, basically.
The Amber Guard
Coming down the stairs, I stopped to look out windows and when I came out at the bottom, rather than finding Anna, I found ninjas. I was surrounded!
I ducked around them and spied some people in really breezy, comfortable looking hazmat suits, with gas masks. So we sat back and watched what we later learned was a short film being made, featuring costumes from lastwear.com (the link is to the deviant.art page, since the website's mostly undeveloped just yet).
The Bookstore That Read My Mind
Walking in to Capitol Hill's Half Price Books, I was troubled. Just two days earlier, I'd found a book at work that I thought I'd like to have, but thought also was overpriced. But now that I was at the store, I couldn't think of which book it was. At the bottom of the stairs, I turned and saw a copy of Dr No. Ah, yes! That reminded me, I was looking for one of the 007 books--but not that one. When I lifted Dr No from the shelf, the store seemed to say, "Oh, no? Well maybe... this one?" And behold! There, waiting for me, was For Your Eyes Only, the book I'd hoped for. A few minutes later, thought to look for Jonathan Carroll's books, but didn't know whether they'd be found in Fiction or Sci-Fi. I was in the sci-fi and turned to look where fiction would be, and there, between the two sections, was a display featuring a JC book I'd never heard of. Sadly, that's where the mind-reading stopped being useful, as I was looking for The Land of Laughs, which the bookstore did not have.
They did have a British edition of The Time Traveler's Wife on hand, which had a quote at the beginning that's not in the American edition. It wasn't a particularly wonderful quote, however. It did have sand in the bind, though, and I was pleased to know someone read it at the beach.
The Worst Statue in Seattle
"What do you think this statue means?"
Nothing good: four small men support a globe while one enormous man (all in top hats and tail coats) stands atop it, holding as much money as can fit in his arms. He seems to be taking a giant penny from a tiny woman.
"You don't think he's giving it to her?"
It's a penny, so I don't that perspective lends anything much better to the statue's suggestion.
To the man at the door of Seattle's Grand Hyatt (in front of which the statue stands): "Excuse me--do you know what the statue means?"
"Means?" This is not something he's asked every day, of course. "Capitalism," he guesses.
Another man appears behind him. "Interpretation," he says. "Any work of art is open to interpretation, and it means whatever you see in it. But," he adds, "the name is The Miser."
"It's been called the Worst Statue in Seattle," adds the first man.
An Unoriginal Novel
Walking up Pike Street in Capital Hill, I was stopped by a guy at a table. He handed me a piece of paper with a quote on it, and told me if I liked it, he'd tell me more. (Anna got a different quote.) I like quotes in general, so agreed to hear what he had to say.
His name is Brett Dean McGibbon, and he's written a book called Lucifer's Redemption. He's a character, and he has a sales pitch. He also makes his living, selling his book on the streets. In the past seven years, he's sold 11,000 copies. (He's written two other books. "I've stopped selling them, though, because people buy them," he said. He prefers to sell only this book, which he prints and binds himself.) He sells his paperback for $5 (or donation; I got my copy for $2), his color paperback for $10, and leather-bound copies for $20 or $30, depending on the quality of leather. It's not at all a bad-looking book, and the leather-bounds are really quite soft.
So here's the premise of the book (straight from his pitch): "So the devil is born on Earth, but this time he's human. Which means he has a human heart. Which means he can love. And he learns to love God--in a woman!"
And here's the description of the book (from the back cover): "...born on earth but with one weakness: a human heart. Riding a motorcycle to Alaska he finally falls in love with God-in a woman..."
Did I mention this book is self-published? Mr McGibbon seemed that I should be impressed with this novel idea, along with the mind-blowing revelation that there are "lots of different stories about the devil."
The next day, Scott and I created other stories that could benefit from Mr McGibbon's sales pitch. My favorites:
"Dolph Lundgren is a robot, but he has a human heart, and in that heart, there's a cybernetic implant that allows him to love. Finally, he learns to love Steven Segal--as a woman."
"An eskimo, ice-fishing at the North Pole, raises his line to discover... a human heart, which allows him to love. With this new ability, he comes to love God--in a polar bear."
But as laughable as the sales pitch was, I actually am interested in the book. The premise may not be original, but it's not necessarily common. And goodness knows I'm fascinated by stories what involve redemption and [self-]discovery.
And actually, I was grabbed by the quote he handed me originally: "Apparently, like a seed, for the stubborn like me, the hard shell of the heart must crack, be broken before anything worthwhile can bloom." After all, I'm out to break the hard shell off anyone's heart that I encounter... and I seem to have developed one of my own.
He said he wants to get this book out into as many hands as he can (he admitted, even before I gave him my $2, that he'd sell it for a nickel, if it meant it would be in the hands of someone who might get it). He believes the world needs compassion very much right now and (this would be one of the big reasons I bought the book) he believes his book can help.
If you like either his sales pitch or this one, check him out at Different Fish Publishing.
Kubota Garden
This isn't really a story. I just thought it would be a shame to talk about this past weekend and not mention the Kubota Garden. I heard about it on NPR the other day, and decided to check it out. It's just south of Seattle (technically, I believe it's in Tukwila, but really it was only a fifteen minute drive (if that) from the heart of downtown Seattle. It's a twenty-acre Japanese garden, with bridges and ponds and streams and hidden paths galore. And it's open every day (except specified holidays like Christmas), during all daylight hours (and have I mentioned that the sun is up by five, and down around ten?). Oh yeah, and it's free. Suck it, Cheekwood.
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