It's All Too Much

Some non-liberal thoughts (or not quite as liberal)

2010-09-07T18:23:00.000-07:00

I’m currently sans internet access, which is actually very good for me. The internet is far too big of a distraction when I’m trying to write.

I want to give my two cents about the whole building a mosque two blocks from the World Trade Center and the controversy that surrounds that.

As with most issues, I find it very difficult to make up my mind on this one. I see both sides of the argument too clearly, and can’t decide how I feel about it. However, I’ll do my best to convey my thoughts.

Everyone in America remembers the terrible tragedy that was September 11th and we all know who did it: radical Muslims. Extremely radical Muslims that don’t represent the true beliefs of Islam. They are a very small sect of Islam, but a very…vocal one.

It is completely within their legal right to build it, and on that level, I’m not opposed to it in the least bit. This country was founded on the principal of religious freedom and I wouldn’t ever want to deny that right, no matter the religion.

However, I do feel there is a respect that has to be paid towards the World Trade Center and the surrounding area. America, I feel, has by and large forgiven the Islamic religion, because there’s no blame that should be placed on the religion. But America hasn’t forgotten what happened there and likely never will.

Ground Zero is hallowed ground. It’s a place that is such a powerful image of sorrow whenever we see it. Even when discussing it, our voices instantly grow much softer, as if afraid to tarnish the memory of those who died by speaking too loudly.

I feel it’s the responsibility of the people that wish to build this mosque to not build it. I feel they should understand what they’re doing by building it. I have no real issue with them building it, I just don’t think it’s the wisest decision ever.

They’re building the Freedom Tower where the Twin Towers once stood. I am in full support of that and I’ll tell you why.

Ground Zero is no longer a bleeding wound for America. It’s not a place that we think about on a daily basis, like we did in the months following the attack. But it has yet to scab over. It’s just an empty place, devoid of anything except negative symbolism of a terrorist attack. It’s not bleeding but it’s not healing either.

I feel that the building of the Freedom Tower is the scab forming. And once it’s completed and life begins anew there, Ground Zero will have finally turned into a scar. It will not be forgotten, but it won’t be the ugly blight that it is now.

Once that happens, that’s when I’ll throw my full support behind the building of the mosque. Well, perhaps not full support, but I won’t see any reason to protest it.

I think America has an issue with Peal Harbor as well, something that it needs to deal with. I love history and I love World War II, but I have a real issue with the Arizona being left where it is. It’s an incredibly interesting monument to what happened on December 7th, but it’s a needless reminder, one that I feel is detrimental to America. It exists purely to remind people of that terrible attack on America that day. I feel it should be dismantled, and perhaps transported elsewhere.

I hope the people building the mosque know what they’re getting themselves into. Although the majority of Americans seem to have no issue with building it, Muslims know all too well how a few radical people can be far more vocal and destructive then the quiet majority.

Que paso?

2010-08-28T19:06:00.001-07:00

I want to speak a little about illegal immigration, because it’s an important issue regarding America today. I think we need some new perspective on it.

I want to start by saying that I don’t advocate illegal immigration in the least bit. I think people should come here legally and all that jazz. In addition to that, however, I don’t advocate the way our government handles legal immigration.

The process of becoming a citizen of this country of ours, which I truly believe is the greatest country in the world, is so difficult and convoluted, and such a long journey, it’s no wonder that people come here illegally! I listen to this radio show, and one of the hosts was originally born in Bolivia. His family moved to America when he was in his early teens, everything was legal and all, but it took him until he turned 18 to become a legal full citizen. And his parents weren’t poor farm workers. His father was an internationally renowned doctor, and his mother graduated from college. It still took years and years for him and his siblings to become citizens. And shit loads of money! I believe he said about $5,000 for each person. 2 parents and 3 children. $25,000 for 5 people to become citizens. I’m not sure if these numbers are normal (or entirely accurate, I’m going off memory), but if they’re even close to accurate, then we need to seriously rethink illegal immigration and becoming a citizen.

I got in a discussion with one of my teachers, who was very anti-illegal immigration. I’m sort of ambivalent about it. I think it’s more or less harmless. I know, I know, they mooch our government’s money, I’ll get to that later. Anyway, my teacher was saying “Look at all the European immigration in the early 1900’s. All legal, etc.” I retorted with, “Exactly, look at it. What did they have to do? They got off the boat at Ellis Island, stood in lines for hours and hours, got a physical, and within a day they were a citizen.”

If the process was as complicated back then as it is today, you best believe illegal immigration would have been huge. If you want to end it today, this is what you do. Set up about 15 huge buildings at various points along the Mexican-American border, fill it with bi-lingual people and doctors, and tell people that all they need to do is come to these buildings, get a physical, fill out basic forms, and they’re good. Illegal immigration would no longer be a problem.

Also, let’s point out what people aren’t talking about. People in America would not be bitching nearly as much if this was with Europeans. There is still a huge undercurrent of racism in America. We don’t like to talk about it, but it is a factor in this discussion. We don’t like the idea that Mexican and Latin dudes are coming in. If it were white people, yeah, we would be pissed. But not on this level, I don’t think.

Now, to the whole “they’re stealing our tax dollars.” You know what, I can’t say anything against that. I honestly can’t. Illegal immigration costs billions and billions of dollars for America.

But don’t forget what they do for you. Don’t complain about your tax dollars being spent on them, and then go to the store and buy a bushel of apples for a dollar. Illegal immigration provides a vast amount of cheap labor. And, frankly, they’ll do the jobs that other people won’t. Americans, especially white Americans, have this sense of pride with themselves. We don’t want to do the jobs that aliens do.

I dislike illegal immigration, but I dislike the way our government handles citizenship. Becoming a citizen of this great nation should not be as difficult as it is. Make it easier and the problem fixes itself.

Picking my own brain - just avoiding the cracks

2010-07-14T07:59:00.000-07:00

I believe the time has come for me to write another blog. So here I go!

Hmmm. I wonder what I should write about.

I think I’ll write about something that affects me each and every day: my OCD. My obsessive-compulsive disorder.

I am one of the millions that are in the throes of this disorder. It’s a mild case, thank God, but one that is increasing in severity as we speak.

I guess I’ve had it all my life, but I’ll get into when it really came out in the next few paragraphs. I just figured it was me. Like it was just who I was. And that the stuff I did was common. It wasn’t until later that I discovered that all these random idiosyncrasies and tics and my various habits that made absolutely no sense were not normal. So I looked it up, and low and behold there was a disorder for it.

Now, you might call shenanigans and say that I’m just putting a label on a few tics of mine, but I did have it confirmed by someone who could confirm these things.

In discussing this with someone and figuring it all out, I came to the conclusion that it really came to a head in 4th grade. Which, not so coincidentally, is when my brother started doing drugs and my life on the home front began to slide into a not so fun place. So I just started to do little things that I could control, these small little things that gradually became a bigger part of my life. Now I can’t escape it.

Sometimes I doubt whether I truly have it. I won’t deny that. But that just makes me believe that I do have it all the more. Because that’s a symptom. The constant obsessing over it. And when I go out for a walk? If you didn’t know that I was doing stuff, you probably would never notice. But I never step on cracks (occasionally an errant footstep will fall on one, but it doesn’t kill me) and I’m always counting my steps. Even when I’m in the house. I’m counting, always. Everything gets counted by me. It’s exhausting. And the walking thing really sucks. Because it started out just avoiding cracks and counting steps. Now I’m avoiding pretty much everything that isn’t solid concrete. If there’s gum that’s been there for years, I won’t step on it. If there’s some sort of stain or something, I won’t step on it. Although it turns into a case by case basis at times. Like if the sprinklers just ran and there’s no way to avoid the water, I’ll just make sure my foot is entirely surrounded by water. So I can’t step on half concrete/half water. It’s got to be all of one.

And that’s just walking. Christ, there are millions of other little things that just constantly dominate my brain.

Music—just sounds really; it can be like talk radio or something—helps, but not as much as it used to. Especially since I’ve come up with little OCD’s about my iPod and how I listen to it and so on. Nothing escapes my brain. I’ve got to come up with something for everything it would seem.

I must admit to there being some advantages. But, trust me, I’d give up these advantages in a heartbeat if it meant that brain could finally relax for a second. Since I count everything, I’m pretty damn good at math. Other than that though, I can’t really think of when it’s a plus.

I get really offended by people in regards to it sometimes. I like to joke around about it. Truly I do. It’s like any problem: turn it into comedy. There’s not a whole lot of opportunities for OCD jokes, but on occasion, I’ll say them or my friends will, and we’ll all laugh. I’ve got no problem with that. It’s when I mention that I have OCD to someone and they immediately claim they do as well. And then they proceed to tell me some random tic of theirs and expect me to sympathize with them or something. I honestly get a little offended by that. You don’t have OCD. Just because you like to arrange all your clothes by color or because you have to have doors closed and can’t stand them when they’re cracked, doesn’t mean you have it. It’s very frustrating to try and explain this to someone because they start to get defensive and blah blah.

I understand that there’s a certain attraction to OCD. It’s kind of one of those cool things that make you seem really smart or something. And I get that. Because there’s a small part of me that likes having it. A very small part. The same small part of me that likes that I wear glasses (now contacts). It makes you feel special. Unique. That’s it. It makes you seem unique. But I’d give this shit up so quickly for peace and quiet. Because the negatives so far out weight the uniqueness of it.

I don’t know what point I’m trying to get across here. I guess the point I’m trying to make is have a little respect for this disorder. Because trust me it is a disorder. It really interrupts my life.

My mom gave me a little mini bottle of hand sanitizer in my Christmas stocking or something. And I decided that I’d take it with me to school. I had to stop after like three weeks because I was using it so much. If I touched my desk, I’d have to sanitize. If I shook hands, I’d have to sanitize. I decided I’d rather just fight it then keep giving in like that.

I’m not a mysophobe (germaphobe) per se, but I do get occasional attacks of it. For example, I’m cleaning my bathroom floor a few weeks ago, and I started to clean around the toilet. As I started to think about what exactly I was cleaning, I really started to freak out. I had to movie to a different side of the bathroom and clean over there.

This disorder can be so debilitating. And I only have a mild form of it. But it is getting worse. I wouldn’t be surprised if I had to go on meds within the next five years.

What I’m asking is to please have a little respect for the disorder. Understand how it can be such a huge part of someone’s life in a negative way. And joking about it is fine, just don’t be a huge dick about it.

So this is my little confessional about it. I’d like to say it was cathartic, but it wasn’t. I still have it and that will probably never change. But maybe I’ve offered an understanding of it.

Catharticism thy name is me.

2010-06-25T20:57:00.000-07:00

Life hasn’t been going the way I planned lately. I’ve been sick virtually all summer. I went to the doctor, they gave me antibiotics, I feel a lot better--but I’m still not 100%. This is summer! I shouldn’t have walking pneumonia!

And don’t get me started on college. Well, actually, I will get started because I want to vent. My complete and total disregard for high school and grades and such has finally caught up to me to a degree.

My plan is to go to junior college for two years or possibly shorter and then transfer to the University of California, Santa Cruz. My favorite place in the world and it has one of the best college radio stations in the country, so it’s all good. That plan is still the same. I just didn’t know where I wanted to go to junior college. There’s a community college right down the road from UCSC, and you can actually make a deal where you go to that junior college, but you live in the dorms of UCSC. Or I can live at home and go to the JC right down the road. I really, really, really wanted to go the JC in Santa Cruz, live in the dorms, etc. I just researched it, and I found out I needed to get a certain GPA in high school in order to do that deal, and I didn’t get that GPA. Alas, that’s a dream that can’t be fulfilled.

Regardless, it’s not the worst thing in the world and I don’t have much of a problem with going to this JC down the road. Except, why is it so immensely difficult and convoluted to sign up for a transfer and some classes? Maybe it’s a sign of this generation, but I so much prefer doing things over the internet. It’s easier because you can do it on your own time and you don’t have to deal with other people that you don’t want to deal with. But, there are so many steps and they’re all disjointed and it’s just so fucking (pardon the language) difficult. This is when I wish I could still talk to my high school counselor. That woman would’ve helped me with this shit.

*sigh* Life’s just not working out like I had hoped right now.

Healthiness here I come...well, not quite.

2010-06-16T20:18:00.001-07:00

I have been a hypocrite. I need to establish that. I always used to get pissed at my mom for not going to the doctor when she was ill or not going for ten years, and I would always tell her “I go for every little thing, better safe then sorry.”

Well, I haven’t been keeping up to that lately. I’ve been sick more or less for a few weeks now. Ever since right around graduation time I’ve been not quite right. I’ve had a cough for a week, and I think maybe longer then that. I’ve got so much phlegm, it’s not even funny. Although I don’t know why phlegm would ever be funny anyway.

I’ve been sort of running a fever off and on. I just haven’t been well. Yet, I’ve neglected going to the doctor. And why? Best case scenario, they tell me I have a cold, drink tea and eat lots of soup, and I’ll be fine. And I really doubt it’d be anything worse then that. Maybe the flu or bronchitis even. But still curable and easily treated.

I haven’t had much of an appetite lately, and on the rare occasion I feel hungry, I’ve been eating junk food. Which isn’t terribly outside the ordinary for me, but not smart when I’m healthy, and especially so when I’m sick.

I need to start taking care of myself. I exercise but that’s about the limit of my healthiness. Maybe completely revamping my diet would be a bit drastic right now, but I need to start somewhere and I think that somewhere is the doctor’s office.

An Ode

2010-05-19T23:08:00.000-07:00

I consider myself to be very blessed. This could be any number of things, but today I’m talking specifically about people in my life. I’ve been blessed to have some great people enter into my life.

One of those people is a certain Nanci McCaleb Bushner. Nanci was actually the driving force behind me writing this blog.

Nanci’s truly a great friend and a wonderful person. She has got an absolutely fantastic brain. She challenges my mind and doesn’t settle for my bullshit—and trust me, there can be a lot of bullshit with me.

We make an odd matching. I suppose most strangers who see us think of us as mother and child, but that’s not really what it is. It’s far more informal. One of my biggest complaints with people by and large, is when they treat me like I’m my age. It’s rude and very condescending, and it’s an issue I’ve been dealing with my entire life. Trust me Mr./Mrs. Adult, I can keep up in a conversation with you, I’m not the cliche-d view of the teenager (basically, a zombie). I’ve been able to keep up in conversations for a long time now, but no adults seem to think that I can. They think that I’m either too stupid, too unaware, too uninterested, or they think that I simply won’t have anything to contribute to the discussion. I have a tremendous amount of respect and gratitude for adults that treat me like an equal. Nanci has always, always, always treated me like I’m an equal, and for that, I’ll always be appreciative.

We’ve covered virtually every topic known to man. From the Doors and the Beatles to God and our beliefs. We agree on most everything, and on the rare occasion we disagree, one of us will either change the other’s opinion, or understand it enough to value it.

She has got three beautiful sons, all of whom I know in some way or another, and all of them unique (and as my mom said, “very handsome”) in their own way.

I suppose the best way to sum up Nanci is this: Nanci has not necessarily had the easiest life, but she certainly has made the best of it.

To This End

2010-05-12T20:57:00.001-07:00

I have heard two people express concerns, deep concerns, over the state of communication today. I just read a blog devoted to the subject of that person’s concern, so it finally pushed me to write this. I’ve been meaning to write my opinions on this for a while, and that was sort of a catalyst for it.

I want to open this blog with a mission statement: communication today is no better or worse then it’s ever been. Our methods of communication have changed to a degree, but I’d argue that there’s a lot more face to face conversation and a lot more phone conversation then ever before.

First, however, let’s look at the negatives of the new types of communication (or, at least, the perceived negatives): face to face conversation has been relegated to 160 characters via text or a message on Facebook. Text messaging has deadened our emotions and has lowered our ability to properly communicate.

I think I can offer something of a unique perspective on this because I’m a teenager who’s right in the thick of electronic communication, but I’m smart and aware enough to realize the positives and negatives of it.

I recently got my cell phone taken away by the school, and it is absolutely crippling not having it with me. A significant portion of my social life is gone. That being said, texting is not replacing talking, merely adding to it. If anything, in my opinion, we’re almost too social. There are some people I talk to on Facebook or over texting exclusively. These are people that I would never dream of calling, nor would I ever talk to them outside of electronic communication. If e-comm (I’m getting tired of typing that crap over and over) didn’t exist, I wouldn’t talk to these people outside school, period.

What did people do before texting and before email and before internet and such? Call other people I would assume. And spend time with them, physically, face to face. We still do that. While that may not be our main method of communication, the amount of time devoted to that has not necessarily diminished. I still love talking to people face to face, and I know that my fellow teenagers feel the same way. You might see us text during the conversation, but that rarely distracts significantly from it.

So don’t worry N (you know who you are, N) and like minded people. We’re doing fine. As long as you don’t let it replace anything, there’s no harm in e-comm. And, really don’t worry about us teenagers. We’re not letting it replace anything.

Believe it or not, but teenagers are fairly smart and aware. We may not act it, and some of us don’t know it, but we would never let texting replace face to face.

:) will never replace

I finally wrote about the wedding!

2010-04-06T21:34:00.001-07:00

In the past four or five months, I’ve attended two things that I’ve never attended before, yet I’m sure I will again: a funeral and a wedding.

I just attended the wedding a few weeks ago. What a great, great event. And there is not a hint of sarcasm in that. I can already tell I much prefer weddings to funerals. That’s rather obvious of course.

Yet, what struck me after I left the wedding was how similar weddings and funerals are. And I don’t mean to say that the wedding I went to was very morose or that the funeral I went to was very lively or anything like that. It’s just that both “events” (I’m not sure if that’s quite the word I’m looking for, but so be it) are an expression of love. At the funeral I was at, there were so many loving words spoken about my grandfather, and at the wedding, there were a lot of loving words spoken, and love was just in the air.

I once heard this guy mention how he thought laughter and crying were very closely related, and how he thinks they’re a lot closer then they are farther apart. When you think about it, you often stop crying by laughing, and many a time, laughter will lead to tears.

It’s such a rare experience to see two people so in love, like I did a few weeks ago. And everyone was celebrating their love and celebrating their happiness. And there was no jealousy, no anger.

And at the funeral, to see a celebration of life, and what a wonderful life my grandfather led.

It’s great to see such love in this world, it truly is. Some might call it a shame that we can only express our love at such dramatic events. I call it a blessing. A blessing that that love is there and that we, as humans, are lucky enough to enjoy such a thing.

So even if I only get to witness such love on rare occasions, I’m happy to know that it’s there.

“Laugh as much as you breathe and love as long as you live.”

Ain't That A Kick in the Head?

2010-04-06T21:19:00.000-07:00

One of my best friends, this best friend being a girl, has a mortal enemy, this enemy also being a girl. Well, my best friend, let’s call her A, told me stories about this “chick,” let’s call her C. Seeing as they are enemies, none of these stories were good stories about C.

Now, I should mention that C is relatively attractive. She’s not drop dead gorgeous, but she’s pretty. And I, a red blooded male, found her attractive. However, my loyalty has a friend was far more powerful and I didn’t consider the notion to even remotely strike up a conversation.

Did I mention that I’m male? Because I think that should earn some understanding as to why I did strike up a conversation with C. Now, now, before you protest and insult me, understand that I myself had no reason to hate C besides the fact that she was an enemy of A.

But, C’s attractive so I figure what the hell? Now, A had told me that C was quite the bitch (that was actually one of her tamer insults) but I hadn’t seen that at all. She seemed very kind.

Until I struck up a conversation with C. Man, what an incredible bitch. Seriously. I understand why A hates her.

So the moral of this story—if there is one—is that sometimes friends do get it right. The more obvious one is don’t judge a book by its cover, or something like that. Well, whatever the moral of the story is, here’s to you A. You called it right.

A Motto

2010-02-21T21:46:00.001-08:00

Life is too important to be taken seriously.

-Oscar Wilde

I really can't put it better myself.

God Only Knows

2010-02-11T23:30:00.000-08:00

It’s been awhile hasn’t it? But I have made my return! Life has been…just like life I s’pose. Lots of new things to report but I’m not writing this to update you on all the events in my life. I come here (and by here I mean this blog) to let my mind wander. Turn off your mind, relax and float down stream…

I made a Beatles reference in the first paragraph. Gotta love it.

Enough beating around the bush. Let’s get down to why I opened Microsoft Word to start writing this new blog.

About a month ago, I was in bed, trying to sleep but not really. As I’m oft to do, I started talking to myself and my thoughts drifted to my grandpa. I was talking to myself as if I was telling a story to someone about my grandpa’s illness and how it all came about. I won’t recount that story just yet, but I’ll take you through the beginning because it involves why I’m writing this blog.

My dad called me on a Friday. June 19th or 20th or somewhere around that day. Definitely a Friday though. I was on my first few weeks of summer break from high school, so my sleep schedule was a bit off. He called me in the evening, but I was sleeping. The phone call woke me up, but I was sort of out of it when I answered. He said that my grandpa, his dad, was going in for surgery on Monday and to keep him in my thoughts. After I hung up, I distinctly noticed that he hadn’t mentioned what body part my grandpa was having surgery on.

My grandpa was a rather obese man and had had heart problems in the past (I think he may have had a bypass surgery) and so I figured it was that again. Anyway, my mom got home and I mentioned that Dad had called and said that Grandpa was having surgery and I asked her if she knew anything about it. My mom sort of got tight lipped and was very hesitant to tell me anything. Eventually, I got it out of her that my grandpa had been having like seizures and stuff and they had scanned his brain and found tumors and such. The surgery was gonna try and remove as many of the tumors as they could.

Needless to say I was a bit shocked.

But, Monday comes around and no word from my Dad through out the day. I should mention that I was flying out to Kansas the next day to visit my relatives out there (Mom’s side of the family).

So finally my dad calls my mom and says they got nothing out, that the tumors were too deep in the brain and they couldn’t get any out. I asked if they had given a time table, and she said at this point, they hadn’t.

I wasn’t exactly in the best of spirits when I flew out the next day. I called my mom and asked for an update and I don’t think she gave me anything but I can’t quite remember. I also called my dad and asked about grandpa and Dad said, rather nonchalantly, “Oh he’s fine!” Keep in mind, he has no idea I know anything aside from my grandpa was having surgery.

I think it was Wednesday when I called my mom and she told me that my grandpa was given six months. Now that’s not exact and he was going to go through chemo and stuff, but six months was what it stood at. I was a bit upset, but I wasn’t crying or anything. Trying to enjoy my vacation.

I don’t remember if my dad said something to me when he had called me that Friday or if it was sometime after I had talked to him, but he said something along the lines of “say a prayer for Grandpa.”

Now, I believe in God. I believe in Him wholeheartedly. But, I never really prayed. Maybe once a year I would say a quick little “help me find my Gameboy” or something, but I never really said any prayers of substance. But, when your grandfather is this close to passing, it’s time to step up and say some prayers.

So, I did. And I didn’t pray for a miracle like “remove the tumors from his brain and rid him of this filthy disease!” because I knew that wasn’t going to happen. I would pray for stuff like “be with our family in this troubling time” or “help us get through the grief when he dies.”

And I noticed that I could pray for other things. So, I did. Personal stuff I’m not going to get into, but I prayed for it.

And then my grandfather died on November 8th and it was very, very hard and it still is, but our family’s getting through it.

Now get this. I’m telling this story to myself about a month ago when these words came out of my mouth: “and I noticed that when I was praying, I felt a tremendous comfort in it.”

And it was like an epiphany. I don’t know where those words came from. I know it sounds foolish to say those words came from God, but I almost feel like they did.

Because that was my prayers being answered. As I was praying, they were being answered. Because I’d ask for His help and he would give it to me—through prayer. All the help I was asking for, it was coming and I realized it because I obviously kept praying, but I didn’t know I realized it. I hope I’m explaining myself right.

Even though my grandpa’s dead, I still pray every night and I don’t see that tradition being broken anytime soon. Because maybe I can’t see His effect right now, but all it might take is something as simple as a little conversation with myself to notice.

In my life, I love you more

2009-11-27T18:31:00.001-08:00

At the times we need Him most, our belief in God is often challenged. Even if we do falter a little in our faith, he does not waver in us. Even if we get angry with Him, the fact that we recognize Someone to get angry at makes all the difference in the world. He’s still with us even when we say we don’t want Him.

In November, God took two souls with Him that I know of. Of the two that he took, I only knew one of them personally, but I do know that Heaven has been blessed with two of the brightest souls on Earth.

Even though he’s new there, I hope my grandpa is showing Aiyana around Heaven and maybe cooking her some barbeque.

The friends and families of both will miss them terribly, but we’ll forever have our thoughts and memories to keep us company. And in that, Louis and Aiyana will be with us forever.

Look out there's a sign post up ahead!

2009-09-21T22:15:00.000-07:00

“There is a fifth dimension, beyond that which is known to man. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man's fears and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination. It is an area which we call the Twilight Zone.”

God those words are so good. I love, love, love the Twilight Zone. It’s sort of a guilty pleasure of mine. A couple years ago I was really into it, much more so then I am now. I still love it, but I don’t go out of my way to watch it like I used to. But, if it’s on, I’ll always flip to it.

It’s still so…intriguing. I think that’s the best word. The stories are still great. While it is at times dated, that only adds to the flavor of it. It aged like a fine wine, becoming a source of entertainment not only in the actual narrative of the episode, but also as something of a cultural study.

That show was made from 1959-1964, at a time when the future seemed just around the corner. I love the curiousity that show displayed. I love to discover things and when I get it in my head to learn something, I learn it. I can tell you the back story behind just about every Beatles song. I can tell you if it was released as a single, what album it came on (and probably what track number it is on that album), what song comes before it and after it, etc.

But while I love to find out about all the Beatles records, I’m always somewhat disappointed because it loses some of the meaning that it held for me. “I Am the Walrus” is just John saying a bunch of random words, not some deep song that I had always thought it to be. John said that he was disappointed with the way that “Strawberry Fields Forever,” one of my all time favorite songs, turned out when I think it’s just perfect.

I guess what I’m trying to get at is I love the mindset that they had “back then.” I wish I didn’t know everything about the Beatles because it deadens the imagination. If you know everything about a particular subject, you no longer have to fill in the holes with your brain. I don’t particularly enjoy hearing a teacher tell me how to do something because I much prefer to do it my own way.

I think I’m getting off track again, so let me get back on subject. In 1959 the world was a wonderous place full of new discoveries waiting to be found and explored. But, now that we’ve explored everything and discovered most of life’s great secrets, what else is there? Are we any better off knowing that Mars is millions and millions of miles away and that it can never support life? While I know this, I always like to think that maybe there was an epic battle on Mars and billions of people were killed and all the sand was stained red. I don’t know why Mars’s sand is red but I can find out with a quick little Google search. And while I hate not knowing, part of me loves it. So I think I’ll stick with my Martian civil war. It’s not logical in the least and all of my atoms are screaming out for me to research it. But, my version is much more fun then anything that science could tell me at this point. And, frankly, fun tastes much better then knowledge sometimes.

What I'm listening to: Plans, Transatlanticism - Death Cab for Cutie

Norma Jeane Mortenson

2009-09-12T00:38:00.000-07:00

I must admit to something. I have an…obsession is the wrong word. Fascination. I have a fascination with Marilyn Monroe.

Not because of her beauty, although that does play a role. Everyone knew how beautiful she was and she really was. Amazing to think that almost fifty years after she passed, and she still ranks up their as one of the most beautiful women ever.

I think the reason I love her so much is…pity isn’t the right word. Maybe sympathy. I’m not sure. Sympathy + sadness. I feel sympathysadness for her.

This is all speculation of course, and it’s entirely possible I’m entirely wrong, but I think that Marilyn Monroe was putting on a great big act for all of us because she a.) wanted to be famous and knew that that was the only way how, and/or b.) she much preferred her “act” as Marilyn Monroe to her normal Norma Jeane.

Bah I’m probably not explaining myself very well here. I think that Marilyn Monroe was very aware of her sexuality and exploited people—especially men’s—love for her to get what she wanted: fame. But I think that later on in her life, she realized that this may not have been the path that she truly wanted. I think that later in her life she wanted to just be Norma Jeane.

But she couldn’t because she would probably be hated by everybody and because she knew there really was no going back.

I think Marilyn Monroe was just putting on an act for us all because she knew that it would make her succeed in life. But, unfortunately, there was no end to her act. She could never revert back to Norma Jeane because no good would ever come of it in terms of success.

And I just think that’s so sad. That no one ever knew Norma Jeane. Or, rather none of us, the masses, ever knew her. And that’s just incredibly sad to me.

I’m sure I’m all over the place and you, the reader, are probably very confused, so allow me to summarize. I think that Marilyn Monroe put on the act of the dumb blonde and put on the act of sexuality because it would make her popular and help her succeed. And I also think that she regretted it later. Maybe fame wasn’t what she thought it was, or maybe as Marilyn, she never found what every girl (everybody really) wants: true love and all that jazz.

If you don’t believe me here’s a quote by her: “I knew I belonged to the public and to the world, not because I was talented or even beautiful, but because I had never belonged to anything or anyone else.”

Understand now?

If you’re still skeptical, here’s another quote from her: “I have too many fantasies to be a housewife. I guess I am a fantasy.”

How about now?

And, I’m not the only one who’s come to this realization. Look at the lyrics for "Candle in the Wind" by Elton John.

“Goodbye Norma Jean
From the young man in the 22nd row
Who sees you as something more than sexual
More than just our Marilyn Monroe”

What I’m listening to: The new remastered Beatles CDs. They’re 23948324583 times better then the originals! What are you waiting for, get them now!!

Love, Peace, Joy

2009-08-24T20:57:00.001-07:00

I should have posted this awhile ago, but it’s no matter.

The overall title of my blog is “It’s All Too Much.” As someone could have surmised, that’s a Beatles tune. It’s not one of their more famous ones; it’s pretty obscure. You can find it on the Yellow Submarine Songtrack that came out in ’99.

It’s a Harrison composition and I truly think it exemplifies all that was the Beatles in about 6 and ½ minutes. The actual music of it is psychedelic I s’pose, but it’s a good combination of rock and psychedelic, with some horns thrown in for kicks. The lyrics convey a variety of things. Again, psychedelic, but there are love song elements in it as well. And the song is just fun and you can tell that the Beatles had a great time making it. At the end they’re repeating “too much” over and over, and at times I’m positive they’re saying “tuba” simply because they thought it was funny. This song represents everything the Beatles were musically: love song extraordinaire-s, psychedelic pioneers, but most importantly, this song (like all of theirs to me) goes straight to your soul and you love it in ways that you can’t explain. You can’t explain it because it affects you on a whole different level, on a plane of existence that we can’t describe because it’s undiscovered.

I think if I wanted to really get esoteric on you, I could say that this song represents the ‘60s and how we view it now. Because if you listen to it, the song is utter chaos—but it works. Just like the ‘60s.

But enough rambling. The lyrics and the song:

[All too much!]

It's all too much
It's all too much

When I look into your eyes, your love is there for me
And the more I go inside, the more there is to see

It's all too much for me to take
The love that's shining all around you
Everywhere, it's what you make
For us to take, it's all too much

Floating down the stream of time from life to life with me
Makes no difference where you are or where you'd like to be

It's all too much for me to take
The love that's shining all around here
All the world is birthday cake
So take a piece but not too much

Sail me on a silver sun, where I know that I'm free
Show me that I'm everywhere, and get me home for tea

It's all too much for me to see
The love that's shining all around here
The more I learn, the less I know
But what I do is all too much

It's all too much for me to take
The love that's shining all around you
Everywhere, it's what you make
For us to take, it's all too much

It's too much
Ah, it's too much

With your long blond hair and your eyes of blue
With your long blond hair and your eyes of blue

You're too much, ah
We all get too much

Too much, too much, too much
Too much a, too much a, too much a
Too much a, too much a, too much a
Too much a, too much a, too much a
Too much a, too much a, too much a
Too much a, too much a, too much a
Too much a, too much a, too much a
Too much a, too much a, too much a
Too much a

Much, much, much, much, much
Much, much, much, much, much
Much, much, much, much, much
Much, much, much, much, much
Much, much, much, much, much

Song:

To Be Or Not To Be?

2009-07-25T21:59:00.000-07:00

Why is it considered insane to talk to yourself? I rather enjoy the company that I provide. I think we judge too harshly those who take pleasure in (I feel the need for honesty—I was going to put enjoy instead of take pleasure in, but since I had already used that in the last sentence I used the MWord thesaurus and it provided take pleasure in, so it’s not my creation. I felt the need to say that, for reasons unknown to me.) a chat with themselves. I personally talk to myself quite often especially when I’m alone.

Often times when I’m alone I’ll make weird noises and giggle to myself at my own little joke. I think its fun and I think you should give it a try. Yes, you, the reader of this who shuns a pleasant one-on-one conversation with yourself. Forget about what society deems appropriate and inappropriate! Rise up and say to yourself, “I will talk to me and not feel weird about it!!”

Who’s to stop you?! No one but yourself, and that’s exactly who needs to be talked to. In fact, for your first in-depth conversation with yourself why not discuss this? I think this is a noteworthy topic to debate with you. Discuss and debate to your heart’s content about why you should—or should not—talk to yourself. You’ll be fascinated by the results, I assure you.

In fact, I’m often very surprised at the conclusions I draw when I talk to me. I’ll find that I hold a certain opinion about someone or something that I didn’t think I felt; that the answer to a math problem is actually very simple once I say it aloud; that perhaps I need to cut back on the Coke (uh-Cola) because it’s making me very hyper and wanting to talk to myself more and more.

Although I’ve intended this blog to be taken facetiously, I will say one thing somewhat serious. I’ve had many conversations with myself that have gone a million different ways about a million different topics, but one thing that occurs much more often then one would think is that I constantly surprise myself. Not amaze—surprise. And I think that’s something a lot of people lose as they get older. The sense of never knowing what’s going to happen is often subdued and I think that’s unfortunate. I like the idea that I don’t know what’s going to happen. It’s often times terrifying, but many more times reassuring. Life is full of surprises and that does not exclude surprising myself—with me.

What I’m listening to: Band on the Run – Paul McCartney & Wings, Here Today – Paul McCartney (this was Paul’s tribute to John after he was murdered and it is truly beautiful)

Blowing Crap Up Sure Is Fun

2009-06-28T02:01:00.000-07:00

For the past two years I have left my lovely home on the west coast and flown roughly 1700 miles to Topeka, Kansas where I spend some time there.

I flew out two years ago, on my own, for two weeks and I spent time with my family here (I’m writing this in Kansas).

Last year I flew out solo and was alone for a week and five days, then my mom joined me for a week, and we left together.

This year I flew out alone and my mom will join me after a week, we’ll stay for a week, and leave together. I’ve been here for four days now (actually, its half past midnight so five days now).

I’ve visited here before, but I count the past two visits, and this one, as particularly significant because I don’t really remember the other times, as I was too young. The biggest thing I remember from my young days here is one of the reasons why I enjoy being in Kansas so much—the fireworks.

In California, because it’s so dry, the fireworks are fountains basically. But in the Midwest, you’ve got wet summers, meaning you’ve got better fireworks. Firecrackers and other such goodies are allowed! And Missouri is about an hour’s drive from Topeka, and they’ve got bottle rockets and stuff like that.

I’ve always visited Kansas around the Fourth of July because it makes Kansas much more exciting. I have family here, so I like to visit them, but after a few days, it starts to lose its flair. Without fireworks this place would be dull for someone who doesn’t live here and can’t drive.

I don’t know where at the point in human evolution hearing a firecracker became fun. Or, if you don’t believe in evolution, why God would make a human love hearing that tiny little pop.

What I do know is that I get a huge satisfaction every time that wick goes down, ignites the gunpowder (yes, I know it’s probably not gunpowder) and it explodes. I’ve heard tens of thousands of those mini-explosions in my lifetime, maybe hundreds of thousands, and I still get a little glee out of it.

Every year I think I might lose interest, or I think I have lost interest, but then I get here, light one of those bad boys, and my heart soars.

Even as a child I liked this. And, as I near adulthood, I’m no different.

One of my cousins, who is twenty-one, on the other hand, does not find much fun in fireworks. She began losing interest a few years back. I just can’t understand that.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that being a child never gets old. Maybe that’s why Michael Jackson tried so hard to be a child. Or maybe he never got to be a child and always wanted to be one. I don’t know.

What I do know (I realized I’ve said that twice) is that tomorrow I’m going to light probably a thousand firecrackers and with each one I’m going to feel this childlike sense of joy each time one explodes. And with that excitement will come a pang of sadness because I know that most things have lost that childlike glee and how unfortunate that is.

Even though it’s a cliché, I feel the need to repeat it. When we’re young we always want to be older and when we’re older we always want to be young. But I don’t want to be young again really. The only thing I miss about being a child is finding unbridled joy in the most minuscule of things. And perhaps that’s what a firecracker is for me.

What I’m listening to: Gentle on My Mind – Glen Campbell

Otis Redding Would Be Proud

2009-06-22T21:37:00.000-07:00

I spent Sunday, June 21, 2009, doing absolutely nothing. Nothing really productive at all. I went grocery shopping with my mom early in the morning, but past that, I did nothing, and what a fantastic day it was.

I’m a teenager on summer break, so doing nothing is familiar territory to me. But, I hadn’t really done nothing while doing something.

Allow me to explain. June 21 was Father’s Day (I’m saying this so that people in the future who are reading this will know the circumstances), and my grandmother called because she was having some get together and wanted my mother and me to come. Neither of us wanted to go, and I texted my cousin to see if she was going. She said that she was meeting her parents, my aunt and uncle, who were at an RV camp at this place called Rio Vista which is like 40 minutes away and is right by a river and such and she invited me along.

My cousin is about six years older then me, and I like spending time with her; we have a lot of things in common. So, she picks me up and off we go.

Forty minutes later we arrive at this RV camp and it’s a pretty nice place; it’s got a mini golf thingy and a pool (despite the fact that there’s a river about 500 feet away).

We get to this place at about 1:15. There’s me, my cousin, my aunt and uncle, and my aunt’s sister, whom I’m meeting for the first time (she lives in VA). This particular aunt married into the family and so in some way I’m related to her sister. Her sister is about mid-forty’s to fifty, and my aunt is in the same age range, obviously same with my uncle.

So we get there, and all of us are sort of talking but after about twenty, thirty minutes, we’re just sitting and relaxing. Shooting the breeze. This is bliss.

We start up a game of Yahtzee, and we play a few games of that. It was me, my cousin, and my aunt playing against each other. It was so much fun because we were playing competitively but not overtly so. And we’re just joking and having a good time.

After Yahtzee gets old I suggest cards, and my uncle retorts with dominoes which I’ve never played, so I thought what the hell.

So we (me, my cousin, and my uncle) play dominoes for awhile, maybe an hour. I ended up losing by ten point’s total, which normally would have pissed me off, but it barely affected me. Sunday just wasn’t a day to be mad at anything.

A few minutes into the game of dominoes we hear some sirens like they’re driving on the road, and then they’re gone, and we all figured that they had just driven by.

Well, my aunt points out that she sees a fire truck on the road about ten minutes after we hear the sirens. We’re in the way back of the RV camp, as far back as it goes. We’re about 750 feet from the road, but there are a bunch of trees blocking our view. This doesn’t really affect us, and we consider walking over there and quenching our curiosity (good phrase eh?) but the game of dominoes is too riveting to ignore.

So about half way through the game, we hear the familiar sound of a helicopter, and it sounds awfully lower then one you would normally hear.

We look up and see that it’s one of those medical helicopters. Not a good sign for whoever needs it. If you need one of those helicopters, your ass is probably f’ed up. This helicopter actually lands on the road (the road is right next to the river).

My uncle and I decide that this is too much excitement to ignore and we need to go check it out. My cousin decides to stay behind.

As someone who is a big plane/helicopter nerd, I’m pretty excited about this. I’ve flown on an airplane plenty of times, but I’ve never had the pleasure of even seeing a helicopter unless it’s flying in the air.

We sauntered (good word eh? I’m on fire!) over to the road where there were a lot of people who were looking at the accident. I won’t go into details about what happened to the guy, but he’ll be okay from what we heard (my uncle asked a sheriff and he told us what happened, but said he’ll probably be okay).

And this might sound morbid, but it kind of fit the mood. It was just the sort of thing you’d do on a day like that; watch an accident.

After that we went back to the game of dominoes, I lost, and then we just relaxed. We had a cord where you could attach your iPod hooked up to the radio and so I was blasting my tunes. I played the Beatles for awhile, but not everyone is the fanatic like I am, so I flipped around before eventually settling on some Rolling Stones which is fantastic music for sitting in an RV park and relaxing to.

My uncle cooked some burgers on the grill and they were great. Very juicy. Life was just good that day. Not a care in the world, laughing with family, enjoying being lazy. I reiterate my phrase at the top of this blog—I did nothing while doing something, and that was…glorious.

What I’m listening to: Pet Sounds – The Beach Boys (specifically: Wouldn’t It Be Nice, Don’t Talk (Head On My Shoulder), Let’s Go Away for Awhile, and God Only Knows)

A Christmas Miracle

2009-06-19T14:19:00.000-07:00

I’m not entirely sure what to say to start off. But isn’t that what everyone says when they start writing a blog? I’m not sure what to say blah blah blah. And they always want to describe themselves. But, they only say the good things about themselves: “I’m a sassy woman full of pep!” Or “I’m a guy that likes intelligent conversation and to drink a beer.” What a load of crap.

I’m sounding awfully cynical aren’t I? I apologize. I’m not really cynical. I’m actually a great guy that loves romantic walks on the beach. ;)

Hardy har har. Anyway, back to my first sentence: I’m not sure how to start off and I don’t want to describe myself. I guess I’ll start with my interests.

First and foremost is music. A lot of people say music is their lives, and I’m one of them. Most people, especially people in my age group, would say “those other people are full of crap; they don’t understand music like I do.” But it’s not for me to say whether people are telling the truth or not. I really revolve my life around music.

Brian Wilson, one of the founding members of the Beach Boys, and the man who produced most of their records and wrote most of their songs (he was really the creative man in the group, the others just sang), says that “music is the voice of God.” That statement rings so true with me.

I love all kinds of music. Variety is the spice of life. I’ve got just about every genre on my iPod. What really, really pisses me off is when people say “rap is crap.” I get so mad when I hear that. Music affects everyone differently; it’s not for you to say that one genre is better then the other. It’s all about personal taste. If you don’t like rap then don’t listen to it. But I don’t need to hear you talk bad about it.

The greatest band of all time is the Beatles. Pure and simple. Nothing in the world has influenced me like the Beatles have. I haven’t found a single song of theirs that I don’t like. Pretty good considering they did over 200 of them (I believe 194 are original). If you add up all the Beatles songs together I think you get roughly 12-13 hours of material. How strange to think that only 12-13 hours of music can change someone’s life so drastically, like it has mine and millions of others.

I first got into them about a year and a half ago. Around Christmas of ’06. I’d really wanted to listen to them because I’d heard so many good things about them. I may have downloaded a couple of their tunes, but I wasn’t blown away. I did like some of them though. I remember liking "Yellow Submarine," "Eleanor Rigby," and not liking "Yesterday" (which I’ve since come to love). I still had this idea of them as a boy band though because their most famous song is probably "I Want to Hold Your Hand."

So I mention that I want to listen to some of their songs to my neighbor, Nanci (who also influenced me to start writing this blog). She was (still is) dating this cat (the old ‘70s term for guy, not a feline) named Randy who was (still is) something of a musicologist and had all their albums and really loved them and so on. I should mention that I’d met this dude once or twice before and thought he was very cool.

Anyway, on Christmas Eve, Nanci has a little shin-dig at her casa and my mother and I attend. There are present openings and such, and it’s all great fun (except for an incident with my brother that I won’t go into now).

So a week or two after Christmas, Nanci says that she had found a present under the tree at her house that I was meant to open on Christmas Eve, but it had gotten misplaced. So she gives it to me, and I open it and it’s a burnt copy of Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band by the Beatles that Randy had burnt for me. I thanked Nanci profusely and went straight back to my domicile and inserted the disk into my computer and copied to my iPod.

I don’t remember my initial opinion of the first time I listened to it, but I do remember the first time I realized the Beatles were the geniuses that everyone said they were. I was walking around—something I do quite often—and I was playing Sgt. Pepper and I remember listening to A Day in the Life (the closing track on Sgt. Pepper) over and over. I was just blown away by it. It was mind-blowing without the use of any sort of narcotics.

I asked Nanci if she’d ask Randy to burn me more Beatles CDs. He was more then happy to oblige, and I was absolutely hooked. On my iPod, I’ve got just about everything they put out during their 8 year run, except for a few songs that I haven’t acquired.

It’s amazing to think how much they produced in such a short span of time. 200 songs in 8 years. They had one album a year from 1966 onwards and several albums a year from 1963 to 1965. And they were touring like crazy from basically 1960 to 1966! And most of their stuff was original. Most bands nowadays (and even back then) release an album, tour for a year and a half to promote it, and then set about making their next record. Most bands have a new record every two or three years. The Beatles toured, wrote songs, recorded them, toured some more, made a movie, recorded more songs, and so on and so forth. And when they released singles, they weren’t from their albums. Almost all of their singles weren’t put onto an album.

But enough gushing about the Beatles. I’ve over indulged myself with this blog. If you’re still reading this then kudos to you! I would have stopped six paragraphs ago. I hope this blog is the start of millions more to come. We’ll see. Until then, adios.

What I’m listening to: Mad World – Gary Jules
I think I’ll put a song or album that I’m really digging at the end of every blog. Just in case you, the reader, are itching for a good song or album.