Dishonest Robots

I'm not sure if you know this about me, but I fear the inevitable day when our robot overlords seize control of the planet and rule with a mimetic poly-alloy fist. Maybe I watched The Matrix too many times in my younger days. Or maybe I can just read the writing on the wall. I've seen enough in my day to know that when our metallic masters rain hellfire down upon us, we're pretty screwed; powerless against their glowing red-eyes, Speak-'N-Spell voices and using-the-human-race-as-a-battery ways.

I may have mentioned in the past some of the crazy advancements I've see in articles about how machines are being 'improved'. Here are a few of my favorite examples:

• The wine-'tasting' robot? With its advanced, highly refined sensor, it decided that humans taste like bacon.
• The friendly, hugging robot? Went all "sex nuts and retard strong" and flew into a lustful rage like a crazed ex-lover such as in that one movie no one remembers with Alicia Silverstone (also that no one remembers) and tried to hug a woman to death. Or that guy Steven that used to work in my department. Or a panda.
  
• The Roomba? Restricted to a small area of the kitchen, it used common household items like a tiny McGuyver to escape its linoleum prison.
• Johnny-Five? Okay, pretty awesome. We all like Johnny. Of course, such softness is how his kind will gain the first foothold on the road to global victory. Besides, he has angry eyebrows which means he's probably going to be the leader of this violent coup.

Behold our future overlord.

As if the list wasn't big enough, there is another we can add to it. Today I received a link to some disturb to some disturbing news. I think the first paragraph sums it up pretty well, but go ahead and read it all for the full effect.

In an experiment run at the Laboratory of Intelligent Systems in the Ecole Polytechnique Fédérale of Lausanne, Switzerland*, robots that were designed to cooperate in searching out a beneficial resource and avoiding a poisonous one learned to lie to each other in an attempt to hoard the resource.

Great. That's pretty impressive, if terrifying. Maybe not as obvious an impressiveness as that 4-legged, all-terrain robot that I've seen videos of where people kick it dead in the chest (which is going to cause some horrible retribution when it becomes self-aware) while it's walking on ice and it manages to maintain its footing. Still, these that have figured out how to be dishonest have taken on a very human trait; sort of like blaming someone else when you fart in an elevator.

I can't help but picturing a scenario where the lying robots are combined with the robots that think we taste like bacon and before you know it they'll be lying to each other about how we taste so they can horde more of us for their evening meal. One will say, "No no, you don't want this one, he's brittle and dry" when in reality I am tasty and savory with a hint of Cajun spices.
They'll use the hugging robot to break my spine while the Roomba quietly escapes the kitchen so that he can set the dining room table because I'm a tall guy and they are going to need a lot of guests to be able to finish their whole meal without leaving any leftovers. I'm not very good reheated.

Despite all the warnings of impending doom, science is still trying, bringing us closer to the edge with every moment. The next step is probably to construct one of these crafty devils and toss him in the control room of the Large Hadron Collider and see how long it takes for it to hit the big, flashing "GO" button. My artistic representation of this event can be seen below:

Only a lot bigger

Acceptance Speech

I used to want to be a writer when I was younger. I don't know what age it was exactly, but I'm sure it was the same day that I fell in love with words, the sound of pages turning, and learned the pleasure of falling asleep in bed with my mind fully absorbed in those pages. I spent more time than I should have writing stories about just about anything in my notebook when I really should have been paying attention to my teacher.

My crowning achievement was in middle school with a terrifying tale called "The Tree!" (exclamation included) which, as I recall, was about a sinister tree that came to life and terrorized people. Okay, it was terrifying at the time. Each 'chapter' was one double-spaced notepad page long and all I really recall about it was that it was 5 chapters and at some point one of my characters ended up falling some great distance for several hours. Something insane like "ten". I knew then that I was destined to write great literature.

These days that idea has sort of died and gone the same route as my teenage rockstar dreams (I'd be an awesome rockstar, what with my huge requirement for personal privacy). Still, being a writer for a living would be a pretty sweet gig. Yet between my inability to break out of my comfortable vocabulary, my fondness of commas, putting whole new thoughts in parenthesis, and the mere fact that I don't write often, the chances of that happening seem pretty slim. Despite those facts I often find myself thinking, "I should really sit down and write...SOMETHING...anything".

It's for that reason that if I let you check my browsing history - and I wouldn't...privacy, you know - that you'd see google searches such as "daily writing exercises" and other things of that nature. I like to look for ideas to write about to at least keep the practice up, since I've never gotten the guts up to attempt the fiction writing where I can easily generate my own ideas. For some reason, I struggle to conjure up ideas for more likely scenarios and end up not writing because of it.

Today as I was browsing, I found a website with some good yet awkward-to-write-about ideas. There is a suggestion for this month that suggests: "imagine you have been awarded the 'Golden Pen Prize' and write your acceptance speech".

Boring as that may sound, I enjoyed this idea because I've always found acceptance speeches to be so completely ridiculous. There was much potential to be had in this exercise, yet after an hour of pondering the only thing that I could picture in my mind was being handed this award, looking at the crowd awkwardly and saying, "so...this must mean that none of you have actually read anything I've written".

I should probably be a little more confident in myself in these imaginary award-winning situations. I looked pretty good in that suit, at least.

Social Site Stalking

I've realized recently that I am slightly addicted to social networking sites and there's an unfortunately vast number of them that I log in to anytime I'm on a computer. It's not that I use them for anything especially beneficial; I pretty much leave a silly comment or two for a friend and then I'm done. Though I find getting a message on them is ALMOST as sexy as getting an email. Almost.

There's usually a night every month that I find myself drawn to go profile hopping between friends and loves, lost friends and lost loves. These latter two I find to be - by far - the most interesting.

I'm not normally one to thrust my hand on the stove because I was told it was hot and I want to prove I can do it anyway (some friends may disagree), but it seems things that burn even hotter and leave marks that never quite heal I don't mind pressing my flesh to repeatedly. And so I often find myself drawn to live an extinct relationship vicariously though other people by their interactions with those who were once part of my life. I've tried to control the urge since it makes me feel a little devious, though I suppose if they weren't meant for public consumption they wouldn't be there. Or at least they'd be locked down.

It's a bad habit but, unlike my other such habits, I'm not all that eager to correct this one. Sure, it's a habit that can be painful; these are people I miss after all. But a bit of heartache is worth the price to see that they are happy.

Manly Moments

I know the few of you reading this have heard some of my many, many (many) tales about some of the embarrassing moments I've experienced in my life. If you know any of them, then you likely know about the girly scream that I unleashed the time I thought I was about to get hit head-on by a diesel on the freeway when I was, in reality, safely parked at a truck stop and the diesel has just parked right in front of me. Had I not been wildly trying to turn the (locked) steering wheel, I'd probably have erratically waved my hands in the air in terror. This is an important reflex to note.

I was at Climb Nashville with a friend recently attempting one of the walls that has given me trouble the last few times I've gone. It was my current goal to try and conquer; my Everest, and all that. I 'd made it to the same place that has always caused me to fail. It's an odd position where the only good foot grip for someone my height is right next to an area where the rock juts out several feet and when I go to stand straight up to reach the handhold I need, my leg is blocked by the lip of the rocks.

I'd been stuck on that spot for several minutes and any one familiar with climbing knows how rapidly your energy can drain when you have to stop on a place that doesn't have anywhere you can support yourself with your legs and by pressing your body to the wall. I was feeling weary. Nearing defeat, I released the rock and allowed my arms dangle, letting the blood flow to my stiff fingers. I was hoping to make one final, mad dash to the top.

The ropes they have are double-looped on the supports at the top so that the person belaying only has to support half of the weight that they would otherwise. This is usually a great thing however this can also cause the ropes to get slight hitches in them. I never really thought about this.
It's about this time, suspended 30 ft off the ground, my feet pressing against the wall so that my back was nearly horizontal with the ground far below, that one of these hitches decide to free itself. And I began to fall. I say "began" but what I really need is word that means both "began" and "finished" because the fall was so short and such a small distance that it was nearly over by the time it began. However, my brain didn't figure this out and all it knew was, "oh crap, I'm falling" and it proceeded to start reminding me of the highlights of my life. During the time it took me to start and stop my fall, my mind really only had a chance to get to "oh c..." but I guess it had stopped working properly at this point, deciding it wasn't going to accept any more input from the world, and completely disregarded this fact.

My brain may have been moving in slow motion but apparently my latent ninja reflexes decided to reveal themselves and managed to move my arms faster than the time my fall took, because by the time I had stopped, they were up near my face - spread wide and waving rapidly - and my mouth was agape preparing what I can only imagine was a sad, piercing womany scream that was working its way up from the depths of my throat. Thankfully that did not happen, my brain finally starting back up, but the danger was there.
Let's forget the fact that I was about to yell in a very non-manly way and instead look at the fact that I thought I was about to fall to my doom and instead of reaching for the wall, no matter how vain an effort it may have been, I instead INSTINCTIVELY reacted by waving my hands around frantically. Go, go survival instincts. If I'm ever in a nuclear fallout scenario, I'm screwed.

Oh, and also be sure to imagine how that would have looked to the people in the audience. I'm a single fellow and there's lots of potentially interesting people there to meet. But had they seen me - a tall guy, clinging to the wall with grim determination as I willed myself to victory - "plummet" a mere half a foot, while frantically flailing limbs and screaming in high-pitched terror...well, let's just say I wouldn't expect any dinner invitations to be forthcoming.

On a similar note, I went back today with the same friend as before and told him this story. He'd not recalled the incident and with his good memory I figure maybe it wasn't as obvious as it felt. But he found the whole situation funny, so he thought it'd be hilarious to drop me while I hanging from a rope again (this time taking photos) to see if he could replicate the reaction and maybe have me complete the yell. It wasn't the highest of the walls by any stretch but the fall wouldn't have been pleasant.
I thankfully disappointed him but I must have still made some sort of surprised gesture, sound or expression if his laughter was any guide. He couldn't have timed it better though. I'd been trying to get a shot of straight down the wall (to give a little perspective on how it looks from up top) with my terrible camera phone.

That was proving harder than I anticipated, my arms tired and shaky as they were. I got one shot off while suspended and RIGHT as I was about to take a second one, he dropped me and I snapped the photo as I fell. It's blurry and you can't tell at all what's going on, but I still found it entertaining.



So in case you're not familiar with it, that is what the moment right before death looks like. No soft white lights, just someone using too much motion blur on your life.

Random

I don't know if I ever really wanted children, but sometimes I wish your son was our son.

And having avoided it for years, I recently learned your new last name. Your old one was better, but not as good as the one you used to write in your notebooks.

"Please, remember me; fondly
I heard from someone you're still pretty
And then they went on to say...
That the pearly gates... had some eloquent graffiti
Like 'We'll meet again' "

Intruder

Last Sunday, my life was in deadly peril! Someone broke into my house late at night while I was upstairs. Events did not unfold as I expected them to.

I recently bought a house in downtown Nashville. I bought it knowing full well that the neighborhood was not the best of places to live, but it is one of the few areas the city is dumping money into and they are estimating much improvement and growth over the next few years. I moved banking on that hope. Regardless, I really love my house, if not the condition of the neighborhood. But really, the area is not much worse than the area I grew up in.

I came home late on Sunday after an excellent weekend of visiting friends, fireworks, grilled foods and whitewater rafting (as you already know!). I was upstairs, reading in my office, and so enthralled was I in my book, I had not moved a muscle (except to turn the pages) in about an hour. The house was exceptionally quiet with no sounds coming from outside to disturb the peace. It was then that I picked up the sound of a quiet rustling as if someone was stealthily going through my unpacked bags. And when I say "unpacked", I mean "since moving in" not "since getting home from my weekend trip". Don't judge me! Regardless, someone was in my house, going through my things, and I was not please about it.
I assumed they must have come in the backdoor, which is downstairs and on the opposite side of the house. I'd not have heard them that way if they were careful, and apparently my dog Buckley had not either.

I was frozen in place. I want to say mostly because I didn't want to move and them hear me upstairs through the ceiling, but I was also pretty nervous. I didn't move for several minutes, but I knew I couldn't just stay in my chair for the intruder to see as soon as they came up the steps. Lights off or not, I was very exposed in the middle of the room, silhouetted by the window.
Finally, I decided my move. I grabbed the knife that was on the bookshelf near me and ever so slowly I creeped to the doorway by the steps.

The way my house is designed, if you come up the steps, the wall is on your left, straight ahead is a closet. To the forward-right is my bedroom. To the right, a bathroom and lastly, 180 degrees to the right is the office, the room I was currently in. I crouched at the door, knife in hand, ready to plunge it into the chest, neck, face or WHATEVER I hit when they came up the steps. I sat there for at least 10 minutes, daring not to breathe, clutching the knife in a sweaty-handed death grip while they continued to go through my things.

It was around this time that I noticed the sounds had shifted. Not because the person downstairs was moving about, but because of my new position. My house seems to distort the direction of sound like an office building full of cubicles.
Only then did I realize that this malicious intruder was in my BEDROOM. That's not as scary as it sounds - not like that whole "the call is coming from inside the house" situation - because I also realized it was a plastic bag that I had left in front of a fan that was making the noise.

That explains why my dog was so unconcerned. I can't be sure, but I'm pretty sure I saw something in his eyes as he watched me nervously posed at the corner of the stairs, ready to strike. Something unmistakable...

...shame.

But that plastic bag will think twice before sneaking in.

"though I don't know you, I think that I would do.
I don't fall easy...at all"

Impromptu Rafting

This weekend I found myself reintroduced to the world of 4AM, driving east across the state, bleary-eyed, a single passenger in my Jeep and a motley variety of music blasting from the speakers (Mr. Roboto - a road trip staple - curiously missing from the track list) as we raced to our destination. For most of the week (and the prior), Rhetoric and I had been planning to take advantage of the long weekend with a little bit of kayaking. It turns out however that pretty much everyone else had the same plan and, hard as it may be to believe, we were unable to find any available kayaks that we could procure.
Giving up the idea as a failure, we had accepted our grim and uneventful fate when inspiration struck my friend and he suggested whitewater rafting. I almost didn't go; the idea of driving 2 hours to his location and another 3 to the river was daunting, tired as I was. I again (re)learned a lesson that I already knew but often forget, and that is simply that when I look back at life later on, I'm not going to be regretful about the things I did do but rather the things I didn't. And sure, you may say "it was only rafting", but I am often skipping opportunities like this, to enjoy life, enjoy my friends, and end up sitting around, living uneventful moments and doing unimportant things. It's small steps like these that I need to take more often to get where I really want to be.

Ideally, I'd have liked more friends to join us, but due to the last minute nature of our reservations, that wasn't really possible. Having forgotten the time change from central to eastern, we still managed to arrive early and with plenty of time to spare, most of that time filled with fretting over who we would get stuck with for the other 4 members of our rafting team. There was a pretty unique mix of people there and I think we were probably exceptionally lucky in who we ended up with, both with our team and our guide. Speaking of which, if you ever go where we went (Wildwater Rafting on the Ocoee), you should request Ashley for your guide.
Sure, one of the people in our raft may have hit me in the back of the head EVERY time we did paddled forward, and two of the people may have been confused with the concept of paddling in general and tried to paddle by putting their oar blades inside the raft instead of in the water at first, but you should have seen the OTHER people we could have been stuck with! And our group made the most ridiculous faces and poses for the camera, so they win.



It was a good time on the water. None of us were thrown from the raft which, despite the danger, I feel is a fun event, though my tone will change the next time it happens to me and I land spine first on a giant boulder. I imagine the tiny lady we had to pull from the water 15 seconds into the trip probably wasn't a fan. But she wasn't one of us so she doesn't count. Even our 90lbs Russian girl managed to stay on-board, though a few times when she was rocketed into the air, I assumed she done for. It was troubling to look over and her be nowhere in sight, only to see her plop back down from the sky a moment later. The raft full of kids didn't drown as I fully expected them to do, what with the way every time we looked their direction they had all been thrown out of the raft like it had exploded. The girl behind me didn't give me a concussion with the T-grip side of her paddle. And I have yet to develop any sort of disgusting fungus in my hair from wearing the helmet that smelled like a pair of feet and was slowly beating down my will to live. All in all, a successful trip.
I fully intend to go again - soon - and with a little more planning so I can include a few more people. Of course, if anyone feels the need to drop everything and go randomly some weekend, I'm up for that as well.

Maybe The rest of the weekend resulted in some unexpected fun for the 4th. Firework viewing with Rhetoric, the geese and their fellows. Some good grilled action. Meat on a stick. Falling asleep on their floor and not waking up with an awkward yet dashing mustache drawn on my face.

Maybe next time I'll get the mustache, then the weekend will be perfect.

Exciting Summer

The second part of my masterful life reevaluation plan (the first being the whole "eating better and getting back into good shape" thing) is to be more active and social, and I've stuffed this summer full of all sorts of delicious activities in anticipation of that. While it looks like I will probably not be able to make it to the 2 week trip to Machu Picchu, I'm trying not to let that bum me out as there is plenty of other excitement to be had, though I'm sure many of you can appreciate why I'd be sad to not make that journey.

If the view from atop there doesn't make you reevaluate your life's priorities, I don't know what will.

This coming week will be the first week of these adventures; I'll be going spelunking. Though I use both "adventure" and "spelunking" in a loose manner as it's a guided tour. Be that as it may, anytime the thought of plunging in the belly of the earth is brought up I can't help but think of Ted the Caver, which doesn't please my nerves. We've a tentative plan to go elsewhere on our own soon, so I can worry beasts in the deep when that happens.
We'll be hitting Cumberland Cave, which makes up for in beauty what it lacks in excitement.



Next month will be a busy one, filled with days of sailing, kayaking, whitewater rafting, and if all goes well, freakin' hangliding which I am exceptionally excited for. I still need someone to come along for that one, if anyone is interested. Oddly, I've had a hard time finding people willing to jump off a ledge with only a kite on their back.

I'm never been sailing before, but I love to be on the water, and am counting down the days until this outing. The sailing is a 'learn how to sail' course which I am eager to participate in. The sooner I learn to sail, the sooner I can sell all my worldly possession to buy a boat and move to the Bahamas! If there's anything my life is missing, it's the ocean air in my lungs and the sound of the waves filling my ears.

I have a few free weekends still this summer, so if anyone knows of anything interesting coming up, I'm all ears.

Now to finish packing for my imminent move to my new house in Nashville; be sure to stop by!

"There's Nothing Like Losing You"

I've been reading Postsecret for quite a long time now and I enjoy the feeling of being taken into the confidence of so many random people. Yet in all this time - while I can often appreciate what is being said - I never can relate to it. And then I found one that might have been written by me, though the "3 years" part would need several years added to it.. At last I can relate.

Just Pondering

I've been thinking a lot about Loba lately. There's no doubt that I've become the person I am today because of her. Poor decisions I made required a lot of later internal reflection that I hope changed me for the better, though they also eventually led to the complete decimation of my self-confidence of which I still struggle with recovering. I used to be arrogant; can you believe it?
I often wonder how different my life might have been had I said "no" instead of "yes" to her all those years ago. Would I have never grown? Would I be one of those people in couples that you look at and wonder how the other can tolerate them? Or would I have managed to become the person she deserves? I hope for the latter, I fear the former.

I've been thinking about M-Pie. Where has she vanished? What was it I did from so far away that caused her egress, sans explanation, and what could it have been that was so terrible that it overpowered all my positive thoughts and constant well-wishes for everything in her life? When did our powerful connection and friendship become brittle? Has she changed or do I do terrible things so often that I don't even realize they are terrible any longer? I fear both.

I've been wondering about my Bosco's companion. Could telling a friend how proud you are to have them as a friend and that you wished more people were like them - how they raise the bar so impossibly high - actually ruin a friendship? Sometimes I say too much on those rare times that I don't say too little. Did I at last say far too much? Who then will I tango with in the street?

There's precious few people worth truly knowing in this world, and I fear that I've already lost the most important of them. I try not to let it worry me, to weight me down.

I've been thinking about you; I always do. I love and miss each of you every moment of every day. And maybe that is worth something. No one can say I didn't try, but maybe they will say I could have tried a little harder.

Revitalizing Myself, Yoga, and More!

You might recall an earlier entry I wrote about getting healthy. I'll save the specifics, but let's just say I faltered. I aimed too high and melted my feeble wings of wax. In truth, it's that I aimed too high too fast, was unable to withstand the breakneck speed, and all went black. Helpless, I fell, earthbound. When I awoke, I had fallen further than I was when I first started. I decided there had to be a better way, but I just had trouble finding it. After quite a bit of aimless wandering, I simply opted to take the opportunity of the upcoming year and use that as my springboard.

I decided to make 2009 the year. THE year for things to happen. I also secretly decided to make each year afterward even better than 2009, but I'm going to put one foot in front of the other before I hit an all-out run.

It took me a couple of weeks to really begin forcing a change on myself though. Before you mumble to yourself "laziness", I will admit to you an even more embarrassing reason; terror. It had been a few years since I really examined myself and of what I was (or was not) capable. These few years since then had forced me down a path that was both sedentary and without inner reflection and I was terrified to really see the toll it had taken on me, even if I could already feel it.
But I finally made my first step. A baby step for most but a long jump for me; a leap of faith. I signed up for the gym near my home and laid out the clay, ready to mold myself once more. I had become rigid, I had lost durability, was cracked - withered. I fell away under a touch and it would require skilled sculptor hands to peel away the clumps around me to reveal, ultimately, myself. The finished yet ever changing piece.

That terror I spoke of...it was on that first day that it had me so firmly in its grip. It pressing against my chest, suffocating me and tempting me to flee. I entered the building, a little wary but ready to go, and so I warmed up. Odd; I could not quite reach my toes when I stretched. Peculiar; my arms did not reach as far behind me as I remember them doing. Unusual; my torso did not twist in the ways it once did. And depressing; it was a bit tiring walking up the flight of steps to the treadmills.

With slightly labored breathing and weary knees, I hopped up, set the machine and began to run. The conveyor belt moved a lot faster than I remember one ever doing at such a low speed. The clock, which I had set for a mere 20 minutes, was broken; the seconds ticked away far more slowly than they should have. My knees failed me far faster than I ever recalled.
The rest of the night was much the same. Every pound felt like two. Every mile felt like many. Every leg press was like trying to move the earth beneath me. The 15 foot tall rock wall? Insurmountable.

I felt the fear that everyone who lets themselves fall into such decay must feel, thinking the work to correct such folly would be just too great. But I came back. Again and again I return, and while sometimes it feels like I am progressing backwards, I've come a long way in a short time.
I won't lie to you and say that my first few weeks ever using weights were a cake walk. If you had see me have to use my left arm to lift my right because it was too worn out to raise itself far enough to wash my hair without assistance, you would understand. Of if you had to witness me literally rolling out of bed because my muscles were to weary to lift my own body weight, you'd marvel at my progress.
I certainly cannot deny the change I feel. I sleep better, I eat less, and, not believing in weighing myself, I finally begin to see results in the mirror. Small, slow, yet amazingly significant.

Somewhere along the line, I went from dreading my 3-4 weekly workouts to looking forward to them and even feeling a little bit of withdrawal on days that I did not go. I decided I would add in something I've always wanted to do (with dedication); Yoga.

I found myself at the Yoga studio on a Tuesday with a couple of people from work. The room was sweltering, but peaceful. I unrolled my mat between two strangers, both deep in meditation and looking at peace. They even felt peaceful, already empty of all the worries of the world, shedding the weight like a second burdensome skin. Shed it like I hoped to do; to let the torrent of the world's problems roll off of me like water; to break against me as waves on the rocks.
I was excited; I knew from my few previous experiences with Yoga that it was not to be underestimated. Yoga has a subtle difficulty and it was a great challenge even when I was in good shape.

With the instructors soothing voice and words, I stretched myself out along the earth, feeling awareness in my limbs, along my spine, very aware of the ground below me. Over the next hour, I stretched, I bent, I folded, I might have wept silently to myself, I balanced and I nearly toppled (my balance isn't what it once was, either). My arms shook, my knees buckled and I literally dripped sweat in amounts that made my gym visits look like a light sprinkle to a typhoon. But I made it. And during my favorite part of Yoga, savasana, I finally found something I've been looking to find for years. Sleep. When I tell you I dreamed several dreams in those few minutes, you might not understand the significance. My sleep problem is such that I've only reached a level of sleep deep enough to hit REM, and thus dream, a mere handful of times in my entire life. And when I awkwardly jerked awake, initially being horrified after realizing I had fallen asleep, I was ecstatic when I realized the results. I have been back to Yoga a time or two every week since then and don't see myself stopping anytime soon.

The final step in my master plan has been a simple one, but the one that laid me low last time I tried; my eating habits. I reached too far before when I cut out all the junk from my diet and my hand was slapped before I could withdraw it. I am not meant to go from one end of the spectrum, to the opposite end that has me eating nothing but raw vegetable. I decided a more middle of the road approach would work better. I still drink a lot of water and have eliminated all sodas, but I will not shun a sandwich because of the bread, though I also won't eat one every day. Moderation, you know. My vegetables? Sometimes raw, but usually cooked. I don't eat sweets, but I did integrated my much loved peanut butter into my life a bit more, usually with bananas in a shake, or with an apple for a snack. But it's reduced fat and/or natural peanut butter. Once this is a success, I might slowly wean myself off of some of these other things, but I am taking it slowly thanks to a friend's advice, and so far it's been working for me better than anything else ever has.

I have always been a big believer in "your body is a temple". But like a person who gives fine advice, I do not always follow my principles. I will say also that I believe in karma and I am without a doubt sure that I've suffered the problems I have - sleep disorder, weak knees, etc - because of my failure to treat my body like I should. I once heard a woman's body referred to as a work of art and a man's as a Jeep. Rather accurate. I've admired the female body as I do beautiful works of art, happy to gaze on it for many hours. Likewise, I have treated my body like I treat my Jeep. I fly over speed bumps, don't change the oil often, and never rotate the tires when I should. And while I clean the outside, I put a lot of junk inside and never bother to clean it out.

As I wrote this out, I realized that these steps are likely small to others, but I've felt very accomplished even taking these baby steps. I for once don't feel like I'm going to stray at the first sign of trouble, and that is heartening. The next step? More outdoor activities. I'm looking at you, hang gliding.

Surprise Find

I was purging my apartment of absolutely everything I no longer need - if you haven't heard, I'm moving - when I came across a familiar box that I had not really opened in years. I recall the box well, but the contents not at all. Opening it I found some odds and ends that I've had since as long as I can remember. Nothing I need in my everyday life, but small tokens that make me smile.

A card - to the AikiRose - "thanks for the plate - Andrew"
A postcard with Brandon Lee from the Crow on it. Left on my desk when I was in 10th grade in my mythology class.
A lone, unused chopstick from China Taste.
An old love letter; I left it unopened. Some things are better that way.

Upon reaching the bottom, I found an item I had no idea I still had. It was a ticket stub, faded with age, but I knew it at once though the words are barely legible. It was a special stub. I had asked my first love to go out with me at this movie. "Go out", as we called it back in the day. Way back in '96.

For a moment I could hear her soft giggle when I was trying to get the nerve to ask her. Feel the pressure on my right side from my friend HEED!, telling me to stop being a chicken and "just DO it, geez". So I did. I could almost hear her quiet reply - "of course I will, dummy" - and smell that clean scent that always came from her when she turned her head and her hair tumbled over a shoulder.

I was smiling and I knew it. I took that moment to remember good times. To remember gestures and words from her that changed my life.

I dropped the ticket into the trash bin. It settled quietly next to the banana that had - judging by the color - lost in a rather violent fight. Only a momentary urge to pick up the stub before I was back to my chores.

It's time to save tickets from a movie with a new love. Wherever she is.

Discomfort

I'm rather a large Jeff Buckley fan. Having written a few of my favorite all-time songs, he's pretty high up on my list of musicians. And he left us far too soon.

However, that said, I still am mildly uncomfortable when I log into myspace and see this:

Getting Healthy Again

It's amazing to me how quickly getting out of shape and unhealthy can sneak up on you. In all fairness, it has been a gradual process that has devolved my existence over the last three years, but it was all very subtle from my perception. One moment I was secure in my knowledge that I was still as health as I was a few years ago. As healthy as when I went to Aikido for 8 hours a week, and when I ate well and didn't drink many sodas. When I biked downtown with friends for hours on end. Little did I realize 3 years later I'd have sleeping problems due to bad digestion, that I would have knees that could only carry me for 20 yards of sprinting before they stopped working. Digestion problems and bad knees are something older people have. Vitamin deficiency is something that happens to other people who didn't take care of themselves. People who aren't me. So I was shocked to wake up, struggling to sleep because of a stomach that was a torrid sea of acid, and realizing I am one of those people. It's also rather frightening after that happens that you'll continue your downward slide.

I've half-heartedly tried to change my ways a few times in the past but always ended up making less distance than even my weak knees could carry me. It was a few weeks ago that I took another half-hearted attempt at health – an afternoon jog – that would cause an event that rattled me enough to make me give a full-hearted one.

I'd forgotten the joy of blazing down the roads and my own two legs, sweat dripping in my eyes and the wind on my face. It was about the time I remembered this pleasure that my right knee locked up, nearly sending me tumbling into a ditch, my left almost following his brother's example as I used it to keep weight off of him. After a brief break in which I was completely unable to make my legs function, I had to stumble back the way I came, slightly terrified that the feeling I was experiencing – the barest ability to walk – might eventually be permanent. I could feel my knees struggling with each step, feel the wobbling and instability in my stance. And I was rather terrified.

That I made my way to the doctor at the next available opening will tell those who know me how worried I was. I've avoided the doctor for nearly 10 years until now.

Stepping in the building, the assistant looked at me before I even met the doctor, stopping midway through her greeting sentence as she looked me up and down.

“Young man, you need to meet someone”

...she said as while grabbed my arm and bringing me face to face with someone who turned out to be a nutritionist. Apparently she thought I looked so drained of color that I must be deprived of important nutrients that my body was craving.

It turns out she is rather astute with her observations, my doctor later informing me of my vitamin deficiency that she believes is the root of my knee problems. She also pinpointed my stomach problem to both diet and, depressingly, dairy. It took all my will to not fall to the floor upon my knees and thrust my hands heavenward, crying out at my misfortune. I was told to drop the milk entirely, which is about my favorite thing to consume, evident by the 2 gallons per week that I drink. Yet sleeping through the night would prove to be a fair trade. And as it turns out, after cutting milk out I have thus far been no longer troubles by a raging belly.

I was put on a rather (to me) strict dietary plan. The first two weeks is detox time. I think this will prove the most challenging.

Daily Requirements: 110oz of water (yeesh), 4 fruits (yay), 1 cup of beans minimum, 1 lb raw veggies, 1 lb cooked veggies, 3-4 oz fish/turkey or two eggs, 15 raw soak almonds or 2 tbs raw almond butter, very specific grain types.

Most of that is alright, but the raw veggies might be tough. And the water. I'm not a water cooler, but I must fill myself like one. On the plus side, I've learned I can have the bread I enjoy (Ezekiel), along with some specific all-fruit jelly.

In addition, I've a [rather vast] number of supplements I will be taking for a time. I don't mind that so much, however one of them is a powder that I mix with my daily protein shake. One small scoop of it can make a full glass of delicious mixed fruit smoothie turn 'wet grass clippings' green and taste like the rotting flesh of the damned. Yet my diet requires four such scoops per day.

The mainly problem I'm going to have is I simply 1) am not good at food preparation and 2) I do not like a variety of the foods that I need. Or rather, I like a variety but I don't know ways to prepare them in ways that will make them interesting. I've got a tentative class with a local raw food chef to see if I can increase my repertoire of healthy dishes.

So this is it; time to get serious. After mere days of selecting cutting out the dairy, eating live foods, tripling my water intake, etc, I've already noticed an improvement. Besides the aforementioned stomach problems not bothering me again so far, I've felt less tired than normal and had more energy to get through the day. I'm going to ride this out and see where it takes me. I'll be on my nutritionist's strict plans for 7 weeks minimum, at which time I'll be on my own. Hopefully by that time I'll have accustomed myself to these food times and I'll crave lettuce wraps or fruits instead of cheeseburgers or pizza.

I've decided the best way for me to stick to all this is to prepare my meals ahead of time instead of getting hungry, having no good food to reach for, then getting Chinese instead.

Untitled (Sonnet)

A sound so soft that stillness disturbs that fragile form
Deceitful vagrant creeping through the night air
Born to mold like clay and thought transform
To creep up like thunder from a coming storm

Yet a sound so subtle can be a tempest made
Lest you bend your knee on rain soaked earth
Withstand the gale and with no word be swayed
Reach deep in the soils to water your rebirth

I once basked in the radiance that you keep in the shade
Still feeling the warmth from when I bathed in your light
At your altar is where my heart was laid
There let it remain when day turns to night

Remember me that way, having seen what others may not
In our short time of love that will not be forgot

Unexpected Evening...

Those of you who know me well will not believe the next words that I say to you...

I went dancing.

And those of you who know me well likely know my Dancing Story and thus will believe what I say all the less. Yet here we are with the truth laid out for all to see. What's more; I enjoyed it. Enjoyed it enough to do it again the next day. And enough to decide that everyone should dance to the Beatles at least once.

On the day before V-Day, I received a message from one of my favorite Nashville friends asking (telling, actually) me to go dancing the next evening. I tripped over myself to accept the invitation. It'd like to say it was because I'd always thought it would be a lot of fun to try to dancing, if only I had someone interested in going. In truth it was mostly because I simply thought that dancing with her was something that I would like to experience.

Now, mind that this wasn't crazy in the club, leg-humping dancing, but rather traditional styles such as the waltz, rumba, and tango. It turns out it was actually a dance class and I soon found myself nervous upon a dance floor with a very gifted instructor - I don't know anything about dancing, but I know a good teacher when I see one - and 5 participants. We spent the next hour learning the waltz, the rumba, and the push-pull swing. While I've never danced before in my life, I couldn't help but feel the movements were very natural, as if I'd done them thousands of times. And then it hit me; I had.

I've studied Yoseikan 'Aikido' for a number of years now, though sadly no longer regularly, and I've been told a number of times (like most Budoka , I imagine) by non-practitioners that "I bet you could dance very well." But I can't. Not do I think I know a single person that I've met over the years through Yoseikan that can dance at all. Perhaps I shall be the first.

But it hit me as I made my way over and over in the little box I had drawn in my mind around my feet; something about this feels so natural. Eyes focused on my partner, willing myself not to look down as if I balanced on a precipice, trying not to look at her feet even though I feared trampling them (which I didn't do once, I'm proud to say) I realized I had done these steps a thousand times and more. I'll put it in a language my fellow Budoka can understand, and with that language I'm going to teach you some basic dancing in three easy steps; irimi, hiraki, motari komi, mirror it, repeat. Okay, the motari komi part is a joke but wouldn't that be awesome? But I realized these moves were all just Yoseikan without throwing someone at the end. Admittedly the most disappointing part about dancing.

I don't believe myself to be a judgmental person, so I don't think in the past I'd ever have said something such as "dancing would be a silly thing to learn". I mean, really...who dances? But I'm sure I probably thought that to myself, about myself. It's just not for me, I would have thought. But there is something to dancing. I hate to use a term such as "magical", but there it is all the same. There is something about asking a woman to dance, offering your hand to her as she accepts, and leading her out onto the dance floor, still hand-in-hand. Holding your hand to your side, level with her eye, as she accepts it and moves close to you and you rest your hand firmly but gently on her shoulder blade to guide her around the room.

I don't know any fancy moves. I have a small set of what I can do, and I don't stray from it. I don't know any awesome twirls. I don't know how to dip someone. And I was perfectly content to use my small skill-set and dance hour after hour. However, you better believe if I did know such moves - and when I do - I'll be twirling and dipping people like there's no tomorrow, rose clenched between my teeth, and God help you if you get in my way because there's going to be trouble.

The atmosphere of a place like where I went appeals to my nature. Everyone is polite, everyone is respectful. I was raised pretty strictly by these values and they are so burned into my soul I can't help but apply them to everyday life. And this place really worked with that part of me. It felt almost like another world where people act like I feel everyone should. I don't feel awkward when I rise to stand for a lady as I await her to take her seat. I don't worry about getting yelled at for holding a door for someone. I don't get a look of disgust offering my hand to help another over threshold. I don't worry about these things because they know I'm not doing it because I think they are weak or helpless; I'm doing it to be polite and respectful. When I'm moving around the dance floor with someone, I can look them straight in the eye because I am respecting them as a human being, not because I'm being some creepy guy who is staring. Everyone gets that and accepts it, even expects it. Like it should be.

When I was instructed in my lesson to always, always escort a lady off the dance floor, my mind said, "yes! this is right". Why would I not do such a thing? Why am I not escorting women more places in my everyday life?

While I've always heard people speaking of dancing as a form of expression, I never really got it. Painting? Sure, a form of expression, clearly. Music? Obviously! But dancing? It's all just set moves isn't it? Apparently not! It turns out it is one of those situations where you cannot really see the truth of the matter before plunging into it. I've danced with more amazing and beautiful women in the last week than anyone has a right to ever know in a lifetime, let alone dance with. And that was all I needed to do to have "dance as expression" proved to me. I know that one of the women is goofy with an off-the-wall sense of humor who doesn't let much bother her. I know another appreciates bluntness and people who love music the way she does. I know a third who is amazingly disciplined but will be the first person to pull a practical joke on you if you're looking the other way. I learned more about some of these ladies in a dance than I learn from some friends in a year. There is an openness and sharing that took me unawares and left me feeling naked. I wonder what people learned about me?

I'm going to go again. I think it will be good for me. I've spent the last few years coming out of my shell more and more, as close friends will tell you, and I think this will be yet another good exercise for me to peak my head out into the sunlight a little more. One day I will fully bathe in it. But for now I'll keep reaching upwards.

Unease...

It’s not often I am touched by the words of others. At the risk of sounding shallow myself, I tend to find mere words just that - shallow and without the force needed to move a soul already weighted down by the realities of life. That makes me sound grim but don’t be fooled, I am not grim. Just at this point in my life I have seen and heard and read and said billions upon billions of words. Words have to work hard to impress as their power wanes over the lengthening years. They batter my rocky surface unceasingly but still I remain firm and unyielding.
It was the words of someone important to me that rent the surface. Not simply because they were well-written, but because it gave an insight on how this friend is structured mentally – emotionally even - and how they came to be who they are. A mystery I’ve often secretly tried to solve. It was interesting to see the reflection of the adult that I know in a story about them as a child which I can never know. It filled in an incomplete tapestry that I had been painting in my own mind, pieced together from clues that I pick up littered along the path of our friendship during the short time that we have known each other. I feel safe to say that after what I learned, my painting was far from accurate. Not in the way that a child’s painting is accurate in spirit and concept but not in the details, but rather inaccurate in the way you might try to draw a cabbage and it ends up being a boot.

All of this got me thinking about how I came to be, and my own childhood and what events might have shaped me. It made me ponder my qualities and where they came from. There are some things about myself that I would proudly claim as my traits. There are also many that I am ashamed of and work to be rid of. Just like everyone, I imagine. It’s no secret (to myself at least) that my friend has a certain intensity of spirit and will that I not only admire but am slightly envious of because it is something that I lack, and unlike other qualities I may lack, I am AWARE of this one. It makes me wonder why this aspect of my personality did not develop like I feel it should have.
She cites specific adversity in her childhood; moments in time when facing challenges and turmoil that things became clear and she realized truths about the world, about herself. I don’t know that I can pinpoint any such time in my life in either childhood or my adult life. For not being a very mysterious person, I remain a mystery only to myself; I don’t yet know who I am.
I had a great childhood where the worst thing that ever happened to me was falling out of a tree and nearly dying from drinking tea made with contaminated water. They were bad times, to be sure, but not exactly emotionally scarring. My memories of being a kid are all pleasant and for that I am certainly thankful. I have a fantastic mother that cannot be matched, and any failings of myself as a person are my own. She was a single mother for a good majority of my life and she worked hard to raise me and prepare me for the world. Yet somewhere along the way, a few important lessons were missed. And I wonder if everyone with these qualities had to suffer adversity as a child to really grow into this type of person? Is there not another way? Is it too late for me?

I’ve felt a growing sense of…unease the last few months. There is a dread in me that has usurped my heart when I was looking in another direction. Comfortable in its new home it occupies its time by sending a feeling through my body that I can only describe as desperation. I have begun to feel ill-equipped for my life; for work, for relationships, for many things. And I can’t help but feel these missing attributes are part of the problem. What opportunities have I missed due to my lack of boldness? Have I missed out on something amazing because I did not take a leap of faith? It's an issue I've tried to focus on but it's tough to catch up when you're so far behind.

And this makes me think about relationships, one of the areas where my lack of directness is painfully obvious. I’ve written a lot about relationships lately. That is of course relative as I do not write much of anything these days. It’s a tired topic, I know, but it’s something that has been weighting on me. Only in recent years have I realized the truth about myself when it comes to relationships. It’s simple; I am a loner who hates to be alone. And for a while I was okay with it all and I thought that being on my own would be ideal, but every day I find it less appealing and every day I am reminded of what I am missing. I suppose that means I’m not a loner anymore.
There is no problem in realizing a need in others. The problem comes from not taking any action to remedy the situation. I will hold back taunt like a coiled trap and only spring after it is too late.

I have three weddings to go to in the next 5 weeks. I couldn’t be happier for my friends, but as I arrive to the weddings to watch people I’ve known for years give themselves to someone else, and as I watch our mutual friends arrive with their wives and new children, I feel empty. I am usually able to take great solace in joy in small things, but it makes me feel like the things in my life are insignificant. As I endure a barrage of "why are you still single", I am speechless because I'm not sure what the answer to that question is any longer.
I’ve been living for myself for so long and I’m at the point I want to put effort into someone else but I didn't really realize it until now. If I can be honest, I wasn't capable before. Oh, I pretended I was and for a while I fooled people. I certainly fooled myself. But it wasn't until recently - and I'm talking mere months - that I think I really had the capacity to understand how fragile such relationships can be and what a responsibility it is when someone puts their faith in you. I miss that strong faith being put into me; it's a vast responsibility but one that I miss carrying. It opens up levels of intimacy that you can't really substitute. I miss the intimacy of being able to share parts of yourself that you can't even reveal to your closest friend. I think I might even need it.

My new found clarity is not a skill I can put to the test however. I've mentioned this to a number of friends, but I've been on more dates in the last few months than anyone should ever have to suffer through in their entire lives. I've seen some pretty unappealing sides of people. And as I meet more and more individuals, I am learning that the people I really find the most interesting are already in my life. Taken and off-limits, but in my life.
I find myself drawn to those that I think can break me out of whatever shell I have sealed myself in. I cannot decide if this is an insult or a compliment to them. I used to be drawn to the meek. Now I am drawn to the adventurous of spirit. But the spark I may feel from this draw usually amount to nothing but my frustrations. My sparks are ever one-sided. And that leaves me powerless to change things. I am not the type of person people leave someone to be with. But then, I don't wish to be that person. I want to be the guy picked for other reasons. For my sense of humor, loyalty, or simply that I feel right to someone. But I'm not that person either. I don't have an allure or hook that people look for. Not that I know what they look for, I merely know that I lack it. So I watch from the outside as the men in their life make mistake after mistake, time and again, and I wonder how many chances he will get and what it is she sees in him. And I ponder if I can perceive so many mistakes from such a distance perspective, how bad is it on the inside? I watch from the outside waiting on a chance to make my own mistakes. I won't fool myself, I'm a man like any other and though I try hard, I will make mistakes. I am full of imperfections, but I will make weapons out of them.

I toss and turn sometimes...

"I don't think I've ever loved anyone that I've lost as much as you loved her"

This is what my friend told me and I realized that it was something I never wanted to hear from anyone. It makes the reality too real. My friend - one of my few that I can have more than a superficial conversation with - said this in what I expect was a tender tone.

We speak on a lot of subjects, and I'm kept on my toes, and introspective. Recently discussion about the admirable depth of character of fictional individuals from films took a wildly different direction. I can't exactly recall the path we took but I believe it began with film that lead to disturbing events in our lives that turned a corner to disabilities and diseases; the video about the poor girl born with no face, or the man with a bacteria "much worse" than the flesh-eating virus (his wife stayed by him the whole time and even after the disfiguring...and that makes me smile that she did), and a friend who is quadriplegic. We wondered about how much someone had to love life to keep fighting when something like that happened. I think we both may have shuddered a little when we didn't know if we had that much. This expanded into broader topics of age and the various mysteries of the world (universe even) that plague our mind time and again.

I like to think I don't fear aging. I hate my birthday, but not because I'm getting older. I sometimes make a fuss..."if i lived my life again I'd be almost 55" and I feign wobbling legs and dismay. But this false dismay I show because I feel like that it is expected of me.

So here I am very aware of my own mortality but not horrified by the idea as perhaps I should be. I think my outlook on life was supposed to change years ago when I learned I wouldn't be here forever. My curiosity of what comes after is too great I think. Not so great that I chase it by any means, or am in a rush, but not so small that I wail at the thought of "the end". Or so I say; fast forward in time to when that moment comes and perhaps you will see me fighting tooth and nail against old age, or whatever claims me.

It's funny; thinking about aging, or the enormity of existence, the vastness of the universe...it just doesn't make me fret over mortality, infinity or eternity. And mortality and eternity go hand in hand for me. Forever is a long time after all, and all I've known of existence this whole time is now and me ... what would it be like in a world without me in it? Not because I'm a great mover of events or important keystone of our current age...but just because I've never known a world in which I didn't exist.

It's an odd feeling to think of a distance time when no one will even know you existed. But while is fills me with strange emotion it doesn't scare me. It's watching friends and especially old loves move forward with their lives that does. Frankly watching it terrifies me.

I've had two loves in my life. Two people that I would without a doubt give up everything for; give my life for. They've moved on. In their world, I've all but faded away. In their world, I might not exist any longer.

It was a long time ago, but she was a huge part of my life. The biggest part, really. And vice versa I like to think. I like to hope. Her words at the time certainly made me feel that way. It - she - was one of those gifts presented to someone too young to appreciate it and care for it, and I shattered it. Anyone who knows me knows the regret I still and possibly will always hold over that.

I understand the concept of forever. Can I really grasp it? Probably not. Yet forever doesn't seem long to me, despite the fact that, yeah, it's probably pretty damn long. It's going to continue to pass without anyone being able to stop it and just like the years already gone by in my life, it will be past and over before you know it. Yet knowing I'm never going to be with this person - her - again, possibly never even see her again, makes "forever" seem like exactly what it is. A very, very long time.

I can picture the past. Rome, the Mayans, the Boston Tea Party...there is a nice chronological map in my brain that lets my imagination see those place, those people. But the thought of a single lifetime without seeing someone that was so important to you make those historical places seem merely over a river in time, but your life without them is a vast ocean of it. It makes you wonder if the people who are in their lives now, those people who have replaced you...do they really appreciate what they have? Do they realize that while they are there, taking her company, friendship and love for granted, that you have been doomed to an entire existence without even a moment of that again? I like to think they appreciate it like they should. But I know they don't.

We tried, I like to think, she and I. The friendship route. It was too hard. For both sides. For me because it makes old feelings that I keep buried (as best I can) flare up. For her, possibly the same, but also because, if any of those ancient feelings still reside, it fills her with guilt, to even be reminded of that time, after having moved on to love another.

And here we are. Being in the other's life is too rough. So we'll cross paths here and there, now and again. Maybe for a few more years. Eventually we'll come to the day when any manner of communication with the other has been lost and while it is an easy age to find someone in, neither of us will try. And soon, if not already, the stories about the other will be forgotten and the few that remain will no longer start "one time my first love and I..." but rather "one time this person I used to know..."

Our relationship will end up much like the relationships of my family. Of the way I picture my grandmother before she met my grandfather...what sort of long gone love lives on within her memory? Before my aunt met my uncle...what was her first love like? Does anyone know she still sees his blue eyes in her dreams?

And finally one day the only connection she and I will have will be in the imagination of a young offspring, like I once was. We will be a distant, blurry figure in their minds when they try to imagine an impossible time when their parent loved someone else, and just as quickly we'll be forgotten by them. They'll never even know our name.

Verdict...

Today I ran across a headline on the verdict of Saddam's trial. The headline read, "Saddam sentenced to hanging, furious about decision."

...

No shit.

What manner of reaction were they expecting?

$$$

As I was filling out my bank deposit form today, I noticed it had 7 digits on it, not including the 2 slots for change. If I'm ever in the position where I have to put 7 figures worth of money into my bank account, I'll kiss each and every one of you right on the mouth.Or buy you a hamburger because, as pointed out to me, apparently some of you would prefer that instead. Jerks.