Airplanes

It has been a couple days, a couple thought provoking days.

I haven't written for a while because I was down in San Diego for my wife's sister's wedding. It was a beautiful occasion complete with a stunning bride, bristling groom, and delicious cake. A number of wonderful occurrences came to pass while I was in sunny Southern California, however, these happenings require a bit more time to dwell upon than I am willing to commit to tonight.

Instead, I will address two things: my trip down to California and the idea that sprang upon me at work today.

As I sat in the exit row of my trusty 737 awaiting the engineer to finish cleaning up the messy rear lavatory, not as gross as it sounds though entirely more time consuming (2 1/2 hours), I had the opportunity to speak with a gentleman named Chris. Chris, a young student athlete attending school at Spokane Community College, was on a recruiting trip to Orange County. Through our conversation, I learned that we had many things in common. I am not going to go into the things I discovered, though I will say that I was quite happy learning that we share a healthy respect for Eddie Vedder. What I will say is that I was quite flattered that he asked me for the web address to this blog, having thought that my story was mildly interesting. If one person could find me interesting enough to find out what i have to say to the Internet at large, maybe I have hope. maybe not though. I recommended some books to him, The Fountainhead, World War Z, Ender's Game, I hope he checks them out. Each one has enlightened me in some form or another. Reading good books... the best way to become a better writer.

Anyhow, I am in great danger of going off on a tangent. I can feel it coming. I really want to talk about Ayn Rand. I won't though. Not at this second anyway.

Chris, even though you won't likely ever read this, thank you for the conversation on the plane. I don't often step out of my comfort zone, and though I felt rather foolish after doing so and I fear I shared a little too openly, I am grateful for the manner in which the confidence was received.

After my plane landed in Phoenix, I hurried off the flight and rushed past the security checkpoint and through another in order to catch my next flight. From a different airline. Because my airline is peopled with morons. I had the pleasure to be seated next to a lovely woman named Jasmine. It is funny how conversations often mirror one another. We spoke about college (as Chris and I did), we spoke of blogging (as Chris and I did), we spoke about a couple more things that I can't recollect at the moment. The real interesting thing that Jasmine and I spoke about was virtual and psychological infidelity. She had never given the matter much thought, as I assume, most of the world doesn't. However, having the experiences that I have had, I felt quite familiar with the concept. I compared the action of view pornography with having an affair, Jasmine struggled to understand until she thought of phone sex. She realized then that this was essentially the same concept, though there was no physical touch or interaction, in the minds of the participants, infidelity occurred.

The vast majority of the world would have you believe that what I just stated is a fallacy, that so long as you look, hear, imagine, and don't touch you are being faithful. Yet, the guilt exists the same in every case (at least until the mind becomes desensitized and the person's view skews). I don't think I am explaining very well. Nor do I think I will. I think that this is a danger topic. I think that to truly understand the concept you need to believe that infidelity is wrong. This is not the message sent by the media. This is not the message the masses choose most readily to ascribe to. Love is something uncontrolled, says the media, to try is to kill your soul. True love knows no commitments. Marriage? God? These are archaic notions of the past. Sex is the only definer of love. These are the ideas that we are indoctrinated with from the moment we turn on the radio or television (yes, there are exceptions).

There is always a choice. Love is a choice. Choice is the true definer. Choose to marry. Choose to serve God, Allah, Jehovah, Confucius. To harness your love, to direct it toward the chosen person is to purify it, to focus it. A mallet will bruise the skin, a sword will pierce it. Quality not quantity.

I suppose, however, that it is your choice to choose how you wish to love. All I have is my opinion. I believe in being decisive. I believe in being tenacious. I believe in being "the rock they broke themselves against."

"From the moment they wake, they devote themselves to the perfection of everything they do." -The Last Samurai

Ayn Rand's heroes are samurai.

I said I'd go over what I thought about at work today. I will just touch on it for now. I thought about what I would like to do with my life, what I could do without feeling like the majority of my life was wasted partaking of activities more forgettable than anything else. I thought about the type of work that I would want to talk about after a long day. I realized that I would like to work as a teacher in a foreign country or at least be involved in an organization that sends teachers to teach in foreign countries. My beautiful wife, bless her wise heart, suggested we just start our own company. I like the way she thinks.

Anyway, I have to work early.

I love you. I will write to you tomorrow.

10

Dumb

So, my post last night wasn't up to snuff, it turns out. This is why I wish I could type as quickly as I think, because trust me, I think in concrete, well worded, spell and grammar checked, sentences.

I suppose there is another solution. I could slow down my thinking, try and become dumber. This solution has merit. Stop reading anything of value. Stop writing. Listen to the radio. Watch Jersey Shore. I could do those things. Plus, let's face it, The Situation's abs are hard to keep your eyes off of anyhow.

Hmm... my mind is beginning to pick up. I will do my utmost to avoid allowing it to reel.

Perhaps one of the reasons we are so constantly bombarded with the meaningless messages of reality TV and music videos is to usher along the process of brain cell destruction. It makes sense. As I wrote a while ago, these entertainment business people know what sells. They've figured out how to trick us into tricking ourselves. Dumb people like dumb shows, movies, music. This opens the door for dumb writers, directors, performers to do their thing without anyone blowing the "wait just one minute" whistle and tell them that all they put out is crap. This leads to executives who are making more money, paying their underlings less (what do they know? They can't count past their current age), and still being hailed as gods by the world at large. That means you Bruckheimer. Here's the kicker, at least tonight's kicker, the executives aren't even as smart as the ones that came before. The system is already in place. The guys that are climbing the ladders in "the biz" are the same guys that you saw at your ten year reunion last year that were still wearing their hair bleached, spiked, and with sun glasses set carefully on top. These are your text book popped collar morons.

Now, to be fair, there are still some intelligent people who make good things. I'm not talking about them though, I am talking about the Romans, having their gladiators grace the sands for the carnal enjoyment of the mob. I am talking about Brett Ratner. I am not talking about J.J. Abrams or M. Night. We all know the good ones in our hearts. It's just a matter of pulling our heads out of the ground and trying to reclaim our intelligence. Dunford does it every day. (If you don't know who Dunford is, you should figure it out. The dude is a role model.) I try and claw my way toward inspiration daily, for all the good it does me.

I paint a pretty bleak picture, I know. But you need to understand that I have faith in us. I have faith that I will be someone to be admired, that you will be someone to be marveled at. We just have to knock Tyra off Oprah's curtails and start supporting people of substance. We have to realize what we were when we started, sponges, and try to squeeze out the muck we've been mopping up for decades.

I believe we can, we should, be better than what we are now.

Fin.

(I just mean finished. I am not insinuating that what I just wrote was some sort of artsy black and white french film.)

I hope that was more coherent for you.

I love you. I will write to you tomorrow.

10

CA

I wish that I didn't sweat so much. It is extremely annoying.

Anyhow, I read this article today in the break room about this dude who moved from somewhere to California. He stole precious minutes of my break explaining how he didn't appreciate anything about California except for the Lakers. California, of course, having stolen human rights by voting against homosexual marriage and then, to top it off, (and this one really burns me up, CA) the state voted to help protect animals... Animals 1, Humans 0. Bravo California. Bravo.

...No really, Bravo. Let's face it, if I had to decide between spending the rest of my life on a deserted baseball diamond (the island is so overused) I would much rather spend it with my two dogs rather than the majority of the human populace. And by the way, since our good friend So-n-so decided to act like a moron and say that a group of people casting their votes (exercising their right to do so?) is clearly a statement of bigotry and civil unrest, let's give him the old roundhouse. Say what you really mean, the only human rights you want protected are the ones that you agree with. You probably think that taking "In God We Trust" off the dollar isn't a form of prejudice. What's that you say? "Of course it isn't prejudice, Dave. What about separation of church and state?" To say that a activist doesn't have an agenda, condescend to, anyone so foolish (note sarcasm) as to believe in a higher being would just be silly. I'll tell you what, you found a country and then over the centuries I will begin movements that cause the rest of the country to believe they are better off without the principles held by those that championed the freedoms we so selfishly enjoy. Now, I'm not saying we should all be Christian. I am saying respect your country, even if you don't love or agree with it. If it bothers you so much, save up some money and move. Honestly. I am not saying, "If you don't like it, you can get out." I am saying that if the place makes you so sick, leave. Maybe you'll be happier. I hope so. I hope you'd be happy here, but if you think you'd be happier somewhere else, do your thing.

Who am I talking to? Everyone.

The point is, we can bicker and whine about just about everything and get away with it. We can bad mouth and curse any person we see cut us off on the highway and you won't get a ticket (just don't retaliate). All I am saying is that it isn't that difficult to, at least, respect the country you live in, the people that made it what it is, and your fellow men.

Let's face it though, I have countless issues with the way our country is. Mostly with where I see it headed.

There was more I wanted to say, I just can't type as fast as my mind goes. Too bad. I was going to blow your mind. Like blaow! Sorry you missed it.

I'm gonna quit my job and maybe Obama Hood will get me some cash money for it.

Man, I hate politics... if you read this, yes, I thought about the counterpoints as well. I'm sure you all could cut me to ribbons with your Google and Wikipedia, but that's your call.

I love you. I will write to you tomorrow.

9

I think my back is about to fall off. I just took a bunch of ibuprofen, I think that it might make my back reattach itself or something. I hope you are having an easier time working than you thought you would.

I work until like 9:30 tonight. Hooray. I miss you.

I love you. I will write to you tomorrow.

8

Right now, I am talking to Terry on vent while I write to you. It is really good to talk to him. I asked him about coming to visit for a while and he was really excited/interested. I told him I'd need to talk to you about it a little more in order to work some stuff out, so we should do that at some point. He also just showed me this: http://games.adultswim.com/robot-unicorn-attack-twitchy-online-game.html which I think you will like.

Work was alright today. I have a feeling it will be incredibly wearing. I missed you terribly last night and when I woke up. The house felt so empty. I am glad you are with your family and quelling your feelings of homesickness.

I love you. I will write to you tomorrow.

10

Hey, so I was planning on writing before bed last night but I got home and couldn't remember the password for the computer, so I didn't write a thing.

Today, I read an article about the "boys club of video games" that is Gears of War. In the article, the author talked about how in the game, we are only shown one woman who is involved with the military, the rest of the corps is composed of men. The rational being that in the dire circumstances the people of this game found themselves, the lost of their major cities, the collapse of commerce, and the potential extinction of their race, the people of the world had decided that the women should be held back and away from the fighting in order to bear children. This seemed to upset the author. On a surface level, I can understand the irritation. What, with all the talk of equality and how there is nothing a man can do that a woman can't (this methodology doesn't always go the other way, in my experience), it is no wonder that the author of this article might take offense and bring to light the inconsolable injustice of this fictional world's decision.

As you might imagine, if you know me at all, the author's take on the state of Gears world and my own differ greatly. After reading and pondering the words of some guy on the other side of the Internet, I was able to delve into the mindset of a man faced with the complete destruction of every noun (person, place, thing, or idea) I had ever held dear. I attempted to place myself in the mindset of someone who was unsure whether I, or anyone else, would survive to see the dawn. The conclusion I came to was that the author of the article I read must be stuck in the same trap that so much of the First World seems to be entangled in. We don't have to worry about where our next meal comes from or if the next doorway we walk through is rigged with explosives, so we worry about philosophy. We worry about rights. We worry about trees and "the poor" (no, I am not implying that the poor are not actually in poverty, I am saying that the standard of wealth is wholly dependant on what a person values. I believe that many of"the poor" might consider themselves richer than your faux friendly wall street investor). Sorry tangent. Anyhow, my point is, our dear author has failed in his duty to approach a topic with all of the information in hand. When faced with extinction, it is not a question of whether or not a woman is strong enough, courageous enough, willing, or able. The question is one of capability. A man cannot bear a child. A man can aid in the creation of a child and then go off and die in war and the race continues to survive. The same does not hold true for women.

The arguement is raised, what if a woman doesn't want to have children and would rather serve her people in the role of a soldier?

My answer to that is that many men would rather have a child than face death in war. It does not matter whether it is wished for or not, this job, this duty, cannot be done by a man. With a world falling down around you, you realize this or you don't. If you don't you aid the enemy in destroying your species.

That is the metality I set myself in. Of course, it is fiction. It isn't a real scenerio, but if faced with the same scenerio in our world, the logic would hold true. Though both male and female are required to further our species, our biological duties are different, to ignore that is foolish. To ignore that is forgetting that once upon a time our ancestors lived in hovels, married people they weren't attracted to, went to war, stayed back from war; all for the sake of ensuring that the world they helped to mold would have generations to live upon it.

I love you. I will write to you tomorrow.

9

Yeah, This is Totally the Title

Just finished the first season of Fringe, tonight. Really good show. It kind of bothers me that more good programs aren't picked up and show celebrating debauchery and crudeness remain on the air. Take NBC's Kings, for example, great show. I'm not sure there was an episode that didn't have a moment in it. You know what I'm talking about, that little part of a movie, book, song, t.v. show that gives you chills or brings you to the edge of tears. More than any other show I've watched in recent history, Kings, I think, is the one I am most upset about losing after only half a season (though you can finish the season on Hulu). Bravo NBC, Bravo.

But who am I to understand the mind of an entertainment executive? These are the same soulless beings that think dressing teenagers in next to nothing and having them dance around a stage encouraging yet younger teens (and preteens; you know these are your target audiences... don't play dumb) to experiment sexually using lyrics written by pretentious American Idol hosts is the best way to make money. How could I understand someone that thought X-Men 3 was a good idea? Don't ask me to try, because I will and then I will wake up feeling dead inside just like all of the shmucks in Hollywood who sold their dreams in order to buy their "struggling to make it" mistresses breast implants. By all means Hollywood, blow some more things up in exchange for solid character development, string as many cuss words and racial slurs together in order to relate to the everyman, implant the falsified images of what beauty and sexuality are supposed to be because waiting to have sex is soooo 50's.

Do these things because you know that they work. You know that Americans will continue to tune in to Jersey Shore. You know Ke$ha will still be top of the itunes playlist. You know Cosmo will get more readers than the Wall street Journal. How do you know? We all know it and if we don't we're lying to ourselves. Somewhere along the line, somebody told us that it was okay to watch our guilty pleasure show. In the dead of the night, we told our closest confidants about our guilty pleasure and found out that they had the same one until our guilty pleasures didn't have to be guilty anymore. You got us pegged. You called our bluff. We wanted you to think that we were intelligent, well mannered individuals. Thank you for releasing us from our charade.

We, the world, are morons and you reap the benefit. Sex, drugs, Rock n' Roll, and no consequences. That, my friends, is what I am talking about.

Go Team America.

Rant complete.

All comments justifying Miley Cyrus will be placed respectfully in the garbage can. Thank you.

I love you. I will write to you tomorrow.

9

Tops

My family is trying to decide on a vacation spot for next year. The following was my initial reply. After some consideration, I decided that I would spare the members of my family my sarcasm as they often find it difficult to bear, let alone find the humor in it that I find. Yet, I couldn't bring myself to delete it entirely as I take such joy in writing things of this nature. Here it is:

My top three are...

Greece/Italy/Spain/Portugal... Any one is fine really.
Europe

All of the choices above are of equal interest to me, place them in whatever order is most pleasing to you... or give them all 3 points.

Oh wait, you wanted me to follow directions? Now, that would be silly to ask for 3 countries (not provinces, states, or continents), it would be much more appropriate if I simply gave you whichever answer in whichever form strikes me at the time. That way, I am able to give more votes to more places I would be interested in going as well as succeed in making my answer so extravagantly broad that no real consideration could be given to it. I am, in fact, so convinced that my decision to disregard the manner and form in which the question was posed is the correct way, I have, instead, concluded that it would be better to delete the post entirely.

Post has been removed at the request of the author.

You are standing over me demanding my presence in the bedroom... that could mean one of two things... maybe both...? I guess not.

I love you. I will write to you tomorrow.

9

Semi Coherent Rambling

I am going to write more than a couple sentences tonight. Not many more, but more.

We started watching Fringe yesterday. All I have to say is that Michael Giacchino, you really deserved that Oscar, my friend, truly. Up didn't sport my style of tune, to be honest, but it suited the film incredibly well. However, just about everything else I have heard from you has made you at least top 3 for me. I mean honestly, the music from Lost is the best music on television. It completes an altogether well done series. Giving Up the Ghost; hauntingly mesmerizing, Locke'ing Horns; thank you so much for giving me Charlie's last moments separate from the tumult of Looking Glass Half Full. In short, each character's theme is spot on.

While I am thinking of Lost, why is Desmond such an amazing character? Does anyone else think that the other cast members might be a little peeved that this guy walks on set after they've all established their characters and proceeds to steal every scene that he's in as well as create the most meaningful, memorable, and tear-jerking moments in the series? Keep in mind that I will never forsake the original cast members. How can anyone who's struggled with addiction not find a way to understand the immensity of the battle that Charlie wages throughout the first two seasons? The lack of self control, the failing of trust, the lies told to yourself in the darkness of the corners of your mind... Along a similar vein, how can one not find love for characters like Jin and Sawyer and their individual journeys toward finding the strength to choose a life apart from the one they've each lived. Each deserves a personal post in order to fully appreciate the weight each character carries on screen, but that isn't for tonight. Tonight, like most nights, is for semi coherent rambling.

And just like that, its over. You've awakened me from my reverie.

I love you. I will write to you tomorrow.

10

You asked me to come to bed. I obey.

I love you. I will write to you tomorrow.

8

No time. I should be in bed with my tired wife. I do so enjoy this new burst of energy though. Ideas seem to flow more quickly and easily when I write often, go figure.

I think I should like to have Terry read these. Maybe if he's bored.

I think I should like to have Terry up to Spokane this summer. Maybe if I'm bored.

Unfortunately, I spent too much time earlier trying to be funny on my family blog that I feel guilty writing here for too long. Who knew that posting pictures was so time consuming? Lame lame lame post. Might as well put it out of its misery.

I love you. I will write to you tomorrow.

8

Run of the Mill

When asked about the stylings of her humble husband, the great Stephanie said, "the diction was good." When pressed, she elaborated by relaying to her subdued significant other that the writing was neither poignant nor profound. This exchange between two such affable and amiable associates allays any assessment that affluent abhorrence abides. Man, that sentence took way too long to construct. Anyhow, the point being that even though my wife thoroughly enjoyed reading what I wrote, it was devoid of any substance. That said, it seems that this post stands equally alongside its predecessor as a rambling river of consciousness.

I'd be willing to bet that read blog authors have drafts.

So, along the lines of possible subjects of discussion (with myself), I have thought of a couple things that are able to hold my interest and even provoke a rant from time to time. Here are a few:

The Amazing Race (mostly trying to become a contestant.)
X-Men (and some other comic book lore, mainly Marvel.)
The works of J.R.R. Tolkien (and subsequent compilations put together by others posthumously.)
World of Warcraft (why does the world hate you my dear dear old friend?)
My own story ideas and works of prose and poetry (who doesn't enjoy a little criticism from time to time, really?)
Religion and Politics (Are you kidding me? Do you really think I'm that stupid?)

Man, the conception phase and I get along so well we should start a multilevel marketing scheme. "It's just a small fee of $500 dollars, then ever friend you get earns you $100 back. All I need is your credit card number." And just like that, the conception phase and I have had a falling out. See what I did there?

I should really start looking for profound things to write about. Too bad they only come to me while I am in the shower or in the middle of church. Though both are wonderful places to be, neither make for good places to pull out the ole lap top.

The longest journey begins with a single step, though, I suppose. So, here we go.

I just tried to write poetry... I don't even like poetry. Here we go again.

.

He gasped. The hair on his forearm twitched, the wave of sparking nerve endings coursed through his shoulders up to his hairline and down to his knees. With that first pulse, his eyes came open, slowly, lazily. He could have been waking from a pleasant dream if it hadn't been for the shattering pain that shot along the same nerve endings immediately after. Blurred vision cleared. Thundering hail pounded upon his face and he saw his hand stretched out before him flopping around involuntarily. As his senses slowly came back to him, he forced his arms to obey his feeble entreat. He attempted to push himself off the ground but fell back flat, defeated.

The slap of cold earth brought him fully back to the reality of his present situation. He had been walking home. It started to hail. Something wasn't right. Something pulled at his insides. He tried to turn. He tried to run. Something had come at him, hit him, then nothing.

The thundering of the hail quieted. Yet a low sound lingered, a deep guttural growling...

.

There you go. How's that for run of the mill, wife? Ha! I don't even have a lap top.

I love you. I will write to you tomorrow.

10

Procrastination

So, procrastination is nice.

Funny how the second day of my newly focused commitment to bloggery excellence I choose to procrastinate writing until 11:45.

Interesting day, I am hoping that through the act of recording my thoughts some semblance of a theme arises that I will be able to focus on throughout the blog. Well, what I mean is a focus beyond the core focus of reminding you that you love me and that you are doing the right thing by doing so.

Should I be serious? Should I be witty? Do I have the capability to be witty? These are the questions that plague me. I bet half the battle in this whole blogging world is considering yourself intelligent or interesting enough for others to want to know more about you. Being of slightly above average intelligence, I hope that my meager intonations and attempts at engaging anecdotes will serve until my muse gives me inspiration. What's more, I consider myself incredibly interesting, the crux of the situation being that I am so jealously guarded about my interests and ideas that I would rarely lower myself to exposing them to the scrutiny of others. Doesn't exactly lend itself to a self-published record shipped off into the variable unknown of the internet.

And just like that, I've written something. Was it clever? *shrug* Was it arrogant? A little. Was it good? More therapeutic than anything else. Not a bad conclusion.

I love you. I will write to you tomorrow.

9

I Stood Upon the Brink

The reason for this post is twofold.

First, I have decided that the time for slacking off is over. I promised I would write to you every day. I haven't. That shall be remedied.

Second, I have decided that the time for major writing renovation is come. Far too long has my skill been left to wither and die beneath the weight of my laziness. Too bad that when I decide that I am going to improve my writing, my writing comes out sounding forced and cliche. (Also, I want the little number combo for making the cliche have the proper stress.)

Third, sadly there is a third, as a testament to you and your enjoyment of my writing (feigned or real) I may start writing to the world at large. The only difference that brings is that I may stop writing so often in second person and start doing something different stylistically, though who knows what I'll actually do seeing as how it is 1:00 AM and I'm writing compulsively. You should know also, that regardless of who I deem my audience to be, whether or not my audience ever grows beyond two (thank you mom), you are always at the heart of anything I write. Every word that passes to through the keyboard onto this screen derives from you. If you didn't love what I write, what would be the point?

I love you. I will write to you tomorrow.

9