Month: February 2006

  • Hotel Rwanda

    adrenaline screamed in my ears as i wanted to defend those people. anger, hatred, fear, denial, guilt, shame – each raced through my veins one after another, at the same time, in no particular order.

    how do i watch even a dramatic representation of these slayings and do nothing? i want to leave all my earthly possessions behind, buy a plane ticket, and go to a place where people suffer and have no hope. i want to stay in bed, pull the cover over my head, plug my ears, and will it all away. will away all knowledge of such evil. i want to face it. i want to fight it. i want to destroy it. i don’t think i can make a difference. i want to flee it. i want to hide from it. i want it to not be there. i don’t want to see it. i would live a coward’s life to not have see people’s slaughtered faces dancing in my mind.

    i cannot control the thoughts, the unbridled emotions that pour out like a torrent. it is true that i have never served in the military. my friend John Mark would not understand my grief and confusion from a simple movie. he would know firsthand the horrors of death, the smell of rotting flesh, the humming vibrations of the sound of unimaginable disaster penetrating rock and cracked earth.

    every single one is precious. every person. even the ones pulling the trigger. that is the difficult part. my instinct is to kill the killer. in doing so i condemn him to death. i am glad i am not a soldier – not a Marine. if i were, i would choose death for so many.

    what my eyes have seen overwhelms me. and it is only a play… a make-believe representation. i have not seen or felt or helped in the flesh. and for this i am ashamed. i am ashamed that i am moved by a movie, yet i do no harm nor benefit to anyone. i am what i am in my selfish little corner of the world. but i will not cover myself in the comfortable and despicable blanket of self-deprecation. i will not feel sorry for myself. too many others suffer too much more.

    Hotel Rwanda touched me; reminded me who i am, and who i endeavor to become. i want to become like Paul. i want to stand up for humanity – for the little children and the women and older men and my brothers and my sisters and my wife and my mother. i want to be a man people respect because i cannot leave my people behind.


  • iPod Video: Cultural Progress or Decline?

    the first time i heard Apple was making iPods with video capability, i thought what millions of other people hopefully thought: why the hell would i want to spend $300-$400 for screensize that rivals the GameBoy? and do i really need 24/7 access to tv, movies, and music videos? do i need to be plugged in while i’m on the bus, train, in the car, waiting in line, or in the gym? and why doesn’t it come in purple? oh, and why can’t i play my GameBoy games on the same machine?

    the obvious answer to me was “um, no.” i suffer from a lack of peace and quiet as it is, and i work from home! i don’t even face rush hour traffic anymore. but i still get more than i need of technology. i work on a computer with instant access to the internet. i have television, dvd player, and plenty of music (though, strangely, no home stereo). i had a Sony Discman until the damn thing broke on me while i was in Europe. all of a sudden, the port for the earphones no longer produced a connection… but that’s not my point. stop distracting me.

    look, i saw how they were marketing cellphones to pre-teens and teens five years ago. one day everything is normal and the next, everywhere i go, every kid waiting in any kind of line is playing a game on or talking on a cellphone. and they were mostly stupid games, too. but whatever. it was a gadget to coddle people’s impatience. i really can’t judge too severly on that topic – i’m just bitter that my phone didn’t come with chess.

    everyone has their gadgets these days, and the trend is to put as many gadgets/options into one device to corner the market on flexibility and all-in-one capability. adults have their PDAs. kids and adults have their cellphones, notebook computers, and iPods. soon it will be one gadget that is cellphone, iPod Video, laptop, and PDA. we’re almost there already. you will be a fully functioning office unto yourself without need of face-to-face contact anywhere you go, except for the unavoidable face-time with the lady at the Starbucks counter (at least, until they figure out how to have an order kiosk like they do at movie theaters).

    i wanted to come down hard on iPod and PDAs and all that junk. i wanted to tell you how technology is destroying the fabric of the community. while this slightly inaccurate statement may be mostly true, i can’t condemn all the techno-goodies. why not? because i use them. because i want to use them.

    because i want to move to another country and still be able to maintain business relationships with my clients here. i want to take my wife and potential children somewhere beautiful to enjoy a culture that doesn’t stress people out. in plain English, i’d like to use the technology to milk the system i despise for the money to live a better life elsewhere. kudos to me! some may think it’s hypocritical, but i think it’s brilliant. if you can’t beat the system, ethically manipulate it to benefit you and those you love.

    besides, i think an iPod Video would come in really handy when i’m sitting on that stupid exercise bike at the gym and i need a distraction to keep going. they have televisions on the wall, but who gets motivated to push harder by CNN? being the LOST junkie that i am (yes, i had to mention LOST – i cannot curb my fascination), i would watch reruns over and over, trying to pick out every nuance possible so i can solve the show’s mysteries.

    besides, if i’m living in Panama a year or two from now, i’ll probably download the show through iTunes to keep up. if you can’t beat the system, use the system.


  • thoughts on the brink

    my mind is like a canyon somehow hidden from the sun. my thoughts like buried treasure far away from everyone. sometimes i think i’m falling. rushing forward toward the sky. emptyhanded. falling upward. never landing til i die.

    sometimes i sit in darkness on the edge, the very brink of chasing out the strain with something very cold to drink. i sit and gape and wonder where this train of thought will lead. will i act as though a soldier. somehow manage a brave deed. will i face unspoken horrors. will i stand until the end. will i fall and fail the way i always knew it all would end.

    sometimes i think it’s not so different. i could still go out today. i could take a chance and touch the sun and take the risk today. i could step beyond the shadows. standing under burning sun. let the light play on my shoulders. as i stare a little stunned. i could race through crackling leaves and touch the bark of some old tree. i could meet the earth with something more than thoughts and poetry.


  • Europe – Thy Name is Cowardice

    This is a reprint of Mathias Dopfner’s editorial. He is the CEO of the massive German publishing firm Axel Springer. It was originally printed in the German periodical Die Welt on November 20, 2004.

    A few days ago Henry Broder wrote in Welt am Sonntag, “Europe — your family name is appeasement.” It’s a phrase you can’t get out of your head because it’s so terribly true.

    Appeasement cost millions of Jews and non-Jews their lives as England and France, allies at the time, negotiated and hesitated too long before they noticed that Hitler had to be fought, not bound to toothless agreements.

    Appeasement legitimized and stabilized Communism in the Soviet Union, then East Germany, then all the rest of Eastern Europe where for decades, inhuman, suppressive, murderous governments were glorified as the ideologically correct alternative to all other possibilities.

    Appeasement crippled Europe when genocide ran rampant in Kosovo, and, even though we had absolute proof of ongoing mass-murder, we Europeans debated and debated and debated, and were still debating when finally the Americans had to come from halfway around the world, into Europe yet again, and do our work for us.

    Rather than protecting democracy in the Middle East, European appeasement, camouflaged behind the fuzzy word “equidistance,” now countenances suicide bombings in Israel by fundamentalist Palestinians.

    Appeasement generates a mentality that allows Europe to ignore nearly 300,000 victims of Saddam’s torture and murder machinery and, motivated by the self-righteousness of the peace-movement, has the gall to issue bad grades to George Bush…

    And now we are faced with a particularly grotesque form of appeasement. How is Germany reacting to the escalating violence by Islamic fundamentalists in Holland and elsewhere? By suggesting that we really should have a “Muslim Holiday” in Germany.

    I wish I were joking, but I am not. A substantial fraction of our (German) Government, and if the polls are to be believed, the German people, actually believe that creating an Official State “Muslim Holiday” will somehow spare us from the wrath of the fanatical Islamists.

    One cannot help but recall Britain’s Neville Chamberlain waving the laughable treaty signed by Adolph Hitler, and declaring European “Peace in our time”.

    What else has to happen before the European public and its political leadership get it? There is a sort of crusade underway, an especially perfidious crusade consisting of systematic attacks by fanatic Muslims, focused on civilians, directed against our free, open Western societies, and intent upon Western Civilization’s utter destruction.

    It is a conflict that will most likely last longer than any of the great military conflicts of the last century – a conflict conducted by an enemy that cannot be tamed by “tolerance” and “accommodation” but is actually spurred on by such gestures, which have proven to be, and will always be taken by the Islamists for signs of weakness.

    Only two recent American Presidents had the courage needed for anti-appeasement: Reagan and Bush.

    His American critics may quibble over the details, but we Europeans know the truth. We saw it first hand: Ronald Reagan ended the Cold War, freeing half of the German people from nearly 50 years of terror and virtual slavery. And Bush, supported only by the Social Democrat Blair, acting on moral conviction, recognized the danger in the Islamic War against democracy. His place in history will have to be evaluated after a number of years have passed.

    In the meantime, Europe sits back with charismatic self-confidence in the multicultural corner, instead of defending liberal society’s values and being an attractive center of power on the same playing field as the true great powers, America and China.

    On the contrary, we Europeans present ourselves, in contrast to those “arrogant Americans”, as the World Champions of “tolerance”, which even Otto Schily justifiably criticizes.

    Why?

    Because we’re so moral? I fear it’s more because we’re so materialistic, so devoid of a moral compass.

    For his policies, Bush risks the fall of the dollar, huge amounts of additional national debt, and a massive and persistent burden on the American economy, because unlike almost all of Europe, Bush realizes what is at stake — literally everything.

    While we criticize the “capitalistic robber barons” of America because they seem too sure of their priorities, we timidly defend our Social Welfare systems. Stay out of it! It could get expensive! We’d rather discuss reducing our 35-hour workweek or our dental coverage, or our 4 weeks of paid vacation, or listen to TV pastors preach about the need to “Reach out to terrorists, to understand and forgive”.

    These days, Europe reminds me of an old woman who, with shaking hands, frantically hides her last pieces of jewelry when she notices a robber breaking into a neighbor’s house.

    Appeasement? Europe, thy name is Cowardice.


  • Emu Oil: More Than Just a Pretty Face

    What does this cute little guy and today’s image conscious female have in common? Women want the emu’s oil and the emus are trying desperately to keep it.

    Okay, maybe it’s not quite the titanic struggle. But these odd little guys produce an oil that appears to have fantastic abilities. How do I know? Well, I haven’t tried emu oil just yet, but I had heard somewhere about it becoming the next miracle skincare product. Then my wife discovers it online while looking for a better skin product and she goes out and buys some – something like $14 for 2 oz. at the health food store.

    I think, yeah, okay. Whatever it takes for her to be more at ease and spend less time with all the makeup. Honestly, I thought she was still singing the praises of ProActive by Rodan & Fields. Guess not.

    The first night she tries it, I can hear in her voice how impressed she is. She has that sound like she’s being pampered, only she’s just got some emu oil on her face. She tells me that her skin doesn’t feel clogged, that it can still breathe. This is apparently not a common occurrence with skincare. She makes sure to inform me that emu oil penetrate’s seven layers of skin, whereas water only penetrates two. Those extra five are apparently a big deal…

    So the emu oil discovery is great and all. I mean, I guess the reason she looked for something new is because of the one and only complaint I had about her appearance: she has spent so much time doing stuff to her skin that I’ve seen her in green or white face masks almost as often as not when we’re at home. I don’t worry about her wearing sweats at home. I just want to see her face. Funny thing is, her face looks great with or without all the fuss. You know how people are, though – they study themselves for flaws and find microscopic details that other people never notice.

    On the stranger side of things, our cat has a morbid fascination with the new smell on Heather. I see gluttony and lust in his eyes like when he hears me opening a can of tuna. He sniffed her hand and started licking his chops over and over and over. He tried to nibble on her nose when she bent down to nuzzle him.

    So basically, I can’t take my wife out into the wild while she’s wearing her cat bait. I wouldn’t want her getting chased by bears or other wild animals because she smells like a fresh and tasty emu. I guess that’s one of the prices you pay for not buying industrialized chemical products that destroy our environment. Animals are smart enough to stay away from those. Hmm… what does that say about us?

    *photo belongs to allaboutemu.com


  • The Metrosexual: My Most Popular Post

    Though the compulsion to write flows strongly through these veins, I cannot escape an addiction to math and statistics. I like to crunch numbers for potential scenarios. I like to know how the numbers break down – which blog posts are viewed the most, which search terms lead people to my website the most, etc.

    The overwhelmingly most popular blog post was The Metrosexual, written over a month ago. It is seriously leaving most other posts in the dust. Of course, you have to keep in mind that the older a post, the more time it has had to be viewed. So that always plays a factor. The second or third most popular post was about Texas Bowfishing. Apparently, people have an obscene fetish for gar.

    The picture on the right is of Carson Daly. He is one of the premier American metrosexuals in the celebrity spotlight. As mentioned in the previous Metrosexual post, the epitome of the Metrosexual is British soccer phenom David Beckham. Now there’s a man who can’t go anywhere without a thousand women trying to do something unspeakable. Daly is nothing in comparison to Beckham’s star power and marketability. But he’ll do for the moment.

    I’ve asked women before what’s the big deal with metrosexuals. I partly understand it, and I also fundamentally cannot. Let’s look at it this way: I think it is safe to say that the majority of women either dream or have dreamed of a tall, muscular, strong man sweeping them of their feet and romancing them in a magical world of something or other. Okay, with that said, where does the scrawny metrosexual fit in?

    Granted, the big muscular guys are frequently jocks, which means they spend most of their childhood and adolescence surrounded by morons. No offense. It’s a simple fact that people who specialize or focus on one thing do so to the detriment of other aspects of their lives. You can’t be experienced and talented at everything.

    David Beckham represents a metrosexual hybrid whose appeal is more understandable because he is so athletic. I mean, he kicks ass as a soccer player. And I do know a few other guys who fit the bill of soccer metrosexual. Maybe someone should coin a new term for that kind of guy… maybe a header-o-sexual.

    But I think it’s safe to say that the majority of metrosexuals are not so athletic. They’re usually scrawny little guys who dress well, stare into the mirror too much for their own good, and act like they’re God’s gift to women and fashion. Quite a few of them have one thing or another going for them – some are musicians, some are successful businessmen, and some are artists with above average art. That I understand. After all, I reeled in my wife by singing and writing. I understand appealing to a woman’s heart and her sense of beauty. Then again, don’t we all use the weapons in our arsenal to compensate for whatever we’re lacking? Guys join bands all the time because they want the fame and the easy access to women who, under different circumstances, wouldn’t give them the time of day.

    But why are these guys being elevated to the status of gods when many of them couldn’t defend themselves in a barfight? Not that I’m advocating barfights, mind you. But my point is that somewhere along the way, a lot of women have changed what they want, and I want to know why. There’s got to be some semblance of masculinity in a guy, doesn’t there? I mean, you want him to defend you if necessary, not vice versa, right?!?!

    Until I learn otherwise, I’ll chalk it up to Hollywood. Seems like they decide for the masses what is going to be cool, desirable, and worth striving for. If you watch enough television and movies, you constantly see the same thing presented in a certain light, the concept has more of a chance to work its way into your mind and affect the way you think.

    Whatever. It’s just a bunch of guys wearing women’s jeans and eye liner, right?


  • Memories of Valentine’s Day

    I haven’t written anything here in quite some time. There’s not enough time in the day to get everything done and have the accompanying panic attacks. Today being what it is – Valentine’s Day – I thought I should at least attempt to write something thematic.

    The painting to the right is of Trinity Valentine at age 18. Who is that? I have no idea. Her last name’s Valentine… that’s thematic enough. The painter is Fred Burkhart. The surrounding blues are so startlingly blue in comparison to the black outline of her face and the lighter tones of her hair and face. I don’t know… something about it captivated me. You can see more paintings by this artist at www.burkhartstudios.com.

    As for Valentine’s Day proper, I am reminded of Valentine’s Day 2004. Heather and I had been married a whopping 18 days, and I was on a mission: to find the perfect kitty that Heather has been wanting for more than ten years. I was one of those Valentine’s Day haters. It was and still is my firm belief that a man who loves his wife finds special ways to show his love throughout the year, not just on some day that someone randomly chose as a day of romance. I personally resent it, though less now than I used to.

    The point of it is to make men feel so guilty at the thought of not buying something for their wife or girlfriend that they end up feeling obligated to go spend money so that she won’t be the only woman at work or at church who didn’t get some token of how special she is to her man.

    I so totally lucked out! The first place I stopped, PetSmart, had one little Siamese Snowshoe with piercing blue eyes. I was transfixed. Doubt crept in. What if Heather gets mad that I adopted a cat without even consulting with her? It was risky. It’s the kind of thing careless married couples fight about all the time.

    I was going to drive around and think about it, when this couple walked up and started cooing over the same kitten. Panic. What if someone else chooses him while I’m still thinking? Can I take that chance? No. I cannot. He’s too beautiful. He’s too perfect. It’s him or nothing.

    He was so tiny. So precious. He cried all the way home. I sang to him to calm him down. When we got home, my wife was taking a shower, probably getting ready for a possible Valentine’s Day dinner. I carried the kitty into the bedroom, opened the bathroom door just a crack, and gently nudged him on. I closed the door and listened carefully.

    Five seconds later, I hear Heather gasp. I hear the shower door open and she says, “Where did you come from, kitty?” in the sweetest voice I’ve ever heard her use. The rest was history. She fell in love with our new cat, and he has been an irreplaceable member of the family ever since. Now, whenever a gift-giving holiday comes around, she always tells me, “Just give me Mr. Kitty again. Wrap a bow around him and give him to me as a present!”

    I haven’t tried it yet. Somehow, I think the idea of it might be a little cuter than how it might play out for real. Still, Mr. Kitty earns me bonus points on every holiday when my wife remembers how wonderful it was to receive the perfect kitty on a day I had never previously celebrated.


  • Balancing Philosophy

    I grew up examining things. It came naturally. I was introspective by nature. I always wanted to know why. This was considered an irritant by my elders until I reached a certain age, and then I was told it was a strength. While I think a certain level of introspection and intentional philosophizing is healthy, I managed to find no motivation for living because of my extremes. I disassembled ideas and principles to bare bones and found that I had nothing to live for.

    I was amazed later on when I first read Ecclesiastes. Ecclesiastes confirmed my suspicion that more was wrong with the world than with my view of it. Solomon was the wisest man who ever lived. And yet he managed to proclaim “All is vanity. Everything is utterly meaningless.” He knew there was no point. I saw this too, and lost all desire to strive for a lifetime of nothings.

    He knew that whatever stuff you accumulate, you can’t take it with you when you die. He knew that rich and poor alike get sick and die. Righteous and unrighteous alike suffer. You can work your ass off for 50 years, missing out on everything else but work, and you’ll end up with nothing. You can spend a lifetime loving someone and raising children, but they can get sick or die.

    You cannot control every aspect of life. You do not decide which way the wind blows, and you do not decide which countries’ economies fail. You could live a pauper’s life, saving every penny for a retirement you never live to see. Or you may live to see it and find that you’d rather give all the money back to savor more of the moments along the way.

    I watched. I watched and I learned and I studied and I hurt. People can teach so much just by living in front of you.

    At the end of it all, I saw that I am not in control. I saw that I absolutely anything I count on can change against my wishes. I saw a world of no guarantees. I saw a world full of choices with no guaranteed results. I saw too many risks and too many potential outcomes of each decision. I felt paralyzed. I could think myself into a stupor and want to curl up into a little ball and hide.

    This was supposed to be about formal, scholarly philosophy. That’s not what came out this time. I’ll give another try sometime soon.


  • LOST Again

    There are too many plotlines to keep up with. I cannot follow on a linear path, yet the details are soaking in.

    I’ve finally finished watching all of season one on dvd. Things I’ve learned about LOST since my last update:

    1. Things happen to animals that Walt sees pictures or drawings of.
    2. The Spanish comic book Walt was reading belonged to Hurley before the crash.
    3. The Others were specifically after Walt at the end of Season One – not just any child or any boy.
    4. If you believe the obvious, Walt has access to a computer by which he communicated with his dad, Michael.
    5. Locke could turn out to be a total loon. He believed the island was giving him clues on what to do next, but he might be losing his edge on sanity or faith because he’s been doing nothing new for a while.
    6. John Locke was an English philosopher. I’d read his treatise on Human Understanding if I had the time, just to see if the writers of LOST drew anything out of his writings which would clarify some of the mystery.
    7. Walt shakes Jack’s or Locke’s hand in Season One and immediately warns him not to open it (the hatch). He displays what would appear to be some kind of psychic or prophetic ability. What exactly is the danger, though? Why does he say not to open it? What will happen because they did?

    The Numbers – Hurley won the lottery with the numbers. He heard the numbers from a supposed crazy man in an institution. The crazy man served in the military with another guy in the Pacific. They monitored the air waves. Usually, all they heard was static, but one day, they heard a voice, repeating those numbers. We discover that 16 years ago, Rousseau found a transmitter on the island that was playing voice which repeated those numbers over and over and over. Rousseau recorded a new message in French over the previous one, and set it on a continual loop. This is the distress call Sayid picked up after the Oceanic flight crashed. The numbers were found on the outside of the hatch, and they are the numbers someone has been entering into the computer system below for years. So the numbers are at quite old if men serving in the military decades ago heard the transmission. Why were the numbers on the outside of the hatch? The hatch had no handle or way to open from the outside. It would stand to reason that no one on the outside was intended to have anything to do with it. If that is the case, it is either a serial number, a combination to some kind of lock, a warning of some kind, or something else I haven’t thought of.

    John Locke will either figure it out or be responsible for more deaths. That is one of the only opinions I will voice right now. Will Michael find Walt? Why did the Others stop Jack from pursuing Michael, but we see no evidence that they stopped Michael from looking for Walt?

    Is Libby really an Other?


  • Culture Clash: Thoughts on Stillness

    is it a coincidence that the wisest people are always those who take advantage of stillness and quiet? when was the last time you met a sage that was “making things happen”? you don’t.

    of course, you could pull the old person trump card and claim that those wise people are also old people, and thus more prone to stillness, quiet, and a slow-paced life. while that may be true, not all old people are wise, though most are slow and quiet.

    the wise ones of which i speak are the ones who live a slower pace. they are the ones who don’t acquiesce to the impulsive and increasing speed of our culture. how they survive, i do not know. i doubt i could afford food, rent, electricity, and water if i refused to participate in the rush of societal commerce.

    there are people who do it, though. maybe some farmers, ranchers, and homeless people in America, but i’m thinking more of normal people in places like Japan and Taiwan. i’m thinking of little fishing villages, where some old men and women grow and catch their own food each day, and have little use of urban anxiety. true, they may eat fish and rice with nearly every meal, but perhaps they see no problem with that. perhaps they live a quality of life i can only imagine.

    for me, the thought of stillness causes feelings of shameful laziness. every day, i feel guilty for “wasted time”, which refers to time not spent actively doing something. then again, the kind of stillness i’m used involves a sofa and a television. that’s vegging. i’m not talking about that.

    asian cultures have encouraged stillness in religious practices. meditation, zen, and yoga all deal with stillness or slow, deliberate movements. tranquility is one of their highest virtues.

    jews and christians, though the westerners seem unaware of this, have similar principles, i.e. “be still and know that he is God.” sad how that command has been all but forgotten in practical daily American life.

    even worse, in my mind, is how the opposite is culturally acceptable. “time management” is one of the bastardly uneducated ideas of our time. technology allows us to operate multiple machines at one time, all of which produce immeasurably more results than a single person could ever dream. with greater capabilities has come higher expectations. the “normal” bar is continually raised. a minor example is the cell phone. most people have one. now there’s no reason for being an hour or two late to work. flat tire? why didn’t you call? no cell phone? that’s irresponsible. you are now held to the new standard of normal. you either keep up and participate or you fall behind and risk extinction.

    i’ve said all that before. it’s one of my biggest complaints against metropolitan life in this country. but technology and time management are not the main issue here. the question at issue here is this: is it okay to be still, silent, and unproductive? Think of Mister Miyagi or Yoda. masters or a failures? corporate America says failures. and yet we all know the simple truth.

    wisdom says competing for top honors is wasteful. wisdom says serve others rather than try to rule them. wisdom says it is better to be poor and at peace within one’s self than to be a shallow, heartsick millionaire. the hard-hearted will disagree. that’s just the callouses talking.

    time is a precious jewel. more precious than what most of us spend it on. what would you have to face if you were silent for one hour? what could you understand if you allowed yourself the time to reflect?

    think about it. in silence.

    can you handle it?