Fat Man on a Ladder

If I weighed five-hundred pounds, that wouldn’t preclude me from giving decent weight-loss advice. If I knew everything about balancing intakes of good foods; if I knew the ideal caloric intake per day; if I recognized the need for exercise, I would still be the giver of good advice for passing this stuff along. My fatness would not affect the actual quality of my advice in the least.

Alas, knowing and doing are distinctly different things; yet, how many people have said that they have a hard time taking the advice of their overweight doctor who smokes Camels? Illogical, but understandable.

Yes, knowing and doing are two different things.

So what if there were a guy who faithfully writes a blog that posits fairly consistent ideas -- things like independence of thought; things like realizing the need to separate the self from community; things like simplifying a life full of extraneous things and appreciating the truly meaningful moments around us -- and what if that guy were to suddenly find himself in a position to have a good grab at the things he always writes about…but he doesn’t do it.

Why doesn't he do it? Perhaps the reasons look like pride and fear; like choosing comfort over opportunity. Maybe it’s a sense of fatherly responsibility -- maybe obligation to someone he loves more than the things he loves.

The Great Competitor: A Parable

The Great Competitor is born. He's a dim-eyed baby with a lackluster cry and no taste for the breast.

He becomes a boy, a little weakened by store-bought formula. Because he feels weak, he fights hard to look strong. He tells other boys how strong he is. He pushes better boys in hallways and he plays playground kickball as if his life is threatened by second place. (Because it is.)

He becomes a teen, which is when he wraps his weaknesses around him like a protective coat. He tortures his teachers, who are in it only for him. (He will brag about this into adulthood, because he won't have come far enough to be ashamed.) He goes on weekend quests for disorientation and disoriented sex -- girls he can use to add sex muscles to his beer muscles; to his soul's muscles. He fights, too. He hurts to feel better; he forces himself into others with his body, because he can't get into their hearts. He wins. He always wins.

Sherlock: How Did I Miss This?

Disney's Basil of Baker Street

First: yes, I know -- I am really late on this; two seasons behind, in fact. Anyway, I heard about this BBC series a few weeks ago and then I found out it was available on Netflix. I finally watched it last night.

To say I was excited is an understatement. I was giddy. I was silly with joy. (I think I told my wife that my happiness compared to that of our wedding day. I certainly would never have said it surpassed it.) I'm a huge fan of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes stories. In my not-so-humble opinion, the series, Sherlock, is wonderful.

The dynamic, as I have always seen it between Holmes and Watson in the original stories, is perfectly captured by both Martin Freeman (Watson) and Benedict Cumberbatch (Holmes). And Holmes doesn't have that off-putting, unwholesome weirdness that Jeremy Brett gave him. (I know -- people loved him, but all I could think was that I would definitely keep the Baker Street Irregulars from spending time alone in 221B with Brett's Holmes.) I always thought that if one crossed Basil Rathbone with Disney's Basil of Baker Street, one would have the perfect Holmes. That's Cumberbatch.

Questions for a Drugged Society

What happens when what is right can no longer be done because it has been rendered impractical?

What if, for instance, it were wrong to think that a government should be the source for the validation of the love and commitment between any two people? (It is wrong to think that, isn't it?) But what if that validation were the only way to assure certain benefits and rights?

That's what I would call being trapped by an overcomplicated machine; that's what I would call being smashed between the wheels of bureaucracy.

And what do we do when we are unjustly trapped? What have humans always done in these circumstances? The answer is bloody and profound.

The real question is: When will it happen? (Or, are we too drugged with the opiate of "the way it is" to ever see it happen?)

The Moments After Motion: Rabbit on a Leash

The other day, I got off of the treadmill and it felt like the floor under my feet was moving. You know the feeling? Or, did you ever sit at the back of a train and watch the track moving away from you toward the vanishing point? When the train stops, it appears that the track is still  moving slowly into the distance.

In both of these cases, the temporary state of being (in this case, motion) becomes sort of absorbed by our minds and bodies. Somewhere inside, the little dudes who run the machine in our brains say, "Okay -- we're moving. This is the way it is going to be. Time to internalize and react the current situation. Flip all necessary switches." Then, when it changes (the train stops, for instance) the little guys who just sat down to rest sigh and get back up again, "Reset switches, fellows!" But it takes a little time, so, the ground feels like its moving or the tracks look like they are moving away. Just until the switches get flipped again.

Lao Tzu

Lately, I have been on the literal treadmill, as mentioned above. I have also been on the figurative treadmill: busy at work; busy at home (both sons in the thick of activities with karate and baseball); busy with music (the band had been playing a lot); busy with a million other responsibilities... But the big thing has been that I found myself putting in days that ran from 6 AM to 8:30 PM, or beyond, before I could sit and breathe.

Then, one night, baseball practice was canceled. There was no karate. Band rehearsal was called off. I came home from school at around four o'clock and had nowhere to go and nothing pressing to do.

And what happened? Mr. Solitude; Mr. Self-reflection; Mr. Creative (who never has enough time for his arts) found himself pacing around the house for a few minutes, feeling stir-crazy. Me. After all my yapping about the joys of solitude and the quest for the time enough to enjoy it, I found myself feeling like a rabbit on a leash.