Cruise to the Edge of Delirium

Allow me, firstly, to introduce myself.  I'm someone who likes to make music, but I'm sure you figured that out from my profile.

Oh, you didn't read that part.  Go ahead.  I'll wait...

Cool.  That should make everything clear a little later.  Onward.

I just got back from my first ever cruising experience, a pleasant*, enjoyable* experience* on a four-day cruise around the Bahamas.

...on a boat full of progressive rock musicians, some professional, some pro-am, and some who don't play professionally at all but can still play (this is the category into which I fall).  Mind you, I'm a better parrot than I am a creator right now.  This may change.  It may not.

During the emergency drill (mandatory for EVERYONE on the ship), an older, distinguished gentleman with a wave of white hair came to ask, "Is anyone sitting here?".  I said, "No, please, feel free."  I noticed his "ARTIST" tag and asked who he was with.  "I'm not with anyone."

"But you have an artist tag; who are you playing with?"

"Oh, blast, the card gave it away.  Hi.  I'm Roger Dean."

I did a poor job of concealing my excitement at meeting him.  His artistry, Yes' music, and the accessibility to science fiction and fantasy I had growing up had very richly fertilized my imagination in terms of everything non-musical.  They gave me a power that evidently has lain dormant since then.

Among these fine musicians were such as Yes, Marillion, Allan Holdsworth, Martin Barre, Mike Portnoy, Spock's Beard, Neal Morse, Lifesigns, and several others; while these are all fine draws for a cruise, I must state that they were the icing on the cake.  My reason for attending was to meet people and make some music myself.

I had the experience of meeting Yes in person -- all of them (except for Steve Howe, which, from what I inferred, is understandable).  Didn't get to talk to Alan or Geoff much; they rather seem to keep to themselves, but I did get a photo with them, and I did get signatures.  As I walked off, I told Alan, "Thank you for everything you have given me."  Which is quite a lot, considering Yessongs was the second Yes album I had heard.  He stuck out his hand to shake mine.  Alan, I hope you remember this; it means a lot to me.  I wanted to tell you that you'd met my mom about 30 years ago, and she had you sign a business card from a shop she co-owned, "Tempo di Marcia", and you'd addressed it to me in absentia.  I still have this card.

I ran into Billy Sherwood (their bassist) and Jon Davison (their singer) as well, at various parts of the cruise.  Jon more than Billy, but they were equally approachable.  Billy recognised me from Facebook (before I got bounced), and I actually took the time to introduce myself to Jon when he was sitting behind me in the audience for the after-hours jam.  Normally I wouldn't do this, but I had some reasons for doing so, most of which involved owning up to some rather uncomplimentary statements I had made, as well as an apology for them.  It seemed to me to be the right thing to do.  I think I owe one to Steve, too, but I couldn't find him to tell him in person.

When I saw them play in Saratoga in September, I was disappointed, but convinced it was not their fault.  The audience at the winery sucked the energy right out of them.  It was SO harsh.  Half the people didn't want to be there, and it was obvious.  The ones who were even mildly interested were saying things like, "play some older stuff!" after they played "Roundabout" and "Time and a Word".  How much older do you want, people?  I mean, come on!

When I saw them play their final show for this leg of the tour in the US, on Monday Night, I must say that you can say what you will about Jon Davison, or anyone else in the band, but they are Yes.  They are legion.  They will continue to move forward.  And they were spot fucking on.  The slowdowns were minimal, the energy was high, they vaulted a musical double somersault with a full twist and a half at the end and they stuck the landing.  I have NO doubts about them right now -- when they're playing to an audience that is welcoming to them and appreciates them, they are golden.

As I didn't make the auditions to be on stage for the After Hours Electric Prog Jam, I took comfort in the piano in the dining room at the aft of the ship**.

Apparently, so do some other fine musicians.  Once I found the piano, others were drawn to it as iron filings to a magnet.  There were singers, players, and aprecionados, some from other bands, some from other countries, some from other bands from other countries, and I think a few from other worlds. I am wondering if I must be one of them, because I sure felt at home.

They played (older) Genesis, for the most part, so I thought I'd fill the gaps nicely by playing some Yes songs.  Not just the keyboard parts, mind you -- the whole songs, from start to finish, with two hands on a piano.

Let me explain that last part.

When I was younger, I wanted to play this stuff in a band, but I couldn't find people talented enough, interested enough, or with enough time on their hands to call up and say, "Hey, you wanna jam some Yes today?"  That just didn't happen.  Additionally, my lack of equipment prevented me from getting out there as a "serious" keyboard player.  In order to keep up my sanity, I need to recreate it in some form.  I had two hands and a piano at my disposal; this became that form.

After four nights of all this, even after the EXTENDED AHEPJ (which ran from 11:00 PM to 4:00 AM instead of the usual 2:30 AM) (and still, people went there), I appear to have become part of the prog family.

Most people don't believe me when I tell them I can play things like "Turn of the Century", "Yours Is No Disgrace", or "Starship Trooper" on the piano, never mind the epic tunes such as "Close to the Edge", "Awaken", or "The Gates Of Delirium".  I do this.  I did this.  And because I have spent the last 35 years not really getting out and playing it for other people, I had a lot of doubt that it would make much of an impression, especially when the keyboard player for Spock's Beard jumped on one night.

Let me talk about Rio (aforementioned keyboard player).  This guy is fantastic.  He's sharp, he's precise, and he's really fucking creative. What I heard him play is definitely concert-worthy material, and he's an awesomely nice person to boot.  It was really nice to meet him (and a whole bunch of others!) on this cruise.

It was thus something of a surprise to run into him right before the Tribute to Chris Squire***.  I complimented him on his playing exactly as described above, and he says to me:

"No, you are awesome.  I've never seen anyone play like that."
I: But what you played, out of your own head, that was crazy good!
he: ...I can't remember stuff like you do, though.  Man...who the fuck are you!??

The only thing I could do at that last question was double over with laughter.  How do you respond to that??

Rio, if you're out there reading this, the Lord of the Uncharted Universe**** salutes you.  It was truly an honour to meet you, and I hope to run into you again sometime.

On the fourth night, before we disembarked the next morning, I ripped out The Gates Of Delirium, Perpetual Change, and Starship Trooper, then played (gasp!) an actual original tune (which would have fit the working definition of progressive rock, I am certain).

The reaction I received blew me away.  It was nothing I had ever felt before in my life.  The energy, the good will, was astounding to me, and totally unexpected at that level.  I mean, yes, I know I can play, and I know people will enjoy it, but this was something completely off the chart.

I touched people.  I dropped jaws.  I drew tears.  I got asked "...where did you come from?"

...and it's all amazing, and overwhelming, and beautiful to me.  I never expected this reaction.  I never expected to be told in so few words that I'm actually worthy, because I went through a lot of my life never believing that I was.

You know how when you go to a show and the performers all say "thank you", and you think it must be protocol or something, or that it's pretentious bullshit?

It isn't.  It's genuine.  How can you NOT be genuine about receiving energy like that from an audience?  You get it and you want to give it all back in some sort of amazing positive feedback loop.  It's a wonder the arenas don't explode from all the energy being exchanged in there.

Even from a group of maybe twenty, possibly thirty people all hanging around the piano, it was intense.  I can't even begin to know how it would be to play in front of a crowd at the Oakland Arena, or Wembley Stadium.  Dave Grohl and crew were justifiably overwhelmed when they played there.  You can just see his amazement and his gratitude and you could watch his mind explode from that experience, and he is like that EVERY SINGLE TIME.

My mind is blown so hard that I am certain it will never be the same.

I am grateful.
I am joyful.
I am blessed.
I am humbled beyond words before the universe.

And I have got to do this again.

By the way, why is my house still rolling...?

---

*Understatements.
**Apparently there is a friendly contest as to who finds the piano on the ship first.  I think I won this year.
***Chris Squire was Yes' bassist from their inception in 1968 until he died this year, and the torch was dropped in Billy Sherwood's lap.  Watch the ashes, Billy!
****I wore a small name tag that reads "LORD OF THE UNCHARTED UNIVERSE" on my lanyard or on my shirt most of the time I was walking around.  People may not remember my name, but they will not forget the tag.

Instant Ingratification

So I get to work this morning and I'm listening to the office dads talking about their experiences at amusement parks -- most notably, Universal Studios in Hollywood, and Disneyland -- and they're discussing the prices, which are astronomical enough.

But then they're discussing the additional fee for the fast passes/head of the line access.

I am sickened by all of this.

Yes, the parks are crowded, and I won't go to them any more because of this. There are too many people (paying far too much money, in my opinion).

It's the pursuit of instant gratification that irks me so.

I'm not totally above it, because I have my own impulsive nature, but at least I recognise it, and I am also aware of the surrounding limitations (budget, space, time).

The get-it-all-now mentality has been present for at least a generation, perhaps a little more, but I am just ill at how it has descended presence into pervasion.

And the really sad part of all of it is that I don't know that there is anything I can do about it, not even influentially. We as a society are hurtling more pell-mell than ever down this road with the attitude of "well, if I can't have it now, then screw it!", and all I can do is endure, and be patient, and not be so instantly demanding.

One could argue that at the truly good things will be there for us. I don't share the optimism, because the truly good things will be sullied by the runoff from the mire created by the seekers of this instant gratification.

The problem is that instant gratification is motivated by pure greed, or by fear of missing out -- which is, of course, a false panic created and manipulated by the greedy. Solutions looking for problems.

The best I can do is implore anyone who is caught in either the fear or the greed:

     • Please, slow down.
     • Life is not an emergency -- if it is, you're doing it wrong.
     • If you are used to getting everything instantly, you are setting yourself up for major disappointments when you get older.
     • If it's all about the money, you need to reset your priorities -- you won't be able to eat money after you've fucked the rest of the world.

---

Upon reflection just prior to posting, I realise that I am speaking from a very privileged point of view, and it may come across as arrogant, for which I apologise, for such was not my intent. I still think that the world needs to slow down, and it's despairing that this will not happen until a cataclysmic event causes the world to just stop, but between then and now, no matter your place or any other separation, take the time you can to enjoy what you can, when you can.

...and I'll stop now before I ramble off the rails any further than I have already.

Adventures with Facebook

or, "just when you thought getting screwed would be enjoyable."

So I finally decided to unzip my Facebook Farewell Archive ... you know, the one you get when you say "save all my stuff and let me download it"?


Imagine my surprise when I opened it and got none of my notes.


Let me back up a little.


Back in 2008, I joined Facebook and decided to keep all my stuff out there, and to get (and, so I thought, stay) socially connected.  So there I was, from 2008 - mid-2015, to right after Chris Squire died, when I got the book-fuck notice from Facebook, saying,

You don't appear to be using your real name.
Please send us official documentation proving that this is how you are known by the members of your community.

("what the...?")

And so they don't seem inclined to let me back in.  So, before I left, I requested an archive of all my stuff -- Photos, wall postings, friend lists, etc.

Welp, I got all that.  I neglected to realise that since "notes" was a separate application, I wouldn't get those back.

So...back to blogging I go.

THINGS I WILL MISS:

• Seeing the updates to the Skyfaire page, to know who has left us
• Getting any updates to what is going on with S.W.A.S. people and remaining faculty
• The Yes Official Facebook Page
• The Pinball Pages
• Many friends
• My notes.

THINGS I WON'T MISS:

• Religion
• Politics
• Alarmism
• General uptightness
• People pissing on my wall because I disagree with them

Hopefully, everyone who needs to visit will visit here.  I'll try to post things of interest on at least a weekly basis.  If I can find the text of my notes, I'll post them here, backdated as appropriate.

To those who hope to see me back on Facebook, I can't promise when -- or if -- I will return.  It was a huge time suck to begin with, and it's nice not to have my stomach tied in knots over a disagreement.  I had enough of this in real life once upon a time, and I'm kind of done with that bullshit.

Rest assured that I miss and love you all, though.  You're all good to me in some fashion.

If life is a story...

Just had an epiphany this morning while I was returning with coffee to my desk. The logic train went something like this (I entertain story ideas as I do occasionally attempt to write stories. Thus far: Story: 15, Author: 0.):

"Remember the characters you used to create in Dungeons and Dragons?
The ones from lands of fantasy, which were rumoured to have existed
at one time, and were wiped out by the humans?

They're back. And they have a whole new take on life."

This led to the Lord of the Rings, and how it was one point-a-to-point-b plot story, with a lot of ancillary subplots branching off and tying in (usually).

THAT led me to think, "Who, in their life, really has a plot? Our lives are pretty much not plot-driven, but character-driven."

The thought for the day is,

"If your life is plot-driven, you had best be a VERY good writer."

Jake, and other diminutives...

So there's something that's been bugging me for a while. A long while, in fact. It has to do with nominal diminutives, or common names.

Now I can see how something like "Tessa" would derive from "Theresa", and even how "Sally" might come from "Sarah", and I just found out that "Ike" falls from "Isaac", which is actually kind of cool, but there are several out there that completely elude me, logically speaking.

The ones in question, specifically, are "Jack" and "Jake".

We hear references to the late John Fitzgerald Kennedy, and his brother Robert, as "Jack and Bobby", often by people who would like to think they were friend or kin to those two (but never mind that).

Now, back up a second.

In the etymology of names, is not John a name unto itself? Seriously. Look at it, especially Biblically (and I'm not necessarily a Bible fan, but that's a rant for another week and a half that I won't start now). John is a saint. John is, if I am not mistaken, actually an Apostle. And I fail to see how "Jake" falls from "John". "ay" vs. "ah", you know? Etymologically speaking, it just doesn't match! What are these people thinking?

"Jake" sounds like it could come from "Jacob". Ditto "Jack". "Jacob" is not a name you're going to hear often unless you're traveling in Hasidic or Judaic circles a lot. It doesn't surface.

...unless you're one of the ones who was named, given the propensity for a stuffed shirt at birth, "James". Of course, how "James" came from "Jacob" in the first place was a twisty little maze all its own (Jacob (Heb.) -> Jacobus (L.) -> Jacomus (Late L.) -> mmmyeah, that kinda makes sense, if you're drunk or stupid and drop lots of letters from your words...).

But the point is that "John" is truly sore out of luck as a name, from my point of view. I could never name a kid "John". What do you do with that name? You can't really call him "Jake" or "Jack", not properly. "Johnny"? Well, I guess it worked for Johnny Cash. You could misspell it "Jhon" and take it from there (I know someone who did that with his last name. He's a very good photographer). The only "Jake" I knew was a "John" was John Kelly, who went by "JK", his initials, and everyone called him "Jake".

Not that I'd be wanting to name a boy "James", after all, in spite of the diminutives. You get Jim, Jimmy, Jamie (Scottish diminutive, and yes, it is a BOY'S name and I could shoot the person who decided it was a good name for a girl from all the crap I started getting for it about the time the Bionic Woman came out on TV, different spelling notwithstanding since it was all about the pronounciation), and fun little ones like Jim-O, Jammer, Jim-Bob (go a bit south for that one), but you could also call him "Jake" or "Jack" and be perfectly, rightfully correct in that.

(The reading of how James (English) -> Diego (Spanish) was also interesting, a twisty little passage all its own. Google it. You will discover that "Jaime" is an adoption to the name "James", not a representation of it. Origin of "Jaime" is Iberian, not Spanish, and its meaning is apparently completely unrelated.)

That's about it, since I can pretty much figure out the origins of such names as Babs, Hank, Rusty, Shorty, Sloppy, Sleazy, Shifty, Lefty, Lenny and Bruce...

"You FAILED your perception roll?"

(forget the grammatical errors. I know they're here. A preposition is a bad thing to end a sentence with. And a conjunction should never start a sentence. But it's effective, because, for better or worse, it's how people talk. And dammit, there is BREW in February!!! PRONOUNCE THE DAMNED 'R'!

anyway...) Wow.

I had the fortune of connecting with not one, not two, but three people from my deep dark distant past (also known as "High School") in just the last week. Not bad!

One is now a sportswriter for a paper in Florida; one is a computer person somewhere in Sacramento (I need to pay him a visit before I move).

And one is an old ember. Could have said "flame" except that I didn't. In retrospect, she's probably one of the sweetest people I've ever met. In further retrospect, I was a compleat idiot.

Which brings us to the topic of my post.

Yes, I failed my perception roll. 24 years ago.

I'm not exactly in disbelief, here. Come on -- those of you who know me well enough, you know that I have a propensity for doing things the hard way, whether by accident or design.

This post is going to ramble for a bit, because upon reconnecting with said ember (read: friendly potential flame except I wasn't paying attention), I have found her mother has died recently and unexpectedly and has left her pretty well devastated (I'm sure she'll send me a correction if I happen to have this wrong, but I don't think I do).

(And yes, I expect she'll show up and read this whole silly archive -- hopefully she'll find some of it humorous, some insightful, and like that).

So I offered her the lame insight of someone who has not yet lost a close family member (thumps head); namely: Are you happy with where YOU are, in spite of recent circumstances? That's all that matters. (Okay, it was more drawn out, but that's the upshot of it.)

My mind has boggled. She sent me an invite to her wedding a long time ago, and I never responded. Not because I was ever bitter (never was), but because I couldn't keep myself organised enough to do anything about it. I still have to send out Thank Yous for the wedding I had almost nine months ago, and I haven't even posted the pictures from the event!

But I digress.

Time passed, and I lost her address, and couldn't find her on the web, and couldn't seem to find her ANYwhere for long until I visited one of those School Reunion sites and found her. I sent a mail, fully expecting it to drop into the ether.

Imagine my surprise when I got a response.

Now this is 23 years after the last time I remember seeing her in person -- she's happily married for 20 years now (found her sweetheart in college), and I'm finally in a fairly good spot in my life (after much wailing and moaning and gnashing of teeth, my 20-year roller coaster ride is coming to a spot where I can jump off without too much ado), so spending too much time on what could have been is a waste of time.

Still, when the light dawns, it's hard not to look at what was there and mutter to oneself, "Self, you are such an idiot."

The light kind of dawned for me when I went trolling through my box of memories and found a letter which had been included with the gift of Issue #13 of ElfQuest (don't. I stopped following ElfQuest pretty much when the first run of Black-And-Whites came to an end. I'm still waiting for the movie, but I'm not holding my breath at this point. A discussion of the effect it had on my life is reserved for a later discussion).

Such is life.

I take comfort in the fact that, 20 years ago, I was a hothead, prone to argument, debate and bursts of temper. This doesn't happen so much anymore, but really? I haven't changed much. I wonder if I would have turned out any differently with different influences in my life, or if I'm just doomed to be a victim of my own foolish will. So my solace is telling myself "there's no way it would have worked out anyway."

But the fact remains that I wasn't paying attention. I used to lament that nobody ever knew I existed for the longest time.

I cannot shake the gut feeling that, even then, I was wrong.

Missed opportunity, or alternate path? How do you tell? I would not have had the opportunities that I have now. I'd be someplace different. Where? I don't know. Do I have regrets? I'll just say, stoically, that it's difficult to truly regret what might have just been a different path to the same endpoint. If I could change up the journey altogether, maybe, but I think I'm here because I'm supposed to be here. I'm supposed to learn a lesson.

I think the lesson is to pay attentOOOOHHHH! SOMETHING SHINY!

Missing in Action

In this most unusual of posts, perhaps I am chasing my past, something I swore I would not do. Well, I don't do it often, at any rate.

There are some people I just have not seen in years and would love to be back in contact with them, even if just to say hey, how are ya, welp, see ya.

Anyone who knows of the whereabouts of these people, please point them here or leave me a way to get ahold of them. I'm not expecting much, considering my comment count is zero, thus far, but hey. The universe has done weirder stuff.

I am looking for:

• Kevin Moran, formerly of San Marin
• Chad Jensen, co-conspirator of R&R: 2112
• Cory Taylor, in-your-face clown in Sgt. Krupke (SFDHS alum)
• Jonathan Eldridge, chaotic neutral incarnate
• Cheryl Boyce, all around nice person (the other half-elf)

I expect this list to grow, by the way.

If it's not clear who I am, I was the pianist in "Krupke" in 1983, I ran a role-playing game called R&R: 2112 (actually, I still run it but my adventure-generating skills need a LOT of work), and my first girlfriend was nicknamed "Ducky", though you may have known her as Christi "Clare" Schaefer. We were together from April 1984 through July 1985 and then I became a morose emotional wreck.

All for now -- have a great day.

Observations on Age

It's very strange. Age, that is.

On first glance, and going as logic dictates, one might think that it is simply the process of aging, growing more mature, hopefully acquiring wisdom as we go, which allows us to make the statement as follows:

"Is it just me, or do seventeen-year-olds seem much younger today than they were when we were growing up and not quite seventeen years old?"

It's not just you. Trust me.

In sorting through my yearbooks looking for Robby (see below), I reflected back on these people, and even on looking at the pictures of classes graduated before mine, I determined that these seventeen-year-olds were MUCH more mature then than those of comparable age today, in terms of all of behaviour, appearance, and accomplishment.

Let me provide a concrete example. Back in 1982, the apparent literacy rate was astounding by comparison to today. The ratio of decent thinking people to mindless, careless thugs was MUCH lower, even in places like Oakland and the depths of San Francisco. Today, such thugs run rampant in places they were never present, including Marin County and Santa Cruz, to say NOTHING of Oakland and the formerly nicer parts of San Francisco.

The expundiation of why this is the new status quo is left for a future discussion when I get my brain back, but I stand by the above. It is NOT eracentric; that is, it is not germane to My Generation. The seventeen-year-olds of 20 years ago were more mature than those of ten years ago; those of 10 years ago surpassed the current crop of high school graduates, in general, by miles.

And it is saddening. It seems that, in a world with a life expectancy, biologically speaking, of seven decades or more without blinking an eye, our current set of up-and-coming teens are simultaneously convinced that they will live forever and that they will die tomorrow. It is truly a travesty which we must turn around, somehow (q.v. getting my brain back, above).

My friend died doing what he loved to do, and though he was mature, he held a childlike wonder of the world and he showed it off to us. But he was still more mature than any seventeen-year-old I know today.

My stepdaughter, by contrast, has to be the most mature girl of fourteen I have ever met, so there are exceptions to this rule. I just hope she decides to go out and have a little fun once in a while.

...but I digress. Perhaps there is a longer average life expectancy because these people are taking longer to emotionally mature -- I don't know -- but that's a double-whammy, because now we not only have to deal with people who haven't got the consideration thing figured out, but we have to deal with them LONGER.

Oh, and please feel free to comment. Does anybody read this stuff?

Peripheral perceptions

Ever have a moment where you see something out of the corner of your eye and think it's one thing, and it turns out to be totally different?

Sometimes it happens where you think your black cat is the 8-ball on a pool table until it meows at you and throws your reality askance.

Sometimes you think it's a gas pump holding you up with its nozzle as the gun. Oh, wait -- that one's for real.

Well, to be serious again, it happened to me this morning.

I was stopped at a light at a busy intersection when this late 1970s/early 1980s model car -- the make of which I cannot remember, but I'm reasonably sure it was an Olds or a Pontiac of some sort -- pulls up alongside mine in the left turn lane. I casually glance over, and I note the hood and front sides of the car are covered in aluminium foil, and the body's suffered some pretty general wear and tear in the form of several large, albeit shallow, dents.

My first thought was "Gee, dude, nice POS you have there."

...that is, until I looked at the occupants.

This car was not being piloted by some young latino or black punk with an attitude. It was an old man and his wife. They must have been easily 80 years old each, she in her headscarf and he in his day coat. Two people who probably bought the car way back when it was new and they could afford a last hurrah.

The car's condition on the inside was mediocre at best. The inside paneling was weather-worn but seemed to be holding up; the faux woodgrain on the dashboard was still visible, but I could see signs of fraying on the seats from where I was.

As the car pulled away to turn left, I could further see that the rear bumper was tenuously attached at best.

And I felt so sad for them. I don't know why. I mean, there's no way to tell what they're thinking. They could be thinking of the pleasant things coming as the day unfolds, or they could be sitting there thinking about when the end would come. It could be anything; as someone who's contemplated The End at various times over his life, age doesn't really matter all that much in that regard.

I guess I still have impressions that the elders of our society should be able to spend their time much better off than current economics will allow.

The elders are not taken seriously enough, I think. But that's a rant for another day.

Meanwhile, count your own blessings. If you have things that work, be grateful. If they're pretty and holding on by more than a thread, go and do something nice for someone else.

[Notice: My blog will probably go to "random-what-the-hell" format for a while until I feel so inclined to put more into it. I've been remiss as it is for long enough given the last six months of complete and total chaos, which is also a rant for another day. Deal with it -- but according to my records, nobody reads me anyway...]

Divining History Through Music

(or, What Will The Aliens Think?)

Something has been a recurring theme in my deeper thoughts through the years that I've been able to have deeper thoughts -- that is to say, since I was about twelve or so (born old, aging well, for the most part, but I digress).

As I have gone through life listening and looking about me, I have noticed the odd connection between the times and the music thereof. Music in 1974 was well out of the drug-induced stupor of the sixties, which had its own brand of music -- music that made a statement, and a very strong one. Music that I listened to in 1974 was different than what everyone else was listening to. My Mom (waves, "Hi, Mom!") had brought home some new music that caught my ear. It was Ragtime. Scott Joplin: The Red Back Book, and Joshua Rifkin plays Scott Joplin (I'm not certain of that last title, but I remember it all very well...)

I had discovered Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass by this time, and I thought the sun rose and set with them. I even got to see them at the (now closed) Circle Star Theatre in San Carlos, CA (I even found the autographs I got from that show).

Now, at that time, Ragtime music (yes, it deserves very much the same reverence as Progressive Rock, Rock and Roll and John Philip Sousa -- with all of which I grew up, but...) was just another happy sound in my life. I loved its intricacies, and yet its simplicity made it accessable to a budding and very impressionable young musician who could pick up things by ear (but couldn't sight-read his way out of a croissant). It was magical. It wasn't until much much later in life that I would draw the connection of the sound of the music to the era in which it flourished.

It's by and large happy music. Very very happy-go-lucky, in almost as much as people were having a good time, they were also trying to forget their problems. And it had all the markings of the bars in which it was most often played.

Now it was considered most often "coloured people's music", as near as my memory and recollection of research can divine. The good, upstanding moral white majority wanted nothing to do with it, by and large -- or so they gave the impression. It's quite obvious that this wasn't true; the Gershwin Brothers were influenced by it; and hey, what about Porgy and Bess, hm?

And has anyone listened to the sounds of music between 1890 and 1910? Ragtime draws some blindingly obvious connections to them. I think these people wanted to remember, to bring back the good times that the music embodied.

As I grew older, I started, of course, listening to the music which was popular at the time. I mean, really, who wasn't listening to the radio when they were growing up? Anyone growing up in 1976 thru 1980 was probably tuning into a top-forty AM station and catching all the music that was happening. "Fly Like An Eagle", by the Steve Miller Band; "Love Will Keep Us Together", by The Captain & Tennille; "The Things We Do For Love", by Hall and Oates. All very indicative of the times in which the music was written, very laid back, not too terribly much of an edge to it, but not so dull as to be a waste of time. It was pop. Popular music, the stuff that MOST of the universe listened to.

By 1978, the glory of our country's bicentennial had waned a tad (even though it really should have carried on through 1989), and harder elements began to filter into the mainstream. Firstly, AM/FM radios had become more commonplace, replacing the AM-only boxes which had been the norm. Secondly, youth yearned for more of an edge, more of a voice, and they got it -- in AC/DC, Van Halen, Rush, War, the Scorpions, and of course the plenitude of punk bands which were beginning to form, such as The Clash and others. The Progressive Rock swung into the mainstream with music from Styx and Supertramp, among others.

In 1980, Jimmy Carter was elected out of office to be succeeded by Ronald Reagan, and music changed again -- it got harsher, more shocking (along with the attire which went with it) in reaction to what was being passed down as the status quo. The world seemed just a bit darker. We started getting some serious creativity arising out of a generation who hoped to change the world and turn the establishment on its ear, to tell it to take a hike. In 1984, for example, we got some serious proof that the world WASN'T ending at this time, that imagination was still strong, and that we were still drawing on the lessons taught to us by the previous generation as far as how to go about changing the world (and, of course, how not to). We saw the rise and fall of Blondie, and the Police finished up on about the same note (with the notable exception of being wise enough to bow out gracefully and go their own separate ways). The Eagles had split up, and Don Henley and Glenn Frey were making their own directions. Each of these groups addressed a certain kind of angst in the newer generation, whether it was a worldly concern or a personal one.

From 1984 to 1988, with Reagan re-elected, we took a slight downturn again, but people never lost hope. We got some good -- and very poignant -- music from the likes of David Bowie, U2, Peter Gabriel. We also saw a comeback from Crosby, Stills, and Nash, Jackson Browne and several other "cause musicians" -- the ones who come back and perform for causes such as the Christic Institute, Amnesty International and others who attempted to further the restoration of human rights.

In 1988, we got George H. Dubya. What is astounding, musically, is that for the next four years, we didn't seem to have a musical direction, a trend that is reoccurring now. I mean, sure, out came cRap music (the 'c' is usually invisible), with its explicit lyrics, and an attitude that, to this day, I find horribly oppressive. But it's dark, and it communicates through a generation that feels as though it has no hope, nothing to move toward, nothing that it can possibly contribute that will make the world a better place to live. Even the Cause Performers were losing hope at that point, or the people were losing enough hope that they didn't want to see false ones raised.

I will also note that, while it was dark during Clinton's terms in office, it seemed that creativity was somewhat encouraged. We got alternative rock out of it, those pieces which basically took a musical ice pick and shoved it firmly through the ear of the establishment, and we got grunge rock -- the whiny self-serving anthems of Generation X proclaiming that no matter what they try to do, nothing seems to work.

...and since Dumb Dubya got shoehorned into office (I still don't know what he's doing there, anyone? Anyone? Bueller? ...Bueller?), we're back into the doldrums. If anything, the music has become more self- serving (in the case of the mellower stuff), or more violent and socially condemning (in the case of cRap). By the same token that the music is teaching our children to lose hope, to lose faith in the goodness of the mortal race inhabiting our planet, the children are not stupid. They are picking up on the general malaise that is affecting our country in general.

I have some degree of faith that somehow, the people are going to wake up, and when they do, and they smell the artificially flavoured pasteurised coffee food product, I wonder what tales the music will tell then.

Maybe my friends and I should start writing it now. Maybe we can nudge it in the right direction.

Got a match?

In God We Trust (All Others Pay Cash)

This God thing is really getting out of hand.

I mean, it's ALWAYS been overblown. Ever since the Nazarene walked the planet, got nailed to a tree, then mysteriously vanished after having been buried, there's been this obsession with the "True Divine" and "miracles".

Then the righteous started getting really righteous, and obsession is not a strong enough word to describe the actions to follow. I think it even transcended zeal.

In case you're new to this planet, I refer you to the Crusades, the Spanish Inquisition, the century immediately preceding the beginning of the Italian Renaissance, the Salem Witch Trials, and the Abortion Clinic Bombings, in no particular order of importance other than that's about the order they happened in.

I think there were other smaller events which transpired, but I'm not sure I have room to list them all.

Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not a God-hater or a would-be God-slayer or anything as completely bozotic as all that, although after having several large cosmic jokes played on me of late, I think I would like to have a word with said Creator -- and his Mother.

But I digress.

Of late, there's been this flap in the news about someone suing to get "...under God" removed from our pledge of allegiance on the grounds that it is unconstitutional.

I must confess that I applaud this individual. Ever since 1954, when the Cold War started, this country has been in a state of paranoia over letting people live their lives. Witness, e.g., the House Un-American Activities Committee, McCarthyism, blacklisting. You've probably read about it all. If you haven't, do. It's a blood-chilling read more sobering than any murder mystery -- or real-life murder case. Study it. Read about how the Fear of Communism -- and Fear of a Godless State -- brought about a great deal of rules and regulations and abridgements of that nice little passage in the Constitution guaranteeing separation of Church and State.

They make the motions, saying that religious groups are not allowed in public schools, regardless of denomination. They'd probably come in and harass a student for making a religious observation of five minutes of silence or chant or prayer or whatever during lunchtime, if they could monitor everyone, just to make sure they didn't transgress that Constitutional line. Wouldn't matter if you were Wiccan, Pagan, Christian, Muslim, whatever.

But since 1954, there's been this line about "under God" in the Pledge of Allegiance. Here, let me see if I can recall how it's supposed to go. This is the old one; all the new garbage has been stricken. "I pledge allegiance to my the flag of the United States of America, and to the Republic for which it stands, one nation, under God, with Liberty and Justice for all."

Now, what's so hard about that?

I have a remnant of a lighter age. Actually, thanks to Dad, I have several of them, but this one in particular is a find. I think I'll have it framed.

It's a 1950 issue five dollar silver certificate which reads: "The United States of America will pay to the bearer on demand
FIVE DOLLARS"

Other than that, it's an ordinary fiver. Lincoln's face, the Abe Lincoln Memorial Stadium and Hot Dog Stand, the whole works. Certainly not the ugly hack job of late. It's a beautiful piece of work.

Nowhere on the front or the back of this note does it state, in any way shape or form, anything about God. No "IN GOD WE TRUST". Nothing. It just guarantees that the United States, presumably its treasury, will pay the bearer -- me -- five dollars upon demand and likely surrender of said note, even though it does not state explicitly that I need to forfeit the note to get the five dollars. But I digress.

I had an interesting campfire revival experience when I was about four. I was out camping and singing songs and some of them started turning to the folksy religious ones. Even at age four, I felt very unnerved, very disquieted. I don't know why, but religion has always bothered me. I state that, by and large, I am spiritual, and not religious. Religion is spirituality with military funding and herd mentality. This is not something that is conducive to social well being.

To this day, I can appreciate the beauty in the architecture of the old buildings, the churches and cathedrals, but I can not handle being present to witness a mass or a sermon. It reeks of hypocrisy, shame, and the worst form of righteousness.

I will note, with some degree of accuracy, that probably most of the presidents we have lost to assassins have been of other faith than that of the ever-pervasive White Anglo-Saxon Protestant. I could be wrong...

But I digress.

To sum up thus far, I applaud the fellow who is launching the campaign to further the separation of Church and State. I still wish that we could get "In God We Trust" stricken from our currency, since it violates the Constitutional guarantee of Separation of Church and State.

Something to ponder. Remember they were afraid of a Godless state? What do we have now? The presence of this God has not improved our quality of life. Our children run amuck without fear of repercussions or reprimand, and no sense of responsibility or reprehension for their actions.

But you know the real killer? I think it's summed up in this bumper sticker I saw once.

Christians aren't perfect, just forgiven.

We have a very large mass of people out there who are convinced that no matter what they do, as long as they repent in the end, they will be allowed to enter their Heaven, because their God will forgive them. What a fantastically irresponsible manner in which to raise children. No wonder we're so screwed up.

I don't know about you, but I know where my own personal heaven and hell are. I also know that if there is a heaven where everyone good goes, I'm sure I will pay you a visit in my own roundabout way before continuing my journey. If you think your journey ends there, you've got a nasty surprise coming to you.

But I digress.

In parting from this diatribe, if you're reading this and you're offended by my comments on God and Godlessness and the fact that yes, even God has a Mother (who's waiting for him to clean up his act, in my opinion!), I have a perfectly good pair of legs by which I will kick that crutch you call "religion" right out from under you and tell you to take responsibility for your own actions.

And I invite you to do the same for me, should I need it. I'm not perfect. I admit it. At least I can. How about you?

Hypocrisy and Change

"Things are seldom what they seem
Skim milk masquerades as cream
Highlows pass as patent leather
Jackdaws strut in peacocks' feathers..."

There are days, and then there are days.

There are days where I wonder how this world has survived thus far.

It's okay for our kids to see war and gratuitous violence and drugs (in spite of "just say no" (or "just fly low", whichever you prefer)) and the six o'clock news.

It's okay for our kids to listen to music of questionable origin which makes overt references to acts of violence against people of other races.

It's okay for our kids to be exposed to constant attitude, and to turn around and give lip to their parents (remember, physical discipline, which is what these little upstarts needed before they got too out of hand and turned into big upstarts, is no longer permitted. Your kid could turn you in for spanking them.).

Heaven forbid they should be exposed to love, tenderness, caring, or (gasp!) public display of affection.

Or, more so, forbid that they should be exposed to "unusual living arrangements." Even if a mother lives in perfect harmony with two other men (or women, for that matter!), it's not all right, because it goes against the "fahn, upstandin' Murkin morrle strutcher" which so many of the blind sheep embrace.

What an amazingly hypocritical society we live in.

We can't leave well enough alone. We don't seem to have enough to do with our lives that we can't pass so much judgment on other people. We can't just let other people live lives without ostracising them for living in unusual harmony.

There's truth out there to the Wiccan law, "an it harm none, do what thou will." As long as you're not hurting anyone, what's the problem?

More of the most stupid conflicts have taken place over some righteous charlatan's stance on morals. It's amazing. Just because one small group of people cannot wrap their minds around the concept of harmony within an alien arrangement, suddenly they have to rally other people to their cause.

And yet, it is permissible for the depression mongers on the six o'clock news to spread doom, depression and other bad feelings to the multitudes, to do everything in their power to keep down the morale of the populace.

I get a lot of funny looks when people find out that I don't watch the news.

And then there's change. People change, and we never see it coming. Sometimes we never see it coming in ourselves. We swear that, after the first time, we'll never ...oh, get married again, for example. ...and along comes someone to sweep us off our feet, and we forget every reservation we had about repeating past mistakes, probably because the person is of sufficient quality of character to make us realise that the past is the past, and that we won't make the same mistakes with this one that we made last time.

Of course, there's always the "Ugh. I'll never do that again", which of course we do again. Seriously, which of us will never party that hard ever again?

It's hard, really, to remain immutable. After all, if you can't change your mind, are you sure you still have one?

Ask yourself this, if you are set in your ways: Could you crawl off, somewhere, knowing that you are a Dinosaur doomed to extinction, and just die in the desert? There are a number of people who could answer yes to this question. There are a number of people who could answer no to this question.

The mind-blower is going to be not how many people fall into either camp, but *which* people fall into either camp.

There are actually times that I feel like a dinosaur. I'm not as abreast of the technology as I could be, largely because I lack the self-discipline to do so. I've always learned better in a group situation. Could I walk out into the desert and lay down and call it? Sometimes. Quite often. I'm content with what I know. I find the world moves too fast for me to keep up. I'll be lucky if I know 10% of what's current by the time I'm 50.

And I'm okay with this, unless you want to come keep me company on a journey to higher learning...

So, What's The Day About, Again?

(It's not what it should be.)

[Sorry, I've been a bit remiss, again. The Great Temporal Devourer has been visiting of late. To catch you up, briefly, I'm employed, somewhat gainfully. I thank whichever deity it was that decided to drop a credit card into my lap, as dangerous as it is. Without it, I'd not be able to fix my car.

But I digress.]

So here I am. February 14th. What's this day for, exactly?

Growing up, I remember it being about colourful pink, red and white cards in the shapes of hearts named after some guy who got sainted after being martyred for some reason. I'll have to re-read the history in order to understand it fully.

I remember it being a day where candy hearts, chocolate-covered cherries, chocolate-covered caramels, chocolate-covered rocks...and, of course, chocolate-covered faces and hands (and clothes!) by the time we were all done.

I liked the cherries and the conversation hearts, myself. I remember when they were made by the Stark Candy Company (recently (as in the last decade or so) eaten by Necco. It could have been worse. It could have been the other way around. But I digress...). DIG IT. YOU'RE COOL. BE MINE. All those quaint little sentiments of which I could neither make heads nor tails.

Of course, I think I was between five and thirteen, a time when sharing things with (ew!) girls was fraught with cooties and who knows what else.

Truthfully, I didn't have a problem with girls back then. Any of them that would give me the time of day were usually okay, and my interest in them was purely on the level of a friendship. I'm beginning to wonder if that's simply the best way to go in the first place.

Now, today, I see Valentine's day, and it's another day, marred only by the marketing campaigns of the Candy, Lingerie and Jewelry companies. It's a pity, these images that are put out regarding how to behave on Valentine's day, as though it were something truly special.

First off, let me point out that if a guy goes shopping for their girl or whomever, if they're picking up any of the aforementioned categories, they're not doing it altruistically. They're not going to give a box of chocolates or a diamond ring/necklace/whatever to their sweetheart purely out of the goodness of their heart. Come on, guys, admit it. You're in it for something. You want your sweetheart to put out. And if you're shopping for racy clothing (if you can call it clothing...), you're really shopping for yourself. You don't want her to appreciate it, you want to appreciate her in it. (For those of you who are same-sex-oriented, please substitute where appropriate above, if you happen to fall into the description. a) I don't mean to slight you. b) You probably have more sense than this anyway.)

If you're going to go shopping for something that has anything to do with her, take her out shopping with you and let her look at things. Pay attention to what she likes. Nothing says you need to pick it up with her still there. Get an attention span.

But I digress.

I guess where I'm going with all this is that I'm still baffled about how most people treat Valentine's day so strangely. If you're single or unattached, chances are that Valentine's day sucks because nobody is going to do anything special with you. If you're attached, and especially if you're a guy attached to a woman, chances are that if you don't do anything special for her, she's going to be very put out.

Now, I'm a hopeless romantic. I'm about as far down that path as they come. I like chick flicks. I can just enjoy spending time with a lady. But no person out there is worth that amount of trouble.

A friend of mine once told me, point blank, that romance is a means of manipulation. The flowers, the chocolates, the nice night out, the champagne, they all have strings attached to them. I had to examine this very closely, and I had to insist that it wasn't true.

But this was four months ago. The more I think about it, the more I think that she had a very valid point. I don't think it's ENTIRELY accurate. I mean, every now and then, it does feel nice to do something sweet for someone else, and it feels nice when someone does it for you, but there cannot be any strings attached. Just take it for what it is -- a nice time for the moment. Enjoy that moment. It doesn't strengthen or weaken what has been or what is to come, per se. One nice night does not a beautiful world make, although I think it helps once in a while.

I also happen to think that Valentine's day should not be used as an excuse for it to happen.

Now, maybe, due to my experiences (or lack thereof) in life, I'm jaded beyond cure.

Something else that's been pounding about my craneum lately has been the fact that we are conditioned to look at a relationship with someone else as an objet d'amour -- just that, an object. Being involved romantically with someone else by and large seems to be an endpoint, a step, a milestone. Once we get the girl/guy, things change. We take each the other for granted.

Why do we do this? Why does a romance carry a different weight than a friendship? By "different", I don't mean "more" or "heavier", because obviously it's going to be heavier. I mean different. We don't go out on the first day of school with the objective of "I'm going to make me some friends". It's something that just sort of happens. You meet people, and you're friends with them, and if you're good friends, your paths in life will overlap. A lot. You will share the a lot of the same bumps in the road, and the laws of physics will apply in the realm of emotional space as well, on occasion ("Two pieces of matter can not occupy the same space at the same time"). But notice that at no time has it ever come into the picture that, "Great, now I have a friend". I'm not saying you won't take each other for granted now and again, but it's less likely to happen with a friend.

I've heard it said that friendships bond much more strongly. I'd like to define that a bit and say that friendships bond not all that deeply, certainly not initially, but it's the breadth of the bond -- how much surface area you share, emotionally and mentally speaking -- which creates the strength.

Now, romantic relationships are almost always treated a bit differently. I think it's something to do with the 'tab A fits into slot B' bit. But while that's within the scope of the relationship, it should not be necessarily a contributing factor. The bond created by such a relation- ship usually initially is not all that broad, yet we allow it to go deeper. This is not a healthy approach, and it is why relationships will go south especially under stress. It gets even worse when the relationship is entered under lust, and you carry it forth when everything else is saying you should let it go.

I'm not all that much for the "dating" scene, certainly not the "I'm going to spend money and try to impress this girl/guy" kind of deal. In fact, honestly, I've been on as many dates as the number of women I've had in my life. I wouldn't know what to do on a date if it was neurologically transmitted to me by someone else.

I mean, is going out, dressed casual, for coffee and sitting and talking really a "date"? I've always been shown that dates involve much primping and preening and face-painting and perfume-spraying and cologne- splashing and spending of money. I can't get into that. It's just not my scene, and to play in that way would be pretending to be something I am not. In short, it's lying. No, thank you.

I'll probably throw on a nicer shirt (but nothing too stuffy), a cleaner pair of jeans, and I might shave, and if the mood suits me, I *might* even braid my hair.

Let's go have some coffee or tea, and talk, and find our differences, our similarities and take it from there. Be my friend. Ask any of the people who are my friends and who have been never more to me than friends, and you will find that I treat them well, by and large (else they wouldn't be friends, of course!). Maybe we can hang out and hack on something, or sing and play some music together.

Help me learn about what I've just said above, as I've been quite guilty of treating a relationship as an endpoint. It's just a friendship with a little more involvement.

Be my friend.

Learn about me.

I'll do my best to do the same.

But I digress.

The best part of this Valentine's day was listening to the gratitude pour forth from my children as they opened a pair of piggy banks and their own boxes of chocolates. No doubt, they'll remember the cute cards with Cinderella and Pokemon and Buzz Lightyear that they'll get from the other kids in their class. They probably aren't even being told what Valentine's day is all about. But that's okay; they'll get that later. They'll meet someone erudite who will be able to tell them who Valentine was, why he was sainted and where the heart came from.

In the meanwhile, they can enjoy the chocolates and the cherries and the candy conversation hearts. Hopefully, they will cherish these memories and expound upon them to their children someday.

That Great Road We Call Life

(or, "How's that, again?")

Those of you who visit this page might note that it's not been updated for quite a while; this is, by and large, due to the various happenings that some of us refer to as Life. Others of us refer to it by a somewhat different four-letter word.

You know, as in, "Life Happens". Substitute appropriately.

The last six weeks have been a whirlwind of business without much motion, but it's been good for the head. I have been doing temporary work for As You Like It Productions, the producers of the Great Dickens Christmas Fair . I walked in to do Data Entry for them, and eventually got recruited into working at a game booth at the Fair. For their kind treatment and continued employment (until the work is gone), I am most grateful. They are WONDERFUL folks to work for. If you are in the San Francisco Bay Area or are planning to visit, please check out the Fair. It is a wonderful slice of Victorian (Dickensian) London, including the running about of Ebenezer Scrooge, Fanny Dorritt, the Crummles, David Copperfield and the ghosts of Christmases Past, Present and Future. There are many crafts and wares there appropriate to the period.

I have also been working for another good human (they're few and far between, believe me) by the name of Duncan Sandiland, who happens to also be my EA (read: "Financial Guru"). He has been kind enough to cast the occasional tidbit my way while I've been looking for work.

And last, but certainly not least, I have been kept about by several wonderful people at Mesa Electronics in Richmond, CA. The work is sporadic, but they've been kind enough to keep me in mind for when they needed me.

I am extremely grateful to all who have helped me and my family through this dry spell. It's been a trying six months, to be certain.

But this is Life.

A close friend of mine (and co-kid-raiser), Sandi, is going through some quite agonizing problems lately with her back and neck which have left her left arm largely numb, and this is torpedoing life about our domicile in quite a few ways, but she's holding up and persevering in spite of it all.

But this is Life.

To top it all off, our oldest feline of 17 years -- longer than I've known aforementioned friend -- had to be put down today. It was one of the more difficult things we've had to do.

But this is Life.

And so it goes. Life had been reasonably good for a while, and it's taken some nasty unexpected turns lately. I have every reason to believe that it will get better. Eventually.

For now, my internal temporal cycle is on hold while I try to collect my head.

And now, if you'll excuse me, dinner is burning.

Misplaced Standards and Milestones of False Expectations

"You've got it good. Really. It could be worse, you know..."

How many times have you heard a conversation head that way? You sit and bemoan your fate or your current situation, and someone invariably points out that it could be worse, that someone always has it worse than you.

Sometimes you grow so accustomed to it happening that you do it to yourself after a while.

And then, if you're REALLY on top of things, you believe it. Life isn't so bad. It could, indeed, be worse. Just think of the bum on the street corner. He's got it bad -- no home, raising a family, begging for pennies from passersby.

And, indeed, that paints a pretty bleak picture by comparison to what you have.

So you go on with your life, content that it could always be worse, never giving it a second thought. And life goes pretty well.

One day you wake up and it hits you like a ton of bricks. You feel like a dope, like someone who's been handed a large cosmic joke and didn't know it, because you've been wrong this whole time. And it takes you another year or more to figure out WHY you were wrong.

Let me save you this year. You'll thank me for it later. You were wrong because you were measuring yourself by the wrong standard.

We are taught through life to measure ourselves against other people instead of measuring up to the tasks at hand. We are taught to compete, to be better than anyone else at what we do to the point of exclusion instead of to the point of co-operation. This very attribute is probably the sole contributor to the universal dissatisfaction which is so prevalent in our culture today. "Second place is the first loser." "Nice guys finish last." "Runner-up is not good enough." These are all ideals which are taught from day one -- or at least from first grade on up. Be better than your classmate. If you can't beat him mentally, best him physically, or strategically (which is more drawn out than simple mental prowess). And finally, if you can't do it in any of those ways, show him that your daddy has more money than his does.

Now, what could we accomplish if, instead of measuring up to other people, trying to one-up them, trying to beat them down, we just attacked the task at hand with as much vigor as we attack the other guy?

We could accomplish feats in a fraction of the time we do now. We could have had a 20GHz microprocessor on every single desktop. We could have chewing gum that doesn't lose its flavour on the bedpost overnight. We could have sent a man to the Moon in 1961 instead of waiting for until 1969. We could have a cure for cancer, or AIDS.

By now we could have journeyed to the stars.

More to the point, if we must measure up to something, to a standard, let it be to the standards we measured to in our own past, on a very personal level.

Every time I hear that it could be worse, I want to throttle the messenger. Of course it could be worse, but that's not why I am so upset. I'm upset because I am being asked to lower the bar and compare to someone else. I don't want my life better by comparison to what another may have. I want my life to be better by comparison to where it is now, or I want it to be better than it was when I was doing so well.

I don't feel sorry for someone who isn't doing as well as me, just as I do not feel sorry for myself when I do not measure up to someone else's standard, because I am not judging myself by that standard. If they choose to look down their nose at me, that's their business. I'm not going to lose sleep over it, because it doesn't make me any less of a person, nor does it diminish my overall worth in the Grand Cosmic Scheme.

I'm doing okay. I can be better. I can always be better, so I work toward that.

Another common mistake which we are taught to accept as we mature and grow is "When I have [X] I will be fine", which is, of course, a paraphrase of the biggest lie in the world:

"When I have what I truly want, I will be happy."

What is this all about, anyway? Who are you kidding? When you're happy standing still, what are you working toward? What's left to conquer?

The truth is that the only happy person is a dead one. When we die, it's over. There's nothing left to accomplish in this life when we die.

Conversely, one dies when there is nothing left to accomplish. The body might continue on, and one may continue on to interact with others, but if there is nothing left to accomplish, where is the spark in life?

When I have [X], I will be fine. When I have a (better) car, I will be fine. When I have a (better-paying) job, I will be fine. When I meet another person to have and hold dear in my life, I will be fine.

This is a madness which we are all conditioned to accept, based on a completely materialistic drive. There's always something else out there to achieve, after which we will be "fine".

The trick to this is you've got to be fine NOW. Don't let it depend on some other event in your life. I don't care if you've got something terminal or you're merely suffering from a rectal craneotomy. Be fine. Get yourself together. Pull it in. Work with what you have. Be fine now.

The milestones are not goals. They are not ends in and of themselves. They are merely markers in your journey along the path of life, and you don't know what the next marker is going to be. You can not afford to put off being fine.

It is perfectly acceptable to say "I will be better when I can achieve [X]", because you are not defining an absolute state of being. And there may be a sequence of milestones which must be met in a particular order. But to hold off being fine, to stop living your life because those milestones have not yet been met is unacceptable.

We look at people who have achieved huge goals and we treat them as super-heroes when they are alive, and we treat them as gods when they finally slip past our world into a different one. We immortalise them in so many ways, and we glorify them far beyond their accomplishments.

What we fail to recognise is that they didn't reach those goals in one single bound. The truly successful ones didn't win the lottery. They did not suddenly nor unprecedentedly nor, in all likelihood, singlehandedly, make any great discoveries. It all happened in small steps. Had they not taken the small steps to get where they were going, they would not have gotten there at all, much less in the single bound over a tall building.

In fact, the ones who did start out with small fortunes and bought their way through their lives, for the most part, missed out on a lot of the lessons which life was meant to teach.

There are likely exceptions, as there always are, but they are few and far between.

The failures, the mistakes, are just as important as the milestones. One of the first ones an ambitious soul is likely to make is that the goals are huge, and that they are surmountable in a single bounce off the asphalt which precedes them. Said soul is wrong, twice; firstly, because there is no way one can leisurely hop over something so monumental as the goals they set for themselves; secondly, because it is not so much the goals which are huge as it is the results of all the smaller milestones which they have passed.

By and large, the only way to really appreciate all this is to experience it first hand. Even after reading this, you will probably not realise that you will need to experience it first hand. You'll think that the ol' Wolf has just handed you the cheat sheet.

A couple of things to remember:

1. Even in an open-book test, you need to know where to look to find the information asked on the test.
2. Even with the answers to every odd problem given in the back of the book, the teacher still expects you to show your work.

I'm happy now. Before you try to correct that statement, remember that my warning was about being happy standing still. I'm moving, always. I will be passing the milestones on my journey through life, noting them but not carrying them.

I'm fine. I will be better once I can find myself a job and support myself, preferably without shifting my residence much at the current moment. I could probably go on for about five different levels in five different directions as to what would make my life better.

But that's all frosting on the cake, and right now, I'm a little less interested in the frosting.

---

"Nobody ever learned anything by succeeding at it the first time out." -- Dawn Ellis

Wishes Made On The Universe

(or, "Be careful for what you wish...")

I seem to be blessed. Or cursed. I can't quite seem to figure out which.

You see, I am afflicted with the ability granted to the entirety of the truly intelligent and powerful, the ones who have a better idea on how to go about wielding their energy than most of the general populace. In short, the kind of people that I would like to spend my life around.

The ability is to make a wish on the Universe and have it come true.

In my life, after a time, I have been given what I asked for, only to be shown that it is not what I want, really. I have also been given what I needed, but after the point of need, I was, again, on my own.

Lately, I have been left to question the Universe on my last one. Let me check my notes...

Okay, let's see...musical, check...compassionate, check...intense, check!...knows how to deal with kids, check...intelligent, intricate, checkcheck...yep....mm hmmm...got that....and that...and that...and that. Okay, what did I miss?

YOU ARE NOT READY TO HANDLE THIS WISH

...hmmm, I forgot to put in something regarding distance, that must be it...understands why sci-fi, magic and fantasy are important to me...

YOU ARE NOT READY TO HANDLE THIS WISH

...exploration of skel...

...what?

Now, you're listening. Look at yourself. You have rebuilt yourself, sort of. But you have rebuilt yourself ON TOP OF THIS OTHER PERSON, and now this other person is going to proceed to beat you about the head with a clue-by-four. Soundly.

But I...

*WHAP*

Ouch.

You are not ready to handle this wish. You have a lot of rebuilding to do, and until you have at least created a stable foundation, you are going to be skirting the wish and getting it almost, but not quite. And you will keep doing this until you are strong on your own, when being alone no longer carries the full weight of loneliness.

It's the first time I will have ever considered returning a wish to the Cosmic pool for someone else to have...

Oh, that's a cute one. No. You're stuck with the consequences of this wish. When you are ready for it to happen, it will happen. Not before then.

But I'm ready now.

*WHAP*

Ouch.

You're so ready, you'll fling yourself head-over-heels into a situation which is no longer receptive to your presence. The owner of the situation has their own problems and is not likely to welcome you as readily, because when one has one's own problems, one can not shoulder another's. Even when one does NOT have one's own problems, another's problems can become wearisome, especially if they're the same old problems over and over. Oh, and one ALWAYS has one's own problems. The best one can do with another is to commiserate, empathise, sympathise, and offer some emotional support. You must be the one to right yourself, to build yourself strong, to fly your standard high and proud when you are ready.

But how will I know when I am ready?

Your Wish will be granted and fulfilled.

But when's that going to happen?

When you are ready.

But that's circular logic. The only way to really make this happen is to go on about my life, and there's no telling if this will ever come true in my lifetime!

Bingo.

So what do I do about it?

...

Hello? What do I do about this?

Live your life. Enjoy it. You will meet many people who will teach you many lessons. You may even meet the one you're looking for, if you're ready. But you can't stand still. You don't have time to stand still. Do something, even if it feels like not much progress is being made. Do something. Life is a journey. Count the milestones, but do not linger at them overlong. The next milestone is not a goal, it is purely coincidence that it is on your path. If you must have goals, keep them simple; it is the grandiose ones which keep one from accomplishing the truly great feats, for the bigger you make the goal, the harder it will be to surmount it, and you will have tricked yourself into believing that you can jump over it in a single bound. No, count the small steps. Take the small steps, for without them, you cannot go anywhere.

Is it wrong to have goals?

No. Just don't rest on them when you get there. Life is a journey.

This is not going to be easy, is it?

Let me check my notes...

*WHAP*

Ouch.

So, anyway I seem to have this curse. It's the one that goes, "be careful what for what you wish, for you will surely get it." It seems to be less than reliable, in that not every wish I make happens that way. Prosperous employment, for example, has not of late come to fruition.

And attempts to modify a wish seem only to result in more chaos.

But let's just say that I won't ever make a wish for money over love.