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last updated: 29 April 2k1

Chicago

I spent the last two weeks in Chicago. Well, Vernon Hills to be exact which is not to be confused with Chicago. But since very few people have heard of Vernon Hills, it's just easier to say "Chicago". It was a bizarre and wonderful trip and the nicest weather i've felt in years. Lows from 5 to 15, highs from 25-35 degrees. There were plenty of sunny days, and thankfully i remembered to pack sunglasses because i knew how bright the day could be when the sun was pounding on the snow.

It was odd being out of my element (Austin, TX) for that time. I found myself wanting to explore, wanting do drive up to Wisconsin just to say that i've been there (actually i wanted to smuggle some cheese), wanting to walk out on the ice just to see if it was thick enough to walk out on and wanting to make winter last another 5 or 6 months. But what i really wanted... i really wanted to go dancing at Crobar. Crobar is one of the most famous dance clubs in the country and certainly the most famous in Chicago. I've had this growing craving to dance for the last few months and much to my shame, it's been more than a year since i've danced at all. So it was a combination of a need for self expression (though my dancing would probably illicit more than it's fair share of  outraged retalin wielding doctors, were it witnessed by the medical community), and my endless desire for cute sweaty and scantily clad girls to be writhing in a pit with me. Unfortunately it was not to be. Part of it was just my being a pussy, part of it was not even knowing where it was and part of it was the reality that i'm 34 and its damned odd to be twisting and grooving to tunes when i'm surrounded by people who are barely legal, if at all.

But i did get to visit the Shedd Aquarium again. There were too many people, but not so many that i didn't enjoy myself. I think rays and cuttlefish are the cutest things in the world. The 20 or so degree air that greeted me when i left the aquarium was... exhilarating. I marveled at the skyline and stood there for as long as i could. There is diversity here, there is culture here. This is Chicago. I could live there. I might even fit in. But no... when it's my time to move, it's to be closer to the ocean; closer to the only place i feel like might ever be my home. Hopefully i'll find it eventually.

On one particular night, i was at a Ben and Jerry's with my associate. The girl behind the counter is young... i can't tell just how young, but she's probably in her early 20's. Maybe even 19. Even though i'm only 34, going on 25, i feel like a dirty old man because she's just charmed the life out of me and we've only made eye contact for all of 5 seconds. Her eyes are beautiful, her eyebrows full and sensuous. Her Ass is as curvaceous as her hips are wide and she is brimming with life. It's contagious and i smile for the first time that day. I am a kid again, i flirt, i make jokes, i make her laugh. I wish i were staying longer or... dare i say it? I wish this were Austin and our paths have just crossed. I run across someone who makes me feel like this maybe two times a year and it's only January. I want to know her name, i want to taste her kiss, i want to see her beautiful eyes burn with passion.

After a while, we leave. She says "bye" to me and i smile as i tell her, "Later, baby!" She laughs as i return to my hotel room with its polyester blanket, smoke stained curtains and an insular silence from the rest of the world. She has gone back to whatever she was doing before i interrupted her day. I am a creepy old guy acting like a kid. She has already forgotten me and forgotten that we made eye contact and that i made her laugh.

Eyebrows

Maybe it's just me. Maybe it's just another one of those seemingly endless quirks that only i notice (like hips, no makeup... except maybe lipstick, a large round bottom, etc...) . Personally i don't see why it isn't as big a deal to others as it is to me. Of course i'm talking about eyebrows and eyebrows on women to be more specific.

I don't care how gorgeous a woman is. I don't care how incredibly beautiful her eyes are. The reality is that if i see a woman whose eyebrows have been plucked to the point where they look like little mechanical whisps of factory processed hair, like two pressed racing stripes that could be bought as an impulse item at Auto Shack, then she's as desirable to me as wearing 5 day old underwear. And you know the kind of eyebrows i'm talking about too. They look like someone went on a vandalism binge with a Marks-a-lot right above the eyes. They're usually so plucked that at some point or another, the woman doing the plucking will eventually have to get a grease pencil and scratch in some deep black lines to help recreate what was once there. In MY world, they are sending a message. They are saying, "These two nasty lines on my head that look like someone dropped a 2nd gear patch on my face sure do look better than the eyebrows that i was born with! I sure am glad that i look like a diseased troll instead of a woman !"

Now to be fair, i don't think a woman should look like Eric Lindros or Brooke Shields either, but there is a distinction between maintenance to keep from looking like you're sporting some nasty-ass-monobrow and outright butchery of one of the most feminine things a woman has to offer.

Maybe it's just the pretentious appearance of looking like someone was just processed through the mind numbing and spiritually void pseudo culture of women's fashion magazines (which rarely ever depict a woman that i would look at once, let lone twice), and maybe it's just the fact that i equivocate that sort of butchery with a lack of confidence and a lack of identity. No matter though, whatever the reasons for such things are, i ultimately cannot stand butchered eyebrows for the same reasons i can't stand narrow hips and small asses; because they are the antithesis of femininity.

Hockey

I am a southerner, a fifth generation Texan to be more specific. Down here in the stronghold of the cult of the Southern Baptists (and yes, it IS a cult and don't let anyone tell you otherwise), there are only two sports that "gawd" approves of. Football, Baseball (if it's not football season) and well, might as well throw basketball in there as well. "Gawd" really doesn't care about Baseball or Basketball, but he's got to have a hard-on for football 'cause some of the freakshows here literally think watching their son prance around with a bunch of other guys in tight pants while they play "smear the queer" is a divine right. You might think i'm exaggerating, but if you ever get a chance to see the zealous fervor the locals in the Permian Basin (Midland/ Odessa... where Dubya grew up) have going on, you'll understand. Heck, they've even had children who have put bullets in their mouths because they didn't make the team.

And in 1990 or so, the Minnesota North Stars moved to Dallas and to the best my knowledge, were the first NHL franchise in Texas. There had been other teams before, but none were in the NHL. Today, Texas has more hockey teams than any other state in the USA. The Dallas Stars, the Houston Aeros, the Fort Worth Heat, the San Antonio Dragons, the San Antonio Iguanas, and my favorite local team: the Austin Ice Bats. And... there are other teams, those are just the ones i can rattle off of the top of my head.

I never cared much for watching sports for the longest time. Then some years ago, i was working a job where i worked 3 days a week and had 4 days off. You may think that sounds great, but it was a shit-job in a shit-hole working for shit-stupid people. Why yes, i AM talking about Motorola. How did you guess? Anyway, the NHL was on strike for a while and i'd catch a day game of the Aeros being televised which brought memories back. Rewind to 1974'ish. The Houston Aeros are playing the New England Whalers (eventually to be the Hartford Whalers, now the Carolina Hurricanes). I'm too small to see the game 'cause i'm only 8 or so years old. Maybe 9. But i remember the energy; i remember it was the first time i had been to anyplace where people were screaming like that in a way that wasn't negative. I was always fascinated with that experience as i grew up. It didn't stand out in my memories, per se, but in a way it did. I now know that after Gordie Howe retired from Detroit, he was persuaded to play for the Houston Aeros. Hence the energy of that night. Hundreds of people from the north who were living in Houston had gone to see their hero; he man who embodied the very essence of hockey (with respect to Bobby Orr,  Bobby Hull, Maurice Richard and company).

And in that summer, then autumn, i found i couldn't get enough. Eventually my ex got caught up in it. We planned our evenings on when the Aeros or the Stars would be on. We watched hockey when we ate, we made love while we watched, we put our lives on hold for two hours three or four times a week while the most honest and pure epic battles took place on that sheet of ice. These guys were tough. They weren't like football players who stop working just because someone falls down. They could dig into the ice and slug it out with someone if they needed to, they would sacrifice all that they were to stop a 100 mph bone crushing slapshot. These were REAL athletes who had a real and genuine passion for their work. They didn't prance around and embarrass themselves when they scored, they didn't parade themselves in a silly alpha male kind of way that reveals a lack of confidence more than anything else. This was the real thing. Pure, honest, humble and harder than any other sport i can think of. I mean, not only do you have to know how to skate, you have to skate WELL and you have to do it backwards too. You have to skate AND handle the puck at the same time, which means passing and shooting and knowing when to do what. Then you have to put a hard piece of frozen rubber into a very small area that is fiercely protected. All of that and then you have to worry about some goon crushing you like a bug. I finally found a sport that had some real passion.

And now i can tell a lot about the kind of passion a woman lives with if she likes hockey. It just shows; it's an energy that can't be hidden. I may seem crazy or you may just think i'm full of bullshit, but watch next time you see it. It's just THERE.

Austin eventually acquired the Icebats, a minor league team and by that time, we were beyond hooked. We were junkies ready to scream and criticize and analyze every step, every pass, every shot taken. She eventually left me, but my passion has not abated in the least. Don't get me wrong. I'm not a stat whore. I can't quote GAA. +/-,  or who's been traded to who, etc... I simply like to watch the game. If i knew how to skate, which i will in a few weeks, i would be a defenseman. Maybe a goaltender if i really want some self abuse... and about $2000 (just for the gear). Anyway, if you have a local team, check em out. Just be sure that you're familiar with the rules of Icing and Off Sides before you go. And if you happen to know any cute women who happen to like hockey, be sure to send two or three of them my way. =)

Creaky Wind Turbine

There is an empty house next door to where i live. My bedroom window faces it which means i can keep my blinds open on that side of my house without worrying about anyone seeing too much. As if anyone would want to see "too much" of anything i have to offer in the first place...

We had this mild cold front come through last night. Temperatures dropped to the blistering 50's. Hey, whatever it takes to get this week old, nasty greasy blanket of humidity off of our backs, yaknow.

The wind bent the trees and scattered the damp sticky leafs across the backyard. And that was when i started to hear it; an old familiar sound that i haven't heard in years. The turbine on the roof of the house next door was spinning. It probably hasn't been oiled in... well, ever. It makes a slow, almost animated groaning sound that, were it a little softer, would be poetry.

Rewind to my life before i moved to San Francisco. My ex and i would lie in bed with the window open; her head resting on my chest. We would have these long silly, and sometimes serious discussions as the autumn, winter or spring air seeped in. The house next to us had a squeaky turbine too. It wasn't too loud, it was never irritating. We would lie there in silence, looking at the ceiling and listen to the gently poetry of the wind as it the turbine methodically... slowly rotated. Sometimes the winds were strong and the turbine would "chirp" once or twice every second. But usually it was slow... so slow that you could picture the blades of the turbine creeping along at a glacier like speed as it started to grind. On those nights, it seemed that once the sound started, it might not ever end. Five, seven... maybe even ten seconds of a single sharp note. And though it may seem strange to you, it was poetry to us.

I guess it's appropriate to note that the turbine i listened to last night was nowhere nearly as poetic as the one in my memories. It was brash, crude, frantic and entirely too loud. It lacked the subtlety that i require in my repetitious annoying night time sounds. It was like listening to the wind grab ahold of a heavy gate and slam it over and over and over. Well, maybe not THAT bad. I was able to sleep, after all.

In a sad way, listening to the turbine was a reminder of a part of my life that was taken from me without justification, explanation or rationale. I guess having it show back up as a crude, irritating, inharmonious cacophony instead of the demure and subtle sound that i grew attached to, was appropriate.

Hope

There's some cheesy old quote that ends with the thought, "...but these greatest of these are Hope." I really should know where it comes from, 'cause i think it's a Biblical quote (and i was nominated "Most Likely to Become a Priest" where i went to high school... it was a parochial school called "Our Lady of the Spanish Inquisition" or something like that). Anyway, it might be from Psalms.

I didn't understand it for the longest time. I mean, Hope gives nothing. Hope doesn't keep you warm when you have no home, Hope doesn't feed you when you're starving. Hope doesn't care if you're alive or dead. It never really made much sense to me.

And now i see the world in such a different way. The sands of time have eroded, scoured and corroded and all but broken me in some places while having left other parts relatively unchanged. I see things in ways i could not have perceived only three years ago... and now... now Hope and the power it contains, has started to make sense to me.

Hope is not about wanting tomorrow to be a happy place filled with cute fat babies and dancing Teletubbies. Neither is optimism for that matter. That's just ignorance and a silly, laughable outlook that is more akin to a Hallmark card or some other piece of worthless trivial fluff. As a side note, i want to mention that optimists are as silly and worthless as are pessimists. I'd much rather be a pragmatist.

Anyway, hope is about believing the power of love will overcome any obstacles, that the human condition will persevere above and beyond pain and suffering. Hope is about believing that you can find wisdom in misfortune once pain and suffering has run its course through you and that it will make you a better person. Hope is about giving others reason to believe in themselves, in you and in the power and potential of tomorrow.

It may seem strange to throw this sort of psychobabble out here. It may seem out of place, even. I cannot explain my thoughts other than to say that it's been an odd, strange and often very dark path under my feet. But i have held the most wonderful and beautiful thing life itself has to offer, and having had that taken away from me has given me pause to see things differently.

Paths

This section has been in my head now for some years. Not that the idea of Paths is new to anyone, not that the idea of Paths that i've carried has always craved or needed to be expressed in HTML or in any of my writings, but what the heck? If you want to read about this, great. If not, that's fine too.

To preface this, i have to say that if you have no sense of spirituality, if you have no faith or belief in a higher being, then this section cannot apply to you. I've heard atheists, even fundamentalist atheists say that they consider themselves to be spiritual people. This is a direct conflict to the most core beliefs that atheists have. To acknowledge spirituality is to acknowledge a world that cannot be defined by the senses nor science and that in and of itself is blasphemy to any and all doctrines of atheism. The two belief systems are mutually exclusive and cannot be reconciled.

Fortunately, that's just the preface. On to the good stuff.

There will always be people who believe each life has a destiny. They will believe that no matter what happens to them for good or ill, it is simply an expression of their deity. I cannot subscribe to this belief because to do so is to denounce that any one is capable of free will. By extension, if there is no free will, there can be no thought and there can be no accountability.

I see life as a series of Paths. We make certain choices, we live with those decisions and they guide us upon the road that we have chosen for ourselves. The biggest difference that and someone who believes in 'destiny' is that a destiny cannot be changed, but a Path can.

And i think that the general idea of Paths pretty much speaks for itself in that regard.

But i think there's another layer of Paths that isn't so obvious. It's much more difficult to explain, let alone discern, but if you look inside yourself deep enough, you'll find it. Essentially, it requires for one to look at their position in life: their job, their friends, their location, their everything there is to account for. Are you where you're supposed to be? Is doing a certian thing, or getting involved with a certain person in accordance with your Path? Are you aware enough of your surroundings to know how to nudge yourself closer to the Path that you're supposed to walk?

I'm not saying i'm right about such things, i'm not saying you should subscribe to my way of thinking (personally, i'd prefer if you didn't). What i'm suggesting is that i have this idea and you may or may not be able to apply it to your way of seeing the world around you... and within you.

Oh, one thing i forgot to mention: at the risk of sounding contradictory, i do have to confess that i believe that it's entirely possible to be put in this world to do something... to do your "Work". This is different than destiny because in the grand scheme of things, if you believe in destiny, then freewill and choice are irrelevant and destiny must come, regardless of the individuals decisions and actions. In the idea i'm trying to communicate, that there is possibly a purpose to living, it's different than destiny in that people can entirely miss what their purpose is, what their Work and their Path is supposed to be, because they make a bad decision, they refuse to open their eyes or they simply have their Work taken away from them.

I have wondered what happens if someone takes your Path away, if someone destroys the Work one was put in this world to do... is there other Work to be done? Do other paths lead to another purpose in life? What do you do if you realize that your Work in this life is behind you? I think about this now and then and all i know is in the years i've pondered this, i have no answers.