Showing posts with label stories of my life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label stories of my life. Show all posts

Wednesday, April 30, 2014

A Safe Place

Safe places are a pleasant refuge for the mind, remembered locations or people that have a calming influence. On those occasional nights when I have trouble sleeping, sometimes I remember lunch at a dead friend's house. She and I had been friends a long time, but were not intimate friends, although we could discuss many topics, because she was well-educated and a real lady of the world. She was a Republican, and I have noticed that I do tend to get along really well with some Republicans, which leads me to conclude that politics are not very important in regard to friendships, not nearly as important as personality, style and taste. People of compatible personalities get along well whatever their politics.

We could hang out together at lunch time and just be. Sometimes we went for a walk, and other times we would just eat and then read the paper. I never watched television, although she kept it on all the time, I think because it filled her otherwise quiet house with the noise of other humans. Sometimes I discussed things with her, such as how my studies progressed, my job prospects, medicine and science, and occasionally politics. She was anti-war, for gay rights and for legalization of marijuana. I think she was Republican mainly for tribal reasons or possibly through inertia, because she had been Republican for so long and did not feel like going to the trouble of changing. The Republican party has changed a lot since back in the day. She expressed disapproval of the young upstarts, but identified with the old guard of the party.

She let her boundaries be known, and it was easy for me to respect those boundaries. Is it flirting to set one's dinner plate on the adjoining side of a table next to a friend, instead of setting one's dinner plate ten feet away at the opposite end of a table? A rare time she scolded me was when I did so. She said she did not want me to sit so close. I thought it was a good distance for talking, but I am used to smaller dinner tables, where everybody gathers around. I did like her, and the feeling was strong, even related to love, but I don't think it necessarily translates into anything of a physical nature. Maybe she saw things I did not see. At any rate, once I demonstrated strict observance of such boundaries as she chose to impose, the obstacle was removed. There was no tension of a sexual nature, the kind that poisons relationships between people. I admired her style and her way of looking at things, and I think my good manners is what she liked most about me.

I watched and listened carefully, because she would sometimes indicate things in a subtle manner, very indirect, and I had to be on my toes to know her feelings and predict her thoughts, but I became better with practice. I liked the challenge of that, and her refinement and sophistication endeared me to her. I could talk to her about things. Nothing that was a problem to other people was a problem to her. She interpreted the world on her own terms.
 
She was just always nice, welcoming, friendly, thoughtful, and in a word, safe. I had many lunches at her house, just her and me together, and it was very pleasant. She enjoyed my company as well. I wish I had stayed in contact after school ended, but the idea that she would want to stay in contact seemed presumptuous.  She did not give sufficient encouragement to maintain and nourish the friendship. She probably had similar concerns.

Death has only made her safer, because the memories are impervious to change. So it is to her that my thoughts turn some nights. She was concealing, even then, I believe, the illness that just two years later took her life. I was then studying biology in college. A great irony is that I discussed cancer with her, expressing my amazement at how it uses the cells of the body against the body. I remember she had a poker face, as she often did, devoid of strong expression, but that she searched my eyes. She knew, and she was correct that I would have summoned help, had I known. I would not have let the secret lie untold, but would have contacted her family, because everyone thinks that it is the right thing to do, and I am no exception. Perhaps she had other plans. Perhaps she had an opinion that she knew was unpopular. I do wish I had been intuitive enough to perceive what was then concealed. I would have liked to discuss her decision with her.

Tuesday, April 29, 2014

Speak Softly

For me, anger is an artifact of youth. I was a spirit of fire. As well as being enthusiastic and zealous in love and friendship, I was quick to wrath and slow to cool. In fire, I saw kinship. I am not sure, but I think this was because I encountered so many other spirits of fire in school, in my neighborhood and in my own family. Of course my thirsty young mind drank deeply of their knowledge, ideas and opinions, absorbing their poisons like a plant growing in polluted water, and so I practiced what I learned.

One of the lessons I've learned with advanced age and from the influence of my good friends is to speak softly. Anger still occurs to me as a potential method of handling grievances and disputes, but I feel it is counter-productive, not necessarily to those I'm angry at, but to myself. My heart hates anger and loves to love. I like to love and hate to hate. I don't like getting angry and don't feel that there is much in the world worth getting angry about. Perhaps it is worth getting angry about something that threatens the well-being of a loved one, but such occasions are few. Most disputes I like to handle with a soft touch nowadays. I think of this as getting in touch with the deeper self, the true self, my full potential.

I find that understanding and empathy, which I am lucky to be endowed with, score points with people and gain me more in friends and allies than would anger. I have powers of negotiation that continue to astonish me in their achieved results. Speaking softly with kindness and understanding in one's eyes can influence others and can even change hearts and minds. Anger, by comparison, is a crude instrument, useful only for a limited set of circumstances.

Now the men I knew back in the day scorned empathy and understanding and thought such things were feminine and weak. They thought anger was being a man and could not divorce the idea of manliness from violence, vengeance and wrath. A man must avenge every slight to protect his honor. What a weak notion this honor is, then, if it is so fragile. I think now that those men were weak, because they were not willing to try alternative, effective strategies at getting what they want. They were close-minded, petty, and stupid like animals. Anger got them trouble, that is what anger got them. Some slights are not slights, others can be ignored, and still others can be handled with subtlety, in an indirect fashion.

So now I am no more a spirit of fire but one of air, and I aim to be as light as air.

Thursday, April 24, 2014

Justice: Hire More Geeks

+1 to the American justice system for being pretty fair, although biased toward the rich like everything else.

-1 to the American justice system for being slow as molasses and inefficient.

I drove a hundred miles and spent six hours in court today just to get a chance to present documentation that proved that I was innocent of a misdemeanor charge, as indeed I was. By twiddling my thumbs for six hours, I saved about $130. Was it worth my time? Yes, based upon my current income. Could I have improved the efficiency of the courtroom? Yes, by thinking about their problem of chronic inefficiency for a single day, I could have made changes that would have increased their processing speed 500 - 1000% at little or no cost. I saw a lot of court employees, about ten as a matter of fact, standing around doing little or nothing but looking bored and counting the minutes to quitting time. Those cannot be happy employees, because time slows down when one has nothing to do. Employees generally prefer to be doing something productive with their time, or at least that is my general impression. They could have been busy gathering information from people. Simple communication with defendants would reduce waiting time dramatically and allow the court employees to go home earlier. I do not know why I had to appear in court to begin with. I could have faxed or emailed my documentation to court employees and saved myself a trip, if they had offered that option. But the court system has remained about fifty years behind the times for no reason other than mere incompetence on the part of the people running the system. This has to be the fault of the Republicans, who are always cutting budgets and never willing to invest a penny in government. Since poor people are the main ones to wind up in the court system, the Republicans let the court system rot from neglect, because they hate the poor.

The judge played a video with a speech by another judge that said there would be no negotiation of fines, which means no mercy for the poor, many of whom paid fines of over $400 for such offences as "improperly equipped vehicle," whatever that means.

About two hours after I took my seat, a guy dressed in an expensive suit walked into court. He looked like either a lawyer or a politician. I sat on the front row and watched him carefully. He breezed past the clerks and court officers and talked with the solicitor without waiting his turn. It was obvious he was connected. The judge heard him next and began speaking in a very soft tone, but I heard enough. "I'm sorry to meet you under these circumstances," the judge said, before shaking hands with the defendant. He pled guilty to the same offence I waited six hours to prove myself innocent of. Instead of paying $130 like everybody else, he paid half that amount. Then he said bye-bye to the judge and walked out. No wait or worry for Mr. Expensive Suit. Everybody else, that is, those who have to work for a living, had to sacrifice the mandatory 6 to 9 hours of time, whether guilty or innocent, and pay the full fine if guilty.

Monday, April 14, 2014

I Stopped Breathing

I had a dream last night that I had stopped breathing. I actually did, too, which woke me up.

In my dream, I was six years old again and walking to the bus stop in winter. Standing there were the bullies, a boy four years older than me and a girl five years older than me. Both were twice my size. They were never satisfied unless I was crying or otherwise distressed and made it their mission in life to ensure these things from Monday to Friday.

I remember them now, but I doubt they remember me at all. I can recall both their first and last names, their physical appearance, and the address of their homes. That's something that bullies don't tend to think about, the possibility that their victims grow up and remember. Bullies don't tend to do much thinking.

It was unfortunate, growing up with such people for neighbors and schoolmates, people whose only concern in life was whether they were big and strong enough to lord it over someone smaller. Part of the misfortune was the opportunity cost. If their spaces had been occupied by people that were interesting and friendly, I might have made a good friend. As it was, they were completely worthless, offering nothing except abuse. They were a waste of space.

As I grew bigger, these people stopped being bullies, because they did not have the size advantage anymore. Bullies are cowards, after all.

The girl changed. I met her once and she was unusually polite. I asked her why she was acting so different now, and she said she had matured. She may have even apologized for past behavior, but I don't remember. She played the repentant monster, but she was still a monster. I could tell. There are smiles of happiness, and then there are smiles that serve as a mask to conceal what is beneath. She had shown her true self to me long ago, and I remembered.

The boy was always the silent type and remained so. The only thing he was interested in was his skateboard. I never saw much difference between him and the skateboard. Anytime he was asked a question, there was a delay as he calculated the minimum number of syllables needed to provide an answer. Usually a grunt or a shrug or obscenity was the pinnacle of his expression. He had seemed scary when I was little, but part of the scariness was his size and reptilian personality.

These are the monsters that lurk in the mind and every once in a while come out at night.

Sunday, April 6, 2014

Manual Labor, Family

As a young man, I worked a variety of jobs. The ones I had the most problem with and lasted the least amount of time were the physical ones that required lifting or standing for five or more hours at a time. Maybe my lack of stamina was caused by Mitral Valve Prolapse. I don't really know for sure, but I report to work early, want to work, and want to get things done in the right way. Good intentions don't account for much, however.

Life has thrown me many tests that called upon my weakest traits. I was a short-order cook for a fast food restaurant, a bag boy (they call them customer service associates now, I believe), ditch digger, delivery truck packer, and apartment maintenance technician. None of these jobs I did well in. I didn't crash and burn. I got along reasonably well with everybody, but was only mediocre in performance. I didn't seem to have enough get-up-and-go. I took to eating candy at work for extra energy, but that only went so far.

Delivery truck packing was the worst. I got up at 2:30 AM in the morning, reported to the delivery facility by 3:30 AM, and packed trucks from then to, I believe, 8:30 AM. My back was killing me all the time. One day, I called in and told the boss I quit. He seemed quite angry, but I didn't see any other options with the back pain I was experiencing. Curiously, he said that in order to pick up my last paycheck, I had to report to his office and answer a questionnaire. He said this was a corporate requirement. He explained it as a safeguard to ensure I was not going to claim discrimination or hostile working conditions. I had claimed nothing of the sort. I think the real purpose was to educate him on how to weed out applicants like me sooner. He asked me why I was quitting, whether I felt I was discriminated against, what the problem was, and so on and so forth. I think it's fairly obvious I'm thin and don't have a lot of meat on my bones, and that's about the only criteria he needed to consider during the application process. Anyone with a clear pair of eyes could see loading a truck with heavy packages was not my particular strength. Perhaps he should have adjusted his bifocals instead of playing twenty questions with my paycheck.


As a college student, I worked as a ditch digger for my uncle. He paid me $10 an hour, which was a pretty good wage for unskilled labor back in the day and, sadly, still is, twenty years later. Wages have not changed much in twenty years, although prices have. My uncle was a great guy, a smart executive. I liked him very much and wanted to please him. I did a lot of digging with a shovel and moving earth with a wheelbarrow. I also clipped hedges. But again with the back pain. After a couple weeks, I quit that job, too. My uncle said that he thought I should get some sort of job using my mind, not my body, and of course, he was right.

The last interaction I ever had with my uncle was with that job, but I think part of that is that my uncle and father never got along. The job was a highly unusual interaction with my extended family. I think my uncle perceived I had some sort of potential and for that reason extended an invitation to work. Or maybe he just really needed someone to dig those holes. His son wasn't doing it. His son drove thirty miles to pick me up to do it, and then he would drive off and I wouldn't see him again. As for my uncle, he suffered from back pain himself and didn't do any digging, either. He told me he thought I could do it because I was younger. Being younger helps, for sure, but it's not everything.

My extended family was never the "stay-in-touch" kind. Not only do we not have reunions, but it has been a good twenty years since I've seen any cousins, uncles or aunts, and I expect to go to the grave with the status quo. No sort of bond was formed early in life, so that's that. Geographical distance and my being gay are additional factors that cement the separation. Family can be pretty difficult for a gay kid. If he is very effeminate, then possibly he can bond with female cousins, but my female cousins were teenaged and only interested in hanging out with their friends and with boys their age. Anyway, I'm not very effeminate and am not the type of gay that can establish instant rapport with women. I don't think I ever had a conversation with a female cousin that lasted more than two minutes. Because I was a boy, I was expected to play with the one male cousin that was my age, but he wanted to play rough and mean and do things with guns. He got in trouble often. He wasn't interested in any of the things I was interested in, such as board games or books. The other cousins felt they were too old to associate with me, probably because they were doing illegal drugs and hanging around loose women and didn't want me to rat them out. Eventually, we lost touch altogether, and I think they were the main ones that opted for that outcome.

When I got married, it never occurred to me to suppose that any one of them would be the slightest bit interested in my life, so none received wedding invitations. This seems to be quite common in modern society, although my readings have indicated to me that the past was different, that families were closer and that they tended to help one another. But I suppose a lot depends upon the family and the people that make it up. Life's a roll of the dice. The only people who attended my wedding was the married straight couple that drove us up to the free state and a gay friend of that couple. No one related to either of us nor any of our close friends attended our wedding.

Friday, March 28, 2014

Everyone is Beautiful

Everyone is beautiful in their own way. One of the great secrets to establishing good relations with others is to be receptive to all of their positive traits, which encompass appearance, personality, character and intellect. Observing and remarking upon these positive traits is a surefire way to win points.

Those who are closed to other people, who do not offer eye contact, who do not listen and do not observe others carefully and are not receptive to others, such individuals cannot hope to enjoy good relations with many people. It is necessary to learn the names of other people. It is necessary to pay attention, to observe, to mark the words and gestures of others. At great cost, certain individuals fail to do these things.

Few people offer allowances for those with poor social skills. I am one of the more tolerant people. I perceive when someone seems rude only due to lack of social skills. They may not mean any harm. They just don't know how or don't have the aptitude to do what is required.

There was a young man in one of my classes who was despised by the other students and the teacher. His thoughts were always racing along. His impulses seemed so important to him that he would speak up continually throughout every class. I suppose he thought that by sharing his thoughts, he was being good and helpful. Perhaps he thought that the teacher and the other students would think more of him. In reality, no one else shared his high evaluation of his thoughts. They rather felt that he was wasting time and basking in attention just like a little child. He talked too much and did not perceive the lack of interest in his audience. He lacked social intelligence.

Toward the end of the class, some students made their ugly feelings clear to him in a rather abrupt, one might even say cruel, manner. I am not sure whether that was the right thing to do. I disapproved of what they said. I am glad I wasn't the one to do it. I remained uninvolved.

I am reminded of my own behavior many years ago in sixth through eighth grade. Was I very different from him? No. The truth is that I was similar. I would raise my hand to speak up in class and say things just because I was bored and wanted to redirect the lecture to subjects that interested me. Sometimes I wanted to say something funny to make people laugh. More often, I just wanted to show off my knowledge. I had an excellent memory for any academic subject. I loved history, science, and language.

Some of my classmates and teachers appreciated my input, but some didn't. On the whole, I was unpopular. I was perceived for what I was--a show-off. Those students who had difficulty with school did not appreciate being made to feel inadequate. In this way, I made enemies among classmates I scarcely knew. I was often surprised by the vehemency of their animosity, much like the young man I have described above. I am sure he did not see his classmate's collective revenge coming. I saw it coming, because I have been where he was. All too well, I know how the general run of people behave when they encounter behavior they dislike.

Many unpleasant experiences, many painful episodes passed before I changed. My teen years were incredibly painful, just nothing but a series of losses--social, academic, and psychological. All my plans were ruined. All my friends, best friends too, turned their back on me. My family almost turned its back on me. I was alone. I was broken.

I did change, and thank goodness for that. It remains a mystery to me exactly how I evolved from what I was then to what I am today. I think that I was broken by trauma and severe depression. For years, I walked in darkness. I saw light in the darkness, even in the darkness, and by that light, I rebuilt myself. I rebuilt myself into something different, something new, something better than I was before.

When I see someone who reminds me of what I was before, I cannot despise him or join the other students when they mock him. I have a sense of deja vu.

Tuesday, March 25, 2014

Goodwill or the Salvation Army? Both Stink.

A lady in the local Salvation Army told me today that she only shops at S.A. because it is a real non-profit, whereas Goodwill is for-profit.

She was mistaken. Both Goodwill and the Salvation Army are non-profits. However, I would not call her a liar, either, because there seems to be some shenanigans going on at Goodwill. And here's another article about the problems with Goodwill. Disabled people are paid less than minimum wage, even as low as $1.40 an hour, whereas the top executives make many hundreds of thousands of dollars. I think that stinks. Goodwill just sounds plain rotten. Greedwill is more like it. Donating to Greedwill is just like giving money to the rich. "Thanks, sucker, we'll be sure to use your donation to help pay for a new Rolls-Royce."

The Salvation Army, meanwhile, seems to be a pack of raving homophobes, full of hate against the gays. This is made clear by a number of articles in the media, cases where the Salvation Army has gone very far out of its way in order to offend the LGBT community, and also by my own personal experience.

I went into a local Salvation Army store today and purchased about $80 worth of items, but merely happened to mention that I had bought something for my "significant other," and a female clerk, who looked like a very unhappy, repressed lesbian, gave me a nasty look, her lips contorted in what I can only describe as a snarl.

However, her retarded coworker was a nice lady who cheerfully gave me exact change and wished me a good day. My conclusion is that I would much rather deal with a retarded person than with a homophobe of normal intelligence. The first you can possibly trust, while with the other, I would want to keep my eyes upon them at all times. I have never encountered discrimination or hostility from any retarded worker in retail stores. They have been cheerful, good workers, and if I were ever to become a manager, I'd be interested in hiring them. At the proper full wage, not sub-minimum, of course.

It seems strange to me that these charities have been sidetracked from their actual mission into some rather questionable practices and policies. I think that if I ever have anything I want to donate, I will either give it to a friend or leave it on the street for either the garbage collectors or one of these people that cruise around looking for castoffs. I'm going to steer clear of both Goodwill and the Salvation Army.

Sunday, March 23, 2014

Strengths and Deficiencies

I have reached an age that I know my strengths and weaknesses. The weaknesses that cause the most annoyance are lack of physical stamina and arthritis and its symptoms, joint and back pain. For the last week, every night when I'm in bed, I can feel the joints of my fingers warm, throbbing and aching. It worries me because I suspect that they are changing from what they are now to the claw-like fingers that other arthritis sufferers in my family have had. I don't know what to do about it other than eat well, avoid alcohol like the plague, limit any stress to the finger joints, and consume Ibuprofen whenever the pain is bad. All that will probably be insufficient to ward off the effects of arthritis.

I wish there was a cure for arthritis, but it seems that world leaders have other priorities than scientific and medical research. I wonder whether there is anyone in the U.S. that really thinks the trillions we blew on Viet Nam and then recently Iraq and Afghanistan was money well-spent, when that money could have upgraded our knowledge of medicine and disease not just for us, here in America, but for our entire species.

My strengths are my analytical nature, sensitivity to the feelings of others, politeness, customer service, punctuality, and kindness to others.

I'm not the kindest person I know, but I am hesitant to cause anyone any sort of discomfort or unease and am willing to help strangers out if the cost to me is small. Lending someone I don't know $5 is out of my range, though. I'm suspicious of undue demands and wary of getting involved with people I don't know well. Helping someone with money may or may not actually help them. If they are going to use the money to buy alcohol, then it is a harm. I never give money to beggars, and the notion of begging seems strange and dishonorable to me. If I were hard up, then I would feel obligated to offer a service in exchange for money.

Empathy is very helpful, because it smooths social interactions and makes the working environment productive and efficient. I am very pleased that I have learned to pick up on subtle social cues that I used to miss when I was a teenager. I can read body language and know enough not to take other people's words at face value. Tone of voice and expression convey more information than choice of words.

Politeness is underrated by many otherwise good people. I used to cut fool with people when I was a teenager. Humor is all well and good, but the trouble with wit is that laughs are short-lived, but memories of words linger long after they are spoken. Sometimes people brood over what is spoken in jest. Why? Because there is much truth passed off as humor. The reason things are funny is often because there is a grain of bald, unvarnished truth in an utterance. Wit tends to exaggerate, however, and there lies the possibility of trampling on another person's feelings. I have learned to restrain wit. Only with close, intimate friends should wit be used and even then with caution. What people really admire and appreciate is someone who reflects a positive image of themselves. People don't ever want to have their shortcomings pointed out. They may laugh, but they will remember the slight. Even if they know about the shortcoming, it is better to pretend as though one is completely unaware of it.

An analytical nature is extremely important because we live in a complicated, ever-changing world. There are many complicated choices, and sometimes it is crucial to pick the right one and avoid traps and pitfalls. Unfortunately, many people lack an analytical nature. The leaders that they elect to represent them are, therefore, salesmen, not engineers. That is why our leaders have made many foolish and costly decisions that have retarded economic and scientific progress. An analytical mind will say, "OK, wait, slow down. Let's not get emotional. Let's not decide in haste based upon fear or greed. Let's examine all of the possibilities here. Let's dig up all the details. Let's compare and contrast each of the available choices. Let's make a decision only when we have thought everything through with cold, calculating, precise and well-informed intellect." The thing about me is that I love details. I want to know all the gory facts. My brain is hungry for useful information and useful knowledge. This has proven very helpful to me in many situations.

Punctuality is a reflection of my desire to remain calm and in control. I feel anxiety when the possibility arises of disappointing others. Being on-time or early is an easy way to establish a positive impression. To me, it is worth half an hour or even more of my time to eliminate any possibility of being late.

Thursday, February 6, 2014

DUI

The case of the teen accused of "affluenza" struck a nerve in the national psyche. People read this article and understand that for the rich, our legal system is about forgiveness and light. It seems the rich seldom go to prison and often can buy their way out of any legal difficulties under the sun.

According to the article on CNN, "Two people riding in the bed of the teen's pickup were tossed in the crash and severely injured. One is no longer able to move or talk because of a brain injury, while the other suffered internal injuries and broken bones." I found this chilling, because the young man paralyzed for life due to a brain injury could have been me, if I had been unlucky.

One night when I was nineteen or so, I rode in the back of a pick-up truck with about twelve other guys, just like rednecks the world over, I imagine. We had been drinking, of course. I don't know how much the driver had had but I doubt he was completely sober. I thought it was a stupid idea to go riding around at night with no particular place to go, especially given our state of intoxication, and I said so, but went along in order to remain with my friend, and because I didn't have a ride home. The alternative would have been desertion and possibly a falling-out with my friend.

We were soon pulled over by a cop. Why we were stopped was never made clear. Ever the civil libertarian, I wanted to ask the cop why he stopped us, but my friend told me to keep quiet, which may have been for the best. Amateur lawyers aren't really appreciated by police officers. Having twelve guys in a pickup truck probably violated a traffic safety law.

Our driver transformed from yahoo into polite young gentleman in an instant, smooth with the yessirs and nosirs, and his tone of voice was apologetic, even servile. I feared the cop would take us all to jail, but instead, he seemed to be enjoying himself. He adopted a paternal attitude with the young man, reflecting that he used to do things like ride around at night with his friends raising hell. He wasn't against a little bit o' fun, now and again. However, we had better stay out of his territory, because if he saw us around again, there wouldn't be no second chance. Now get back in the truck, go back where you come from and don't come back, you hear?

In all my days, I never drove under the influence of any substance. I think it's the height of negligence to operate a vehicle under the influence. Some people may think that being a stupid idiot isn't as bad as being evil. In reality, the difference between wickedness and negligence is a very fine point of philosophy that doesn't matter much to the family of the victims. Often, negligence is worse than wickedness. At least wickedness has a plan whereby harm might be reduced and somebody might gain, whereas negligence is chaotic and may result in utter catastrophe for everyone involved.

I think another problem related to DUI is driving while distracted. I know someone who texts while driving, and I think that is an idiotic thing to do, no matter how agile one thinks one's fingers are on the keypad. It is a lottery ticket for catastrophe, and one day, the unlucky number may pop up.

Sunday, January 12, 2014

The Case of the Runaway Cat

My cat ran away soon after Christmas, just after I had written a post here about what a wonderful relationship I have with my cats. Perhaps there is something to the ancient Greek notion of hubris--that when mortals boast, they tempt the gods to punish.

I did not chase after my cat, although it lingered nearby. Cats prefer familiar surroundings, but if chased, may wander further afield. I did not wish to drive the cat away. It is pointless to try to capture a cat outdoors. Confined quarters are a different matter, but in the outdoors, the cat determines when and where he will meet a human.

I realized the longer the cat was out, the hungrier he would get, and the more he would want to return to the luxury resort of my all-day kitty buffet, with fresh clean water to drink, no neighbor cats to contend with, shelter from the elements and two kind and gentle humans to attend to his every whim.

After a week, the cat found that hunting birds was for the birds. Hunting is a difficult skill that requires training. It is not something that can be readily learned in middle-age by a soft and sedentary housepet. Perhaps this was not obvious to him.

I found him one day in the backyard. He would not let me approach, but walked away and hid under a shed. He seemed weak and unsteady and had lost weight.

The cat could not possibly understand all the reasons I have for wanting him to stay indoors, away from disease-carrying animals, cars, trucks, fleas and other parasites. To the cat, I am a prison warden, whatever my other virtues. His mixed appraisal of me is something I have come to accept. In order to enhance the value, health and well-being of a pet, humans do things that cats may not like or understand. Confinement indoors is one of these things that my cat does not like, because he observes birds from the windows and wants to hunt them. He is hardwired with this great and overriding desire to hunt. Sometimes the impulse is so strong that it can conflict with feelings of loyalty to me.

To remind the cat of the great benefits my regime offers, I left a small amount of his food out in an open cardboard box overnight. Cats have an excellent sense of smell, and I had no doubt he would find his old, familiar food. When I inspected the box the next morning, the food was gone, and the cat was nearby stalking a possum family that lives in a ditch.

I approached the cat slowly and carefully, so as not to spook. He made his usual motions of backing away, but I called to him, using the command I always use when I want him to come to me. A pet responds to its master's voice. If there is a good relationship, then the pet wishes to please its master. Unless the cat were mentally ill, I knew there would be a desire to please me and not run away. I also knew that hunger worked in my favor. I continued speaking to him in a calm and normal manner as I approached. My voice worked like a magical charm. The cat stopped moving, just as I desired.

Surely the cat knew, without any doubt, that I offered food, a full belly, affection and comfortable living. There should never be any doubt about those things. I always reward compliance. I always treat my cat well. This is why the cat allowed me to approach and pick him up and take him back to my house. What a relief it was to have him safe and sound in my arms again! He seemed quite content to be there.

Maybe he needed to learn about the dangers of the outdoors by experience. Perhaps he did not learn at all or will forget the lesson. I am doubtful he will remember. I expect he will always have the desire to go outside and try to hunt birds and other small creatures. My goal is just to protect him as best I can for as long as possible.

Tuesday, December 31, 2013

Past Lovers

As for past lovers, they are forgettable and regrettable. They allowed me to say, "Well, now I know what all of that's about."

One does not wish to miss out on any of the delicious cake that others are enjoying and praising as the finest cake in the world. Perhaps their cake was overrated, but I had to find out for myself, because everyone is different.

For me, lovers comprised a series of experiments until the final discovery was made, at which point, "Eureka!" Time to publish my papers and mark my discovery before the world.

Saturday, December 28, 2013

Reciprocity

No one from either our families will be attending our wedding. Some have sound-seeming reasons, others not, but in all cases, I am not surprised, and would have predicted the same if asked a year ago, five years ago, ten years ago, or thirty years ago.

People will say this and people will say that. People do not understand. I do not make the mistake of expecting people to understand. It is a foolish mistake to make.

A mark will be written in a book for all time. I do what is good and true and right. I am pleased, because I am justified.

And what of them? If they say later, you did not mark my special occasion, then I can say, where were you, when I married my one and only love? You elected not to come. Nor did you wish me well, nor send a card, nor even call on the telephone. So wherefore can you find fault in me, when you did the same? Look instead to the stranger on your left or the stranger on your right, and see whether they will consent to be your family, because that is where I have found mine.

Friday, December 20, 2013

The Death Trip

I stopped using marijuana about a year ago.

Using is like diving. One is underwater and may perceive things that are not quite as apparent on the surface. I don't like to stay underwater long. I prefer to come up for air and breathe.

Urinalysis is marijuana's chief liability. Of course, it can be defeated. "Dilute and substitute" is folk wisdom. I've never bothered with subterfuge. I will purify in order to qualify. I went ten years clean at a job with urinalysis, although "clean" must be interpreted as "substituting alcohol for marijuana." Alcohol is a poor substitute. I saw what it did to my supervisor and others. I do not understand what businesses gain by prodding their employees away from marijuana and toward alcohol. I think they lose, if anything. Urinalysis is a strange artifact of modern America. Urinalysis targets marijuana to a much greater extent than anything else. Of course, marijuana equates to poor performance during the high, as laboratory tests verify. All right, but what about alcohol? There are many other substances, and new substances are getting invented all the time. Marijuana is the chief villain to be apprehended in a cup, while meth and coke can slide on by without too much difficulty, after a few days.

My last trip was a death trip. The herb accentuates whatever one's thoughts focus upon. My thoughts were shrouded deep in gloom. I imagined death. I perceived it. The body does not wish to die and rebels at the very suggestion. Death is not a difficult feat to accomplish. We are all hanging by a thread. There is no need to swing from side to side and see whether the thread will break. It might break. The thought of death is not as unpleasant as the thought of the consequences for the living, those that are dear to one, the cherished and beloved. Once dead, one is beyond all power to help and comfort them. One can do no more good, but is rendered useless and unimportant. I suppose that is why people who live alone, without friends or close relations, are more likely to give in to the siren call that sings to all living things.

A superstitious fancy amuses me. Perhaps it is all rot like religion. On the other hand, imagination is fun, and I don't take it very seriously. I like to imagine that usage is a two-way street. A human makes the decision to enter the altered state offered by the herb, but there is a gatekeeper. To my mind, she is a goddess, wise and knowing. Her sex is appropriate, because commercial marijuana derives from the female plant. Sometimes she offers insight on one little matter or another, advice and guidance. If she deems use acceptable at a particular place and time, she grants a good experience. Otherwise, she gives the opposite. In that context, the death trip was a warning, so I have followed the advice of the goddess.

Tuesday, December 17, 2013

Volunteerophobia

I like the idea of volunteering, but I'm also afraid of it. My fear is that whatever work I do will consume my time and energy and leave me oblivious to money-making and other productive and social opportunities. I'm also afraid there is zero reward to doing things for free, as indeed has been my experience. I have found that if one does things without being asked, even to the point of volunteering hundreds or thousands of hours, and without expecting compensation, then the recipients, instead of being grateful, may feel rather indifferent or even demand more and more, assuming the attitude of a slave-driver rather than a beneficiary. Over time I have developed what I think is a wise and prudent reluctance to making commitments of the free variety. I can't say I never feel drawn to what may be quixotic projects and ideas from time to time, but that voice of caution has only grown more insistent as I've grown older and more experienced. I think I will have to perceive tangible benefits of some kind before I commit to anything.

Thursday, November 14, 2013

Madness

Mental illness is the worst. Someone dear to my heart remains in this world, living, breathing, and talking, but they are not there, they are only a simulacrum. As was said of such people in times past, they are possessed by a demon. I came to visit a year ago, but my visit was unappreciated, and I don't think it did any good at all. One can be here and not be here, can see and yet not see, can hear and yet not hear. Such a person has left the community of living souls and become a mad hermit, isolated, alone, and lonely, oh, so desperately lonely that they commune with the dead, who are closer to them than the living. When last I visited, the black-and-white photographs of long-gone ancestors were of greater interest than anything I had to say, and when after many hours of listening I made clear I needed to adjourn for lunch, sour resentment was the result.

I wish to visit, but I think such an effort would be wasted and only for my own benefit, but I am not sure whether there is any benefit for myself. My memories are better than the present. I would only be perceived like a distant noise, and all that I said would be either unheard or misinterpreted, and my visit would soon be forgotten.

I am reminded of a coworker who had a mad woman living in his house, his aged mother, whose mind was irreparably gone. In the past, she had been kind, he said, but now, she was possessed by a demon and did everything possible to disrupt and distress. She would throw food at the walls, bang on the walls at night to wake people up, scream, moan, yell, and say hurtful things. He believed it was his moral duty to keep her in his house. He hated his brother for not showing gratitude for his sacrifice and not helping. I sympathized with him and thought him a good and decent man, but I was uncertain regarding the morality, because his mother had lost her wits beyond recovery, and made miserable the life of his entire family. I felt there was not only his mother's welfare to weigh, but also the welfare of his family and even of himself. Self-sacrifice appears noble and good, and it moves me, but can it also be a subtle form of selfishness? I think there is something known as the "martyr complex," wherein one may be too ready and eager to sacrifice, apparently, one's own interests. No sacrifice is free of cost. With each sacrifice, one reduces the capacity to support other good and worthy causes. To sacrifice for one cause is to say that it is worthier than other causes.

Friday, November 8, 2013

Namecheap, the Worst Web Hosting Company

Namecheap, Inc. just sent me an invoice for--well, I don't know what. They expect me to pay a bunch of money because, I guess, they need money. I haven't hosted with them in years and my domain is no longer registered with them. I'm not surprised their morals are amiss. Namecheap is possibly the worst web host in existence. Their service was lousy, with unexplained bizarre errors, and their tech support, which I frequently had to use, was foreign, incompetent, unresponsive, and uncaring. I was never so happy as when I abandoned my Namecheap account and moved to a different host, even though it cost me financially to do so. Namecheat is more like it.

The host I recommend is Bluehost, a class act all around. They may be Mormon-owned for all I know, but they do web hosting right, and on the extremely rare occasion that I have needed their tech support, I have talked to real, live American techies on the telephone who know what they are doing. I've never been talking to a Bluehost representative without feeling like they are intelligent and, perhaps more importantly, care. I've used Bluehost for many years. I don't know of any other web host that is as good as they are, although it's true I haven't tried many. Bluehost is even recommended by Wordpress, which I think is very impressive in itself. Their founder runs the entire company on Mac or Linux, scorning Microsoft. I've followed his blog off and on through the years. I doubt we would agree on politics, but as far as computers go, I think we are in agreement.

For the past couple days, my site on Bluehost has become inaccessible around midnight every day without explanation and stays slow until the morning. So I can't recommend Bluehost without reservation. I need to become more cautious about my enthusiasm for things. It seems like the very moment that I praise something, that's when I discover its shortcoming. In the case of Bluehost, I discovered their nightly slowdown about the same time that I renewed for two years. However, I think that this may have been a temporary glitch, possibly due to Wordpress attackers.

If this is the only post any visitor to my blog ever reads, then so much the better. Namecheap caused me hardship with their unexplained errors and incompetent service.

7/30/2013 Update: This post against Namecheap has been attacked on over ten separate occasions by spam comments linking to malware sites that try to infect people's computers with viruses. My policy now is that whenever that happens, this post will be updated to be the front-page, very first post; or else I may post another message about Namecheap and its sleazy, unethical business practices. There's no way that Namecheap can get out of their well-deserved poor reputation. They are going to have to live with it, no matter how many spammers they hire.

Saturday, November 2, 2013

Is the Supernatural Natural?

I am most tempted to speculate upon the supernatural, that is, magic and ESP and telepathy and gods, when I listen to astrophysicists talk about string theory, time, the multiverse, what happened before the Big Bang, and wormholes. Then I wonder whether all of the tales we have heard are false, or if some of them have a basis in something that is just now only dimly understood.

Lately, when I close my eyes at night, I think back to the prophesy I heard a long time ago that seems to have come true in many respects. It was not a good prophesy on the whole. I wish I had not heard it. I remember asking whether it were possible to defy fate, and the answer I received was in the negative. There is something irresponsible, I think, in a seer telling a person of a future that is inevitable. With great power comes great responsibility. I wonder whether she really saw what she said she saw or if she were merely speculating based upon intuition and intelligent perception. If she did see truly, then how and by what means? I asked this exact question at the time of the reading and received nothing but mumbo-jumbo for an answer.

The NOVA documentaries I watched over the last several nights explained several theories and hypotheses circulating in the world of astrophysics. One of the biggest discoveries that has been made, albeit one that is "old," dating back to Einstein, is that time is relative. Space and time are related, forming the concept known by Einstein as spacetime. I get dizzy thinking about these things. They are so far beyond my comprehension. I can only just grasp the surface of the basic ideas. There are many implications deriving from the relativity of space and time. Thus, my entire lifespan can elapse in a single moment--say, sixty seconds--of an extraterrestrial being living at a vast distance away from me. Therefore, if there were any means whatsoever for communication, images, or knowledge to be transmitted to and from that consciousness to, say, a human being living in my time and sitting beside me holding my hand, then that might be the scientific way for the seer to see. Mumbo-jumbo, or magic, in the common sense of the word, need play no role. Science suffices for an explanation that passes muster with the modern mind. Much of advanced science is as good as magic for most of us, anyway. How many of us could build a computer from scratch or, for that matter, an automobile? Observe that quantum mechanics speculates that teleporting between vast distances is possible. If this is so, why cannot a thought, word or image be transmitted from one brain to another? Would that not be easier?

Friday, October 18, 2013

My Code is Beautiful

I'm the type of programmer that likes to beautify, structure and document my code for no reason other than I like to look over the source code and refine every last detail whether it really matters or not. I think that is taking pride in my work. One advantage is that in looking it over so much, I become very familiar with its ways, so that if I ever have a problem, I can resolve it quickly. And we all know the advantage of structure and documentation, which make one less likely to forget things and faster at apprehending complicated processes. I was looking over my regen.sh for Dungeon Crawl Stone Soup today, which I updated, and I thought to myself what a work of art that little thing has become. It's a lot better than it has to be. The idea behind the script file is simple and could have been accomplished with 95% less code, but I added bells and whistles to simplify use and maintenance so that it could endure the centuries, so to speak, although that does seem a bit unlikely. I was always that way with code, whether I was coding pages for web sites using html and css in a text editor or backend programs to handle the accounting for a billion-dollar corporation. I remember spending days refining the central program that handled all the accounting processes from A to Z in the company I worked for. It began its life as spaghetti code, and all the programmers hated it, but in particular I was contemptuous of it. Code like that actually offends me and fills me with the compulsion to clean, clean, clean. When I had finished with it, it was highly organized and easier to understand. Instead of looking at it in the middle of the night, say, when the you-know-what had hit the fan due to technical glitches caused by some other process, and wondering what the hell was happening, I or anyone for that matter could just glance at it and understand exactly how things were supposed to work. It had progressed from being crap-code to being a work of art. I believe that programmers should focus on getting things done first, because after all that is the most important thing, but it is also very important to focus on ease of maintenance to ensure that the code will be useful for years to come. There are some systems and programs that even the end user can tell are based upon very refined code, because of the way they work and the absence of bugs, and even when bugs do arise they magically seem less in severity.

Friday, September 13, 2013

Vampire Dream

Today was Friday the Thirteenth, after all.

The night before, I went to bed late, around 0500, and had a nightmare that derived from "True Blood." Vampires were stalking my friends and I, and we were hiding out in different houses to escape, but somehow they would find us. I don't remember blood-drinking, a vampire-myth that I always found implausible, but they drained our life-force by painful touch. Each vampire had marked one of us for his own. In our absence, each vampire would starve, because they could only feed upon us and no one else. Starvation caused the vampire to lose their looks and become hideous, monstrous, savage-looking, which made them scarier. When they fed upon us, they recovered their looks. I remember the dreadful knocking on the door and then the door being opened and the monster coming in to find his prey and feed.

I awoke and found it most curious that I was dreaming about vampires, but then again, I had spent much of the night before playing Dungeon Crawl Stone Soup, and my player-character happens to be a Demonspawn Necromancer that had mastered a spell known as Vampiric Draining. I achieved final victory with this character in "The Pits" scenario of Sprint.

Later in the day, I found myself alone in a big empty building that is supposedly haunted by a noisy ghost. My friends have sworn that they have seen and heard this ghost. Of course I am skeptical, but I kept my skepticism to myself, because I have learned that people who believe in ghosts do not like to hear the opinions of those that do not. It is the same with religion. No believer really wants to hear the opinions of an atheist, especially not in person. In social settings, my object is to get along with people, not to persuade them of my beliefs. This blog is like the vault for my private opinions and philosophy.

I was asked if I felt scared to be working in the haunted building all alone, and I replied I was not. I thought to myself that if I saw a ghost, it would be a very good thing, because it would serve as a refutation of my opinions, and I would welcome the evidence. I would not say that a ghost is proof of the afterlife, because it could be many other things, but I would like very much to see one, even if I would feel frightened. I am willing to feel frightened if the reward is seeing something far out of the ordinary that will give me new knowledge. There was a time in my life when I called upon deities and certain supernatural beings to reveal themselves to me in any fashion whatsoever, but they did not choose to trifle with me. A supernatural event might have led me to belief, but such did not come.

I did not hurry and was not timid when I worked tonight. But I did not see or hear a ghost nor anything out of the ordinary. I believe the human brain is very creative and imaginative, and sometimes I wonder about ghosts, and I am willing to meet one, but I never have, and so I do not believe in ghosts.

Sunday, August 25, 2013

Twenty Pounds

With age comes the retirement of the pleasures of youth and discovery of other pleasures, those more suited to age. I came to the conclusion today that I need to lose twenty pounds. It was like a revelation to me, a certainty that that was the right thing to do. I feel that my old ticker will be better off for it. Having given up alcohol, the next logical step is to abandon candy and sweet drinks. People give these things to me sometimes, especially at work. I have to learn to either say no or else dispose of the unwanted gifts discreetly.
techlorebyigor is my personal journal for ideas & opinions