Suppose everything matters. Which would be worse?

“We all want meaningful lives. We look for meaning in everything we do. But suppose there IS no meaning. Supposed life is fundamentally absurd. Suppose there’s no reason or truth, or rightness in anything. What if nothing means anything? What if nothing really matters? Or suppose everything matters. Which would be worse?” –Bill Watterson, ‘Calvin […]

We all want meaningful lives. We look for meaning in everything we do.

But suppose there IS no meaning. Supposed life is fundamentally absurd.

Suppose there’s no reason or truth, or rightness in anything.

What if nothing means anything? What if nothing really matters?

Or suppose everything matters. Which would be worse?

–Bill Watterson, ‘Calvin and Hobbes’

There’s a small irony that one of the great philosphers of my era is a guy who draws a comic strip about a little kid and his imaginary tiger. Such it is, however.

[composed and posted with ecto]

Waiter Rant — Tsunami

If you’re not already, go read this entry in Waiter Rant, which is called Tsunami. This guy is such a good writer. The observations about working in food service are spot on and funny, sure, but you could say the same of Cook Rant. But the cat who writes Waiter Rant is more. He’s got […]

If you’re not already, go read this entry in Waiter Rant, which is called Tsunami.

This guy is such a good writer. The observations about working in food service are spot on and funny, sure, but you could say the same of Cook Rant.

But the cat who writes Waiter Rant is more. He’s got a keen sense of who people are. He’s writing about life; he’s something of a philosopher. More, he’s an incredibly good writer, and I can’t wait til he decides to get a book out.

This entry isn’t about being a waiter. This entry is about fear and change.

My godfather sits in the passenger seat. He taps me on my shoulder.

“You can’t be here,” I say to him, “You’re dead.”

Putting on his old Greek fisherman’s cap he looks at me lovingly with his cool blue eyes.

“Everything changes,” he says.

With a tremendous roar the tsunami arrives in all its fury. Blue green and glistening it towers hundreds of feet high. I can see the shadows of sharks swimming inside. It heads straight for me. I’m going to die.

“And nothing changes,” my godfather whispers.

The wave hits. I cry out. I’m tumbling in darkness.

[composed and posted with ecto]

Imaginary Enemies

We need someone to blame it all on. Someone to hate. Someone to blame. Someone to point at with the finger of righteous indignation, and say j’accuse. It’s all you, you fuck, it’s all your goddamned fault.

We need someone to blame it all on.

Someone to hate. Someone to blame. Someone to point at with the finger of righteous indignation, and say j’accuse. It’s all you, you fuck, it’s all your goddamned fault.

Read more “Imaginary Enemies”

Life on Fast Forward

A friend just said to me, I just wish I could fast-forward life six months. So I started thinking about it. How would that be? How would we use it? What would we miss? It’s easy to look back and see blocks of time in one’s life that simply had to be endured; times when […]

A friend just said to me, I just wish I could fast-forward life six months.

So I started thinking about it. How would that be? How would we use it? What would we miss?

It’s easy to look back and see blocks of time in one’s life that simply had to be endured; times when things were out of whack, when days are painful and gray, or red with anger, or simply a haze of boredom. I can see eras where I could take six months away and never miss them.

But how do you know where life’s most important experiences lie? How do we know where it is that we learned something? We don’t always learn from the good moments, the exciting moments, sometimes it’s the agony of time’s passage that teaches us about who we are.

Would you fast forward, when you have to wait?

Waiting is, of all life’s challenges, my greatest. I hate lines (Well, ok, I liked *that* kind, I mean lines, as in queues). I hate waiting rooms. I hate being early and having to wait for someone I’m meeting. I hate it when I have to be patient. I want it now. I’m Veruca fucking Salt, dammit.

But there are times when nothing I do, nothing I can do, can hasten the flow of time. There are things which must happen at their own speed. Seasons, changes, evolution. Healing. Growth. Things need space and time, and conditions.

Patience, jackass, patience.

What would we lose? When my children were babies, there were low moments where I wished, why can’t I just speed this up or run it forward? But now I look back, short blinks of time, seasoned with tender memories. I would pass the weeks of frustration being a support organism for a mindless screaming want, yet, I might miss the golden seconds of a baby’s first smile, first laugh. Seconds of joy in weeks of pain and frustration, yet they balance easily.

What else might we skip by if we could hit that button and jump forward six months? Would we find that life’s travails lie behind and only a clear golden horizon lies ahead? Or would we find things unchanged, time lost, important moments never experienced, and life’s ballast of problems still strapped firmly to us?

We don’t have a button to push, so the point remains moot, or at least rhetorical.

There’s one way; the hard way. We can’t skip a page, we can’t run a scene ahead. The best we can manage is to fill our days to the point where they roar past, or numb ourselves to the passage of time.

There are days though, where simply being able to look ahead would be enough. Am I on course? Will all the work, the wait, the patience pay off? It makes one understand faith, something I have not and do not truly want. But how comforting it must be to be able to say, I know it will work out in the end, for my faith tells me so.

But for me, it’s simply waiting, and oh, how I hate to wait.

When Mullets Attack

I’m taking a guess here — 1993? This is my Very Best Mullet, and this is how we feed my friend Kenny his beer. I met with Tricia, and the tattoo plan has changed. It was going to be a Marquesan thing called the Bowl of Light but for various reasons, we decided against it. […]

I’m taking a guess here — 1993?

This is my Very Best Mullet, and this is how we feed my friend Kenny his beer.

Mullet And Ken


I met with Tricia, and the tattoo plan has changed. It was going to be a Marquesan thing called the Bowl of Light but for various reasons, we decided against it. We’re working on a new concept now for the inside of my right arm, to be done in May. More as this develops.

Nobody’s Fault but Mine

That monkey on my back The monkey on my back, back, back Gonna change my ways tonight Nobody’s fault but mine I will get that gun tonight No-no-no-no-nobody’s fault but mine      –Led Zeppelin, ‘Nobody’s Fault But Mine’ You may remember the recent utter collapse of livejournal. Well now, Diaryland has taken a similar crap: […]

That monkey on my back
The monkey on my back, back, back
Gonna change my ways tonight
Nobody’s fault but mine

I will get that gun tonight
No-no-no-no-nobody’s fault but mine

     –Led Zeppelin, ‘Nobody’s Fault But Mine’

You may remember the recent utter collapse of livejournal. Well now, Diaryland has taken a similar crap:

8:51 pm: UGH. Diaryland has been down for several hours. Two out of three drives in the RAID array on the main web server died for some reason, so we have had to put up a new server and copy the site over there. No entries are lost, we have backups of those and the database servers are fine. The main problem is just that we now have to regenerate all the diaries from backups on the new server, which unfortunately will take a long time, overnight at least, because there are so, so many. The order they are regenerated will be all the gold diaries first, and then by the time the diary was last updated.

I can’t believe this has happened on the new server after the exact same thing happened 2 months ago on the old server and we moved the site to this one, it’s absolutely unreal. This whole day has been a total nightmare for me, it’s so stressful and depressing to have to go through this whole ordeal all over again.

– andrew @ diaryland

This is why I self-host. When my server goes out, I have only myself to blame. When I corrupt a database, as I did a couple weeks back, I get to go hack around and fix it. Nobody’s Fault but Mine.

Speaking of self-hosting, check out Doxy’s new home-away-from-home, Phone Slut Blog. She’s still maintaining her old Phone Slut Diary but this new one should see more frequent updates. As with everything Doxy does, this is well worth a read.

And now I’m off to see a my friend Tricia to talk about a most painful tattoo. But later when I complain, remind me — Nobody’s Fault but Mine.

Can’t you let me go to hell the way I want to?

Some goddamn point a man’s due to stop argueing with hisself and feeling twice the goddamn fool he knows he is ’cause he can’t be something he tries to be every goddamn day without once getting to dinnertime and fucking it up. I don’t want to fight it anymore, understand me Charlie? – and I don’t want you pissing in my ear about it. Can’t you let me go to hell the way I want to?

–Wild Bill Hickok, Deadwood season one, episode four

That there is an example of why Deadwood is so fucking good. Doxy told me, but it still took me a year to start watching it. The script, the characters, the cast; it’s just an exceptional piece of work. I’m most of the way through season one on DVD now, and season two is on my TiVo waiting for me to catch up.

But that quote there, that’s what I wanted to post. Some days, that’s exactly how I feel. Can’t you let me go to hell the way I want to?

TIPSY

Oh, I love this story. Having a vanity plate that reads “TIPSY” may not be such a great idea after all. Josiah Johnson, 23, said his license plate might have tipped off the Clay County sheriff’s deputy who pulled him over Friday after he left Coach’s Sports Pub in Moorhead.

Oh, I love this story.

Having a vanity plate that reads “TIPSY” may not be such a great idea after all. Josiah Johnson, 23, said his license plate might have tipped off the Clay County sheriff’s deputy who pulled him over Friday after he left Coach’s Sports Pub in Moorhead.

Skull Sporran

So I have this leather Utilikilt. I earned it by working a lot of shows the last couple years, and it’s a thing of beauty, truly. Only problem with it is that, unlike a regular Utilikilt, it has no pockets. This means I’ve gotta wear either some sort of waist pouch or a sporran. But […]

So I have this leather Utilikilt. I earned it by working a lot of shows the last couple years, and it’s a thing of beauty, truly.

Only problem with it is that, unlike a regular Utilikilt, it has no pockets. This means I’ve gotta wear either some sort of waist pouch or a sporran.

But all the sporrans I have are intended to go with my highland kilt, and just look too damned scottish to my eye when put with a leather Utilikilt.

So I got to thinking, what I need is something more hard-core. More edgy. Studs, maybe. I was thinking about having a local leather worker make me a biker-lookin’ sporran.

Then I started thinking about just buying a really plain one and decorating it, maybe a skull broach or something, maybe put some studs on it myself. I starting looking for things like that, and then it occurred to me to just google skull sporran.

And what do you know. Someone makes it already:

www.sporran-nation.co.uk

I talked to Jen, the lady who runs that shop (The sporran-maker herself), and she’s making me a custom skull sporran, black on black. And better yet, we worked out a barter deal. She’s an absolute sweetheart, and I can’t wait to see the sporran she’s working on for me.

I’m absolutely thrilled. This is the sporran I wanted. Something that’s me, that’s custom. The idea came to me after seeing my friend Corrine, who’s all about the bat tattoos, wearing a bat-shaped sporran with her leather kilt. That was the idea I needed; not some generic highland thing, but something that says Karl Elvis.