Checking in

Yeah, I'm still here. I had something useful to say, but it has degraded in the darkness inside my head, and is not worthy of you in its current form. Soon, maybe.

Bone Annie Verse Air

I gave up making New Year's resolutions some time ago, for the same reasons many people give it up: it's cliché and nobody follows through with them anyway. The main problem is that they're a declaration, an absolute vow of action, and we all know that absolutes are brutally difficult things to bargain with. I would twitch nervously if I had to vow that the sun will come up tomorrow.

Rather, this year I will state the changes I would like to witness and the goals I would like to accomplish. Human as I am, I won't be chagrined if these don't come to pass.

• Lose 30 pounds, I look like shit
• Learn me some guitar
• Produce more blog posts, video projects and anything else that keeps me learning and creating
• Manage and embrace the bizarre and mercurial calculus of work/fun/money/happiness

New Year's resolutions are silly because of the reasons above, but it is certainly not silly to ponder one's location on his own map. I should complete such a list once a month, rather than once a year.

This list is too short - I compiled it almost reflexively because I didn't want the calendar to turn without noting something about my perception of the new year and my life's odometer as it quietly whirs. The list is certainly not exhaustive. And yet...

Constantly self-assessing, I can't help but notice what's not on the list. Nothing grand, nothing momentous. Just some humble self-improvement. Does that make me selfish, small-minded, complacent? Realistic? Does it speak to what I already have that I don't feel the need to climb certain mountains? Does it indicate that there are certain internal details that need sorted out? Do I question petty, self-absorbed ideas way too much?

I'd be very surprised if the answers to all these questions wasn't "yes."

Happy New Year to everyone who reads this, whose name I'd know on sight. The rest of you? Um, I dunno - I can't be bothered, work it out amongst yourselves, will you?

Santa's leftovers

I'm thinking of starting a new tradition. Every year, no matter how sharp Santa is, there's always a little something that he could have delivered, but that was missed. Maybe Saint Nick would benefit from a humble clean-up crew.

My wife stopped by to get a CD that she wanted. I picked up a second-hand clock radio for myself; nothing fancy, but the one I have has black LED's that are invisible in the dark. I'm stuck with sitting up and glaring blearily at my wife's. It's inconvenient enough at that, but that chick can pile so much crap on her nightstand that neither of us know what time it is until the sun comes up, so somebody hadda do somethin'. Heh.

Also, I've got my eye on an ultra-cheap microphone to go with some other mid-range equipment I've got, and I wouldn't mind a CD or two as well. Just to round out the Christmas spirit, you understand.

In with the good

I got to see my brother recently. We haven't gotten together in a while, and it was good to see him again. It was generous of him, but I shouldn't have let him pay for lunch - times are tight for both of us. Then again, I didn't want to insult him, and sometimes it feels good to say: "I'll buy." I'll spring next time.

I caught cold on Christmas, so soon after the last one. It irritated me, but I've been lucky - my discomfort has been mild, and I've been able to do a lot of things that want to do.

We were able to get my son a respectable pile of loot for Christmas, which feels good for a parent. More selfishly, I got some wonderful loot myself without it being overdone. Just right, as Goldilocks would say.

I haven't had a lot of practice looking on the sunny side, but I easily admit that there's a lot in my life to be thankful for. One could say I've got it made.

Sierra Re-creation

God help me, I think I'm going to resurrect "SierraRecreation.com," or at least its spirit.

It was months ago that I ceased thrashing about in the dark, struggling against a slowly-diminishing ignorance of Content Management Systems, an equally-slowly diminshing ignorance of the Sierra Nevada itself, and the fact that no one but me ever joined a site that I had hoped would engender at least some enthusiasm from, well, enthusiasts. I ceased thrashing, and I gave up.

After I stopped crying, (I take my perceived defeats entirely too seriously) I realized that I still have an interest in the Sierra Nevada. Although I also still don't get out in the rough enough, I still daydream about it, read about it and care about it. And I do occasionally actually get out and kick rocks, and it's fun to write about it or take photos for display. When you've got an interest in something and it just keeps nagging at you, you can either drink until it goes away, or you can stop resisting and do something about it. Me, I'm doin' both.

I also envision doing some sort of videography project about recreation in the Sierra Nevada; the details are always hazy and require that I chase them (which I am currently doing), but the personality of the thing is clear in my mind: something useful, somewhat intelligent, but also approachable, funny and down-to-earth. I'd like to do some sort of a series, even if it's a series of 10-minute webisodes (although I'd rather do more-standard, 30- or 60-minute productions), and an accompanying website just sounds like such a natural place to host such productions (or clips thereof), that I know I've got to do it someday.

Plus, there are so many good resources of different media and perspectives that I am driven by a natural instinct to collect them and display them, and redistribute some of them in more modern or useful ways than I originally found them.

One hang-up is money. "If it cost a nickel to shit, I'd have to go puke somewhere." Thanks to Jeff S. for that handy and unforgettably digusting saying. But it makes my point; I can't afford even one more hosting plan right now, so I'm currently planning on reviving my little monster as a subfolder of my current hosting account. Luckily, it will be full-featured in all other ways, allowing me to build and play and break things. Besides cost, another plus is that a relatively anonymous subfolder homestead will remove any pressure to make it "be" anything other than what it is: a personal work in progress.

Hopefully, it will end up being something worth "re-launching" someday, and showing to the cold, cruel webosphere for somebody to get some use out of it.

Until then, I'll keep the domain name under my thumb for later use. Until then, I'll tinker.

Fish fried

Oh man. I went to what was supposed to be a small affair, a little get-together over some locally caught fish, and a few friendly refreshments. I had four beers, two fish and an inordinate amount of salt. That's how I like my fish.

I woke up the next day feeling like, as I've heard it said, I'd been "eaten by a coyote and shit over a cliff." Now, four beers is a significant consumption, but not even close to a harmful amount, hangover-wise. If you're not sure, take my word for it - I've done the research.

For my entire Sunday, I trudged through the day as if I'd been poisoned or beaten, and although I was game enough to be intermittently active, my heart was certainly not in it. Muscle aches, headache and sleep deprivation sapped my strength, and I haven't been so glad to retire for the night in quite some time.

I awoke today at 5am, feeling so much better that I couldn't stay in bed. There's nothing like briefly feeling thoroughly like shit to remind you how good normal feels.

Small actions

Rereading my previous post, it's easy to see that I need to take some action toward my stated goal (wish). So, I'm taking whatever steps I can think of.

Sorry if this post is cryptic and nonsensical. It makes sense to me at the moment, and that's enough.

Discord

Today has been quite imperfect. I've forgotten to bring items with me that are a normal part of my everyday routine; infrastructure that I normally take for granted are non-operational; due to a minor back strain, many simple motions that are normally effortless require concentration
and exact a cost of pain - a recent sneeze was spectacularly sharp and bracing, as striking and transient as being dipped in ice water.

These are the types of oddities and variances that give life its texture and flavor; to a driven and purposeful man, they are incidental. Without a unifying goal, they just feel likes slaps in the face, a little more quicksand that sucks at my legs.

I feel weak today. I want to return to a point where I have a sense of control and purpose and a command of the aspects of my life. It's been so long since that's been the case that I can't really point to a date on the calendar when it was so.

These things change - they always do. I do wish I could accelerate that change and maintain a sense of security and control.

I'll show you

I'm grateful there's a cafe with hi-speed Internet nearby, but they're overly cautions with their Webwasher site blocking software, because it frustates me when it (often) prevents me from looking at fairly harmless websites.

So, this morning I brought up some porn on the screen, just to show it that I could. Take that, oppressively technology!

France calling

I have been dreaming again of France. It remains a magical event in my memory.

Google Maps has a balm for this painfully sweet longing: the Street View feature. I can go and revisit our little hotel, the Pantheon I visited on a crisp solo morning, and other locations.

I am consistently susprised at the power of the experience and nostalgia, now a few years later. The architecture, the food, the different-ness of everything. Just intoxicating.

I had secretly hoped to work some things out this year, and make another trip possible. We're absolutely not in such a position, and while I'm completely unsurprised, I'm secretly bitterly disappointed.

But this post is not intended to be about bitterness; it's about what joy I had in visiting, experiencing and remembering another place and culture. To be in another land, surrounded and immersed by another language and another history.

Tradition

Monday, I had sincerely planned to increase my exercise, both in frequency and intensity. I went to bed feeling a mite peaked, and woke up with a cold. I've tried before to soldier on through a cold, working outdoors and exercising, and I've learned through experience that it's a reliable and effective way to punch up the severity of an illness. So, last Monday I made a conscious effort to chill out and take lots of fluids.

That paid off, and my cold was relatively gentle and short-lived. Feeling about 95% yesterday, I made good on the promise I'd made myself last week, and continued my tradition of only the most intermittent exercise. Just often enough to cause significant discomfort, that's my motto. Therefore, I am in the kind of pain that makes me move about and groan like a mummy with a spinal cord injury. I couldn't tuck my head in properly when crouching into my car seat, and bashed my head on the edge of the roof.

I don't think I can take much more of this healthy lifestyle.

Off the grid

What a week. Good, bad and indifferent, all smeared messily across 6 days or so. In that time, I've/we've:

• Finished our meager Christmas shopping
• Partied with some truly great people
• Counseled a troubled, rowdy drinker to hew to a moral (me, can you believe it?) and considerate path (what is it about me that says: "amateur pastor?")
• Spent the next day riding out a doozey of a hangover
• Made a killer deal on some exercise equipment that might actually work for us
• Caught a cold

I've been too busy to spend much time in front of the computer, as much blessing as curse. How have you been?

"Black Ice" review: on the other hand

[This is a second part of a two-part review of AC/DC's "Black Ice" CD. Read the first, angry part.]

Ever since I hit "post" on my review, I immediately felt regret that it was so negative - embarrassment as if I had drunkenly slandered a family member. I'm just not comfortable shitting on AC/DC like that, after their years as icons of Rock, deserving of my admiration and a more circumspect review. Here is that second look.

For the past few album releases, it has often been the case that I was initially disappointed in the music, as it did not stack up to former glories. Later though, the music, although different, grew on me. For example: "Rock Your Heart Out" sounded fluffy, but over time I was able to appreciate it more on its own terms. "Boogey Man" sounded great on their "No Bull" concert DVD (thanks to Steve for the lend). There are plenty of other examples, and the new album is no different.

It's somewhat (not entirely) unfair to compare new music to past performances. A rigid attitude like the one I took leaves little room for growth. With that in mind, songs like "Stormy May Day" and "War Machine" are actually very worthwhile songs, expressive and effective. "Rock N Roll Dream" also has its own sound, slow and dreamy before stomping into a contrastingly forceful chorus.

I must admit, my initial review felt a lot more correct than the drivel I've read elsewhere, like "Black in Blacker!" Please, calm yourself, douchebag. I hope that balancing out it with this more considered reflection gives a more complete review to anyone considering buying the album.

I must say, I wasn't all wrong: "Money Made" still plods along like a Communist ballad or a slave's mantra, and "Rock N Roll Train" still sounds trite. I can almost hear the mechanical background sounds from Queen's "Back to Humans," a very good song in its own right. "She Likes Rock N Roll" hits me like a throwaway. I still wish the lyrics overall were more complex and specific, but that's me - I enjoy tight lyrics. Who knows what will grow on me in time?

I still rock this CD and I do recommend it.

Making it up as I go along

Perhaps my needs for something metaphysical in which to believe would be served well enough by creating such icons and avatars from whole cloth, out of my own imagination and experiences. I certainly find the idea no less valid; if anything, believing in things I dreamed up for myself is more legitimate than that of someone else's mythology, not less. What do they know of life, death and afterlife that I don't? Nothing, that's what.

It's no surprise, coming from a guy (me) who coined his own faith years ago, that of "Solipsistic Pelagianism." The description, whose motivations are self-evident from its name, is a little less attractive to me lately because it still implies an attachment to religious leanings, which I have less and less anymore. But, it's still as accurate as I can be with such few words.

Hmmm. I'll have to ponder this a while longer, but a homemade belief system seems an attractive and useful option.

I need a spiritual Tom-Tom

In the movie "Big Trouble in Little China," there's a secondary hero who early in the film fails to perform some bar trick with a meat cleaver and a liquor bottle (it's a fun film like that, you should see it). He blames his failure on the fact that (I'm paraphrasing - give me a break, it's likely been decades since I've seen it) "my mind and my spirit are going in different directions."

Aside from the fact that I don't prescribe to eastern (or any other) spirituality, this accurately describes how I feel lately. Conflict within and without, wall-to-wall dissonance. All my energies are poorly aligned and allocated, and it literally feels like they're piling up inside me, and not comfortably, either.

I've been here before, and it's presaged the lower points in my sense of well-being. I feel like I'm a few hundred yards into a rutted, gravel road, with a long, shitty, teeth-rattling journey ahead of me. I'm desperately searching a blurry, poorly-marked map for an alternate route.

AC/DC's "Black Ice" review: initial reaction

[This review is my initial, hotheaded reaction to AC/DC's "Black Ice" CD. Read the mellower, more reasoned second half of the review here.]

I got a hold of AC/DC's latest CD, "Black Ice," within days of its release. I've avoided reading reviews about it so that I could form my own opinions, independently of others'. Ever since its release date was announced, I've turned away from the nagging internal voice that worried whether AC/DC's music quality would continue the downward slide propagated by at least their last two albums. Unfortunately, it has done exactly that, taking the band's legacy deeper underwater.

For example: "Rock N Roll Train" starts out with a serviceable guitar riff and beat, but never gets out of first gear. Lyrics are unimaginative, including: "Give it all, give it, give it what you got; come on give it all a lot; pick it up and move it, give it to the spot." That's not sexy, dangerous or clever; it sounds like instructions for installing a washer/dryer. And later: "Runaway train, runnin' right off the traaack... Runaway train, runnin' right off the traaack..." I know it's just the chorus, but shit. Tedious, flat, dull. And what is this damned song about, anyway?!

"Skies on Fire" similarly begins with some foreboding lyrics, but never gets to the point, and the lyrics quickly become repetitive, uninteresting and banal. I'm left with the same confusion as to the point of this one.

The whole CD, nearly without exception, has the feel of a high school homework assignment that a student had eight years to complete, but still waited until the last minute to finish. Brian Johnson's vocals are sincere and energetic; I sadly have to lay the blame on the creative process that cranked out music like my ex-wife fucks: perfunctorily and without any real skill or enthusiasm. Lyrics are simplistic and even disjointed. The music (and this is the part that really hurts) is amateurish. It sounds like a (very good) garage band's demo, that of a group who will really be something, once they find their voice and hit a groove.

But this is AC-fucking-DC, true Gods of rock, we're talking about. These are "the lads" who for decades consistently churned out chords that infested the base of your spine like a sinister disease, giving you literally no choice but to tremble, bow your head and nearly uncontrollably make the word "rock" an active, spasmodic verb. The roiling chaos of "Bedlam in Belgium." The diabolic, baleful foreboding of "Hell's Bells." The cheeky, insouciant triumph of "Back in Black." These are the guys who wrote lyrics that were both clever and approachable, daring and unrepentant like those in "Dirty Deeds" and "'74 Jailbreak." "What's Next to the Moon," for crying out loud!

They know how to do it, and do it better than anyone else. Why, how, could they go to print with such a lackluster release? Is it that the idea mill finally ran out of grist? Is it just about the money now?

One relatively bright spot is "War Machine." This one starts out with the thumping of war drums, providing a slow grind and malevolently mellow framework for the guitar and lyrics to sit upon. The rhythm guitar kicks in carries us into the song. If I could understand the lyrics, I could pass better judgment. I'll have to look them up.

Most of the other songs have good points about them, but they are very much diamonds in the rough, and one has to listen carefully to catch hints of brilliance. "Rock N Roll Dream" has another deceptively calm backdrop which allows the rest of the song to "pop," to leap forth. Sadly, there's not a lot of leaping going on. In "Stormy May Day," I can truly hear the melancholy and angst that this song wanted to express, fighting and failing to come across in the meterological non-sequitirs: "The storm is ragin', The winds are howlin; The water's calling - Rescue You." The music is almost persuasive enough to take you somewhere, but the lyrics dash and drown these hopes like the current a storm-swollen river. Ironically, that's what I think this song wanted to be about.

After listening attentively to the CD several times, I queued up "Nick of Time" and "Bedlam in Belgium," just to refresh my memory of what the boys can (could) really do. I'm so disappointed. Ah well - we'll always have the seventies and eighties to look back on. Jesus, I could almost weep.

Life goes on

You know it's bad when my brother blogs more recently than me. It's never a good sign when my blog goes quiet. It just indicates things are... not entirely well with me.

But, things are not all bad. The immediate family is healthy and happy - my poor brother is still fucked, and I wonder against which gods he has transgressed for such a persistent, brutal curse to befall him- but everybody under my single roof is of reasonably good cheer.

Speaking of which: Ken, my wife's dad who has lived with us for several months now, moved back home to the ranch last week, taking another ragged swipe at matrimony and hoping for sunny days ahead. Our best wishes go with him.

"The best argument against democracy..."

"I'm not against Proposition 8; if gay people want to get married, whatever, but I heard there's a component that calls for it to teach children about gays in the schools. I mean, I'd almost rather have them be taught about God, or something. I mean, why can they learn about gays, but not God...?"

I managed to quip all but the final syllable of the response: "Well, gay people actually exist..." before thinking better of it and clamming up. Luckily, my interlocutor only pays intermittent attention at best, and it was as if I'd never opened my mouth at all.

I'm definitely getting less timid about my own views, but I'm not sure at all whether that's a good thing or not. Adopting a more vocal stance and a less vocal one are both are tempting and extreme.

Machiavelli doesn't live here

We all have our strengths and weaknesses. Some people think I'm a little too quick to note my weaknesses, and they have a point. On the other hand, I find that humility agrees with me, and speaking in muted tones about my gifts and being realistic about my flaws keeps my feet nicely on the ground, where I like them.

One strength I do not have is a circuitous, conniving mind, capable of multilayered, manipulative thinking. Whatever abilities are granted to my little simian brain, they are of a straightforward nature, procedural, for better or worse. I am terrible when it comes to gauging what others are thinking, what their next moves are, and why, and how I should play my cards for my own benefit. Although I know for a fact that I could have gone farther in life much faster if I had these types of cognitive skills, I am largely ambivalent about their lack; I am not bitter or regretful about it, but I do recognize where they are handy.

My pathetic compensation for the absence of these skills is that I abhor when they are used against me. If I find that I have been manipulated in such a fashion, I am bitterly spiteful; for that, I carry a grudge like I carry my last ounce of blood. I am profoundly unforgiving when I find I have been tricked or lied to. It's closing the barn door after the horses are gone, but it's what I've got.

Also, I'm not at all comfortable when I sensed they are employed around me. When I catch a whiff of deception and evil guile, I quickly realize I'm in a place I don't want to be, whether it's personal or professional. I am learning to heed that sense of discomfort, and act upon it in a more timely manner.

I wonder if such craftiness is a skill one can learn. If so, I wonder if I would want to learn it. It's tempting...

Don't tell me it's rainin'

I've been idly ruminating on the usefulness of myths and religion and the positive effects of self-delusion.

It is so comfortable and sustaining to have a belief system whose tenets exist largely outside the tangible or scientific realm. It almost doesn't matter what it is - whether you pray to Jehovah or Zeus or send silent pleas and gratitude to a faceless, nameless cosmos, having the belief that somebody out there/up there looking out for you, planning, scheming, directing events and taking blame for incidents in your everyday life, it really adds a cushion to the harder knocks of each day's trials and triumphs.

Think about it: assigning unseen hands to the otherwise random forces around you is a powerful method of redirection. Lost your job? It's for a higher purpose. Got a tumor? It's all part of the Lord's plan. Atheists and agnostics have no recourse but to sit and ponder the stark and often bland realities, while the more imaginative among us can find pixies and leprechauns in any event or object under the sun. How liberating that is!

What more powerful example than love? It is a truly intoxicating state of being, where the slightest whims and whispers teem with meaning, questions and promise. What an exciting state of affairs (so to speak) when one's mind is completely enveloped and engaged in the thoughts of another! No action or happening can be too miniscule to elicit pain or joy. At least with love, there is often a likelihood that the object of your affections and dreamy calculation does exist.

What more sinister example than the slogan "Arbeit macht frei," or "work will set you free," which according to Wikipedia: 'was placed at the entrances to a number of Nazi concentration camps "as a kind of mystical declaration that self-sacrifice in the form of endless labour does in itself bring a kind of spiritual freedom."'

How many people over the centuries have slaved tirelessly away at grueling labors, motivated by the bizarre and sometimes perverted psychological alchemy where increasing hardship and toil equals some benefit seen only by the slave, like a seat in heaven?

Grim as this account is, the idea is certainly not all bad. How many people struggle through their workdays even now, tolerating tedium and conflict, sustained by thoughts of loved ones or material reward? How many kids sweat through and endless summer of lawnmowing or burger-flipping, thinking about a shiny new bike or their first rusted-out set of wheels and the new opportunities they bring.

I find that having abandoned the mental mirage of being watched over and fated to certain outcomes by larger forces, it is like losing cartilage in a joint - the bumps are bumpier. However, I also find that it's worth that loss of manufactured comfort. If it's not real, I'm better off without it. Still, if I could find a more romantic view of the world that works for me, and doesn't make me feel like such a sucker I'd happily embrace it. I'll have to keep an eye out for one.

...

It occurs to me that I may have answered my own questions. Reading over the above, it strikes me that I should be investing more "money in the love bank," and working harder to please my wife. If I'm looking for a romantic world view, I could do worse than to start there.