Sad song is all.

Consequence, not Karma. Core and not condition.

Consequence, not Karma. Core and not condition.

Minding my own business.
Then I'm not.
And sometimes (this is where it gets tricky) it's better that way.

Standing in line at Sam's Club. We're all waiting our turn. Everyone is always in a hurry, me included. Someone almost always waiting for me to show. Always something expected. It's okay. I must like it. Cliche, I know, but giving does feel good.

The woman in front of me is almost finished. I'm pre-writing a check while I wait. I don't even notice who's behind me until a girl with a double-sized stocked-to-the-hilt flat-bed comes up and asks a man, who reaches his cart (parked behind me and a little to the right) at the same time she pulls hers into line, if he is, in fact, in line. She wasn't mean, just not sure. He obviously got to the line and forgot to get laundry detergent and maybe something else, because he's rushing back with two items in each hand. He moved his cart to the side, probably because he wasn't sure if he would make it back in time to not hold up the line. So they both get to the spot at the same time. His cart-load is much smaller than hers, and she doesn't seem to mind if he IS in front of her, but before he even gets a chance to answer, the almighty commander of who gets-to-go, the cashier, says to him, in a very loud and condescending voice "THERE'S NO HOLDING YOUR PLACE IN LINE!"

The man responds very calmly, "I wasn't holding my place. If I was holding my place I would have had someone stand here for me."

So I turn around, and say to him (because the cashier so obviously tried to embarrass him) "...Plus, you got back before your turn came up. Look, I haven't even gone yet. I would have watched your cart for you. And I turned to the cashier and said, "I've done that a few times: forgotten something. My cart was too heavy to take all the way back to the aisle, so I just leave the cart and run back." (Most people really don't mind because if you're not back in time, they'll just go ahead of you, no harm done.) So she says to both of us, "Well, you should see the fights that break out over this." And we say "Really? What a shame, over something so small..." and the guy finishes with, "and especially considering the music playing, how can anyone want to fight?" And I laugh, because it's Christmas music. Haha. Right, how can anyone fight over a place in line while Christmas music is playing.? (He WAS being ironic, but also sarcastic. Not sure she got that).

So then he asks what I'm baking. And I say I have a restaurant. And he says, "Oh, here, let me give you my card" and he adds, "but you have to sign it in front of me." And I suspiciously ask "I have to sign it? What kind of card is it?" and he says, its a PBA card. And the cashier says "What kind of card IS it? And he says it's a PBA card. And he turns to me and he says, "If you ever get into trouble, just pull out this card."
I told you, I don't believe in Karma. But I do believe in consequence.

Sometimes, I guess it pays to look out for one another. And not because some kind of reward will ensue, but because it feels good to not let other people get bullied. In this case, though, I have to admit, it felt good twice.

Phonies and other such sort of fancy hats

"What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff -- I mean if they're running and they don't look where they're going I have to come out from somewhere and catch them. That's all I'd do all day. I'd just be the catcher in the rye and all. I know it's crazy, but that's the only thing I'd really like to be. I know it's crazy."

-- J.D. Salinger's Holden Caulfield


"This fall I think you're riding for -- it's a special kind of fall, a horrible kind. The man falling isn't permitted to feel or hear himself hit bottom. He just keeps falling and falling. The whole arrangement's designed for men who, at some time or other in their lives, were looking for something their own environment couldn't supply them with. Or they thought their own environment couldn't supply them with. So they gave up looking. They gave it up before they ever really even got started."

-- J.D. Salinger's Mr. Antolini, to Holden

"...you're going to start getting closer and closer -- that is, if you want to, and if you look for it and wait for it -- to the kind of information that will be very, very dear to your heart. Among other things, you'll find that you're not the first person who was ever confused and frightened and even sickened by human behavior. You're by no means alone on that score, you'll be excited and stimulated to know. Many, many men have been just as troubled morally and spiritually as you are right now. Happily, some of them kept records of their troubles. You'll learn from them -- if you want to. Just as someday, if you have something to offer, someone will learn something from you. It's a beautiful reciprocal arrangement. And it isn't education. It's history. It's poetry."

-- J.D. Salinger's Mr. Antolini, to Holden


I am going to admit that I'm not as well-read in fiction as I am in fact or in poetry. I haven't always had the time to read large chunks of fiction on a regular basis, though I did read large amounts of literature for college as well as huge amounts of other materials. After taking care of Austin, going to school, working up to three jobs at a time, having then recovering from brain surgery, and finally opening the restaurant with Joe -- well it didn't leave me much time to do more than get a book in edgewise here and there. I've read a lot of the classics and a lot of philosophers, though not nearly as many as I should have by my age.

Lately I've been catching up and I can't believe how exciting it is, although at the same time I can remember that before Austin was born and I had only me to look out for, I'd stay up all night just to finish a book.

I finally read Jane Austin's Pride and Prejudice, the annotated version. I wish I'd read it a long time ago. No, don't bother with the movie. It skips too much. You have to read the book. You must, especially if you're female, read the book. Oh, please do.

I'd like also to recommend J.D. Salinger's "The Catcher In The Rye" if you haven't read it already. It's been on my stack of "books to read next" for the past year, but here's the thing: I don't know if I loved it for it's own sake, or if I loved it because of how well it tied in with the movie I watched Wednesday night: Chapter 27, "A film about Mark David Chapman in the days leading up to the infamous murder of Beatle John Lennon" (1) starring a pimply-faced, plumper-than-I'm-used-to-seeing Jared Ledo as David Chapman. After the movie I knew I had to read the book immediately. After which I said to myself, "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." And I felt kind of sick for a minute, thinking about John Lennon's death. Outside the context of the book, the movie isn't much more than a documentary. But within the context of the book, the movie is utterly creepy.

The book, published in 1951, "remains widely read; as of 2004, the novel was selling about 250,000 copies per year, with total worldwide sales over 65 million." (1) I wonder if it would have seemed as creepy a read had I not seen the movie before reading it. I'm certain I still would have loved the way Salinger handled the character's contradictory, digressive and progressively more and more depressing nature.

I'm not crazy, but mood swings, I know.

So I wondered, given his nature, how many people self-professed "yellow" Holden would have really kept from running off that cliff. Being the catcher in the rye, and ALL. And was he really in the shower during the incident? And what were the other 19 times? I love when a book makes me wonder about a character as if it were a person. And I love that great books, in general, remind me that I'm on the very end of time line -- the very end -- the next segment of which has yet to happen and so does not exist. And that we are all children, never knowing where the edge of the cliff is, where, the window.


(1) Wikipedia

SPEAKING OF SLOW BURNING FUSES

I already have plenty of this....

Anyone who's had some basic science and is globally and politically aware as well as musically and lyrically inclined will see that this video is absolutely and perfectly suited for Radiohead's brilliant song.

YOU KNEW IT COULDN'T LAST

Ironically, I should be studying Earth Science, not writing this...

Ironically, I should be studying Earth Science, not writing this...


Someone offers an opinion or states their belief in a thing, out loud.
Then, it is open.

Then it is an open thought. It is, in a sense, a palpable thing that is now in my presence. And I choose my reaction. How do I respond? Often I'll ask what led to the belief or why the opinion is held.

This is nothing new. And yet, it is. Being "entitled" to hold and express our opinions is an American ideal we were born into in a way that Americans one hundred years ago or more were not. In a way that Americans only eighty years ago, were not.

Sometimes it's difficult to maneuver through all the different conversations that take place every day without realizing, at some point during the dialogue, that it is impossible to continue because the person you are speaking to isn't living in the same reality you are living in.

Not only is the person living a different story in a different book, it's an entirely different set of encyclopedias and dictionaries.

Two things. Two things I hadn't thought about in a long time because they no longer exist in my reality. Blessing myself in order to protect myself, and believing that actions are sins.

Last week after some satirical (but not mean-spirited) remarks between co-workers about a customer, one of them said "quick, bless yourself." And I said "Oh, blessing yourself for protection. I had forgotten about that."

I had forgotten that gesture being performed, and I'd especially forgotten it being performed as a gesture to ward off punishment.

That simple command made me realize that the reality I live in is not the same reality that the other person lives in.

Likewise, today, discussing gender preference and marriage with someone, I realized that we did not share the same reality and that there was no point in continuing the conversation.

Although she opened. She opened enough to tell but not enough to listen.
She opened long enough to say but not to hear. She closed back up.

She closed up when she said, in all sincerity, with all the heart she thought she was disclosing as being open, that she couldn't judge "their sin" (speaking of same-gender relationships) as being any worse than anyone else's. Her exact words were "Who's to say that their sin is any worse than mine when I call someone a bitch? It's not for me to judge." She really believed she was taking the high and righteous road. She really believed she was being "forgiving of sin."

It stopped me in my tracks.

It stopped me because not only do I believe that "being gay" is not a sin -- it reminded me that I haven't thought about the word sin in a long time. And I wondered: why? How did I forget that word and how did I forget that people still believe in it as if it is something that exists, but exists separate from them? As if it exists like a parasite (which scientists kind of believe, but they call it insanity, not sin -- and that's another topic, let's stay here for now). As if actions were parasites that have somehow attached themselves to us and if we just pray hard enough, long enough, strong enough, loud enough, often enough, if we just pray to our god the "sin" will be washed away, we'll be cleansed of the parasite.

I realized today that sin hasn't existed in my world for quite some time now.

It is not a sin to call someone a bitch.
It is not a sin to murder someone, it is murder. It is mean and heartless and savage, maybe, but it is an action. It is enacted. It is not a sin -- a something from beyond that can be removed by some greater power not us.

And it is certainly not a "sin" to "be gay."

The fact that this person could even equate someone's choice of whom to love/hang out with/sleep with etc. with the notion of sin -- stealing, for instance -- makes me sick.

And it is, in a way, a little frightening: So many people, so many people pointing toward an open pit of fire that I just don't see. Not a metaphorical fire. It's like standing next to someone who swears there's an ocean in front of you when all you can see are mountains or miles of desert.

When I heard the word "sin" it felt ancient.

Here where I am, there are only humans, doing. There aren't any angels guiding. There are people with consciences who are willing to sacrifice their own needs for the needs of others. There aren't any spirits listening to me and I am not going to be punished in some life after this life. My choices are mine, limited by my universe and what it contains.

But there is another universe. It is contained in my universe, or mine is contained in that one but they are not one in the same. I hope they are not one in the same. How can it be that our world is one, but our ideals divide it? How can it be that it is one but our words undo that reality?

In her universe there will be another world after she is finished with this one.
In her world there is sin and there is forgiveness and she is told what to believe sin is.
When someone asks something she's never considered you can see fear enter her eyes as they widen but just as quickly they narrow and you know the thought only entered half-way. You see it was dismissed. You see her dismiss it and you hear her close the entire conversation because in her world there is a god who intends that we abide by certain rules. In her world there is a god who intends.

In mine, I and others have intentions and actions and reactions and emotions and rationalizations.

In my world there is only this world. It has a past and a present. It may have a future, I don't propose to know. I have now. The next instant might not even happen. My heart or head could burst. My lungs could decide to stop. I will, one day, fail. Without doubt.

Until then I intend to maneuver through. If I'm tactful I may survive the conversations. If I'm very very quiet I might avoid them, all together. But if I'm very very quiet I might also undo the work of those who made it possible for me to take part in open dialogue.

She may not mind not having one. She may even continue to put an end to discussions by stating that her god's rule is the ultimate rule, and she follows it, without question.

I don't.

I do, however, mind not having dialogue.

So this.

You Knew It Couldn't Last