Because we are all children…

Marriage often means taking the right steps

Beautiful day for a wedding - 2nd April 2011

I grew up in a place and time that no longer exists.  The planet doesn’t spin in and out of the same places it did when I was a child.

The universe moves on, taking the galaxies and their solar systems with them.

However, I look out the window on this day (an arbitrary time period assigned to when this part of the planet faces the nearest star) and wonder about homogeneous subcultures.

Where I grew up, even though not everyone participated in the same ritual 0f combining days into groups of seven, delineating one of those days for a period of little work, I expected everyone to treat the five weekdays differently than the two weekend days and especially reserve the first (or last day) as special (i.e., Sunday).

Sure, we could sit here and go off on a tangent about the history of calendrical systems and why 24-hour periods have unique repetitive names but I’ll leave that exercise to the curious, uneducated, and/or forgetful reader.

Do you have a day you set aside for special activities?  How much do you focus only on those activities and not get dragged into others’ rituals on that day?

For instance, in my childhood subculture we tagged Sunday as a reverent day, meaning the first half of the day was dedicated to religious rituals.

Although in morning meetings we discussed a holy text that implied one should perform no work on Sunday (with perpetual, perennial discussions of the definition of work), later in the day we ate at restaurants where workers prepared meals for us, filled our petrol tanks with fuel where workers operated the fuel pumps and sold prepackaged food and drink, and watched moving images on the television tube that broadcast “live” events where people performed/watched sports-related activities.

Thus, although we said we should, our subculture did not treat the day like a perfectly w0rkfree one for every person.

Through the years, as adults, my wife and I have observed our neighbours treat Sunday as a special day dedicated to one’s hobbies or pleasures – tuning raceboats/motorcycles/racecars, golfing, lawnmowing, yardworking (planting flowers/trees, weeding/feeding), sporting (volleyball, badminton, horseshoes, target shooting), swimming, sunbathing, houseworking (roof repair, painting, window washing, vacuuming), etc.

How dedicated are you to your ritual practices?

Do you find any exceptions to the rule, not just emergencies, that distract you from repeating behaviour you and/or your subculture deem most important?

Where I grew up, I could look into the lives of the individuals and families who treated the hours and days of their lives with reverence, giving every minute the total focus it deserved because we don’t get any more.  The more successful ones often appeared to be the most dedicated to specific behaviours, including reverent rituals.

Success and goalsetting may seem like words from antiquity sometimes, coming from an era when efficiency experts walked around with stopwatches and clipboards to measure factory output.

Are there behaviours for which you willingly ignore distractions in order to dedicate yourself to perfection?

Are those behaviours tied to orbits and rotations of the planet we share together?

When do we realise that our children need us to put aside our childlike thought patterns and act more purely like parents toward them, knowing that at the same time we may act like children to our parents (but, then, what do we do with that last behaviour set after our parents have died)?

As states of energy (parents) reproducing similar states of energy (children), is there a pure, “natural” state of parenthood that exists outside of the intermixed subcultures that define modern life (“modern” being a term that refers to the last ten thousand years)?

What is a successful parent?

What is a successful child?

What is the “child” or “parent” goal of a person who never stops being a child or a parent?

In my subculture, we would respond, “honour your mother and father,” who themselves are honouring their parents, dead or alive.

I have a smorgasbord of parental behaviours from which to choose to honour, not only from my parents and their parents but also from my parents’ friends who are parents and the behaviours they honoured with their ritual-like dedication to perfection.

In other words, on this day when many from my childhood are spending time at houses of worship, reading from the holy text or singing in unison, I should ignore the loud internal combustion engine of the riding lawnmower that my neighbour insists on operating only and early on Sundays, my family’s traditional day of rest from such activities.

After all, my sitting here and dedicating myself to meditating and speaking about our rituals may appear to others to violate the holy ordinance to refrain from working on this day.

“Subject to interpretation” may have been a better title for today’s blog entry but I was concerned people might interpret it the wrong way.

Under Water

While tracking some subs patrolling off the coast of Diego Garcia, I started measuring the average increase in the depth/temperature of waters around the atolls in the region.

Made me wonder if private UAV squadrons could recruit private antisubmarine designers to create devices that patrol the Gulf Coast.  Together, they make money as privateers destroying drug routes in the role of covert subcontractors for the U.S. government.

Of course, the bounty and the booty would be theirs.

Illinois state politics – does your loyalty pay?

Funny, had to share this link about Illinois politics because, when I read it, a banner ad showed a book about the Daley Legacy.

Not that I’m making a connection between the news article and past/current local/state/national politics tied to Chicago, of course…

The ambient temperature has warmed up.  See you tomorrow.

Let’s get ready for dancin’ in loops and crashin’

While Clarence Thomas proves he has cajones, even if his decision sends chills through the populations of innocent prisoners, striking another blow for the protection of lawbreaking law enforcers, let’s put aside petty squabbles and look where the real fun revs its engines.

For instance, the rumble in this part of the Tennessee Valley.

I’m told the International Crimes Tribunal is considering using Mossad to kidnap and extradite a person who may or may not live in Florida to stand trial for inciting the murder of UN personnel.

Wait, there’s an update.  The International Crimes Tribunal convened, using emergency measures to hand down a quick ruling because the tribunal has no need to follow any parliamentary procedure or protect the individual’s right to a fair trial – the person in question has been convicted in absentia of heinous crimes against humanity.  The ICT will announce the extent of punishment at a later date.  Remember, there’s only a reward for delivering a live specimen to ICT for meting out Clarence Thomas’ style beatings when asking for an immunity form.  How does the saying go, “the hospital, not the morgue”?

Bounty hunters are now competing with Mossad and the Revolutionary Guard to get the most bang for the buck.

As opposed to deer hunters, who’re always trying to get the most buck for the bang!

I’m told that Salman Rushdie is celebrating, now that his literature’s effect on the Muslim world is nothing in comparison to the latest news.  Julian Assange feels like he’s off the hook for now, too.

What is a long-form birth certificate and does it have anything to do with a person’s ability to get reelected?

Do you have the ability to move the human population in a direction that serves no one and everyone at the same time?

If you did, would you destroy tens of thousands of dollars’ worth of trees in order to pay a simple $50 in court?

If laws have no meaning, why are you pretending that morals and ethics exist?

If morals and ethics don’t exist, why do states of energy naturally attract each other into specific formations?

My network is older than me and will outlast me.  It’s not me you have to concern yourself with; it’s the members of my network who have no qualms about imaginary ideas like morals/ethics and make things go bump in the night that legends and myths have taught you to fear.

Most importantly, when we’re through with them, you are the ones who have to deal with de/reprogramming the brainwashing we perfected in order to achieve our megagoals for your sake as a species, not as individuals.

You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here!

L’alarm memorable

How am I lucky?

Gnats and crane flies draw imaginary 3D scribbled Spirograph patterns in the space I call my front yard outside the windowed, sunny view this morning.

How far “up” does my yard extend?

60 deg F on this 2nd day of April in the year I’m told is 2011.

I am floating on air today for the simple, joyous fact I danced with a beautiful lithe butterfly last night (I also danced with an angel (my wife, of course)).

The graceful movements of a ballet dancer who flew across the dance floor with the slightest touch of my hands.

And I don’t know her name.

Her name, I’m sure, means “brings him luck” in some language.

A nod to Erin at P.F. Chang’s; the chiropractor who works in Madison, Alabama (Dr. Alice?); Joe and his dance partner, Wendy; Curly and his swing partner; Kareem at the Apple store; and the kind folks at Ulta who helped my wife.

Currently, I’m working up a storyline that incorporates the following facts: a woman working 10 years in the restaurant business, who’s paying off college debt, moved from New Mexico to north Alabama, going from zero to 100 percent humidity, married 1 year and 1 month, first danced to “I want to grow old with you” from “The Wedding Singer” at her wedding reception, and can pour a glass of beer behind her back with her eyes closed while balancing a server tray, all without spilling a drop and with very little foam at the top of the glass.

And then there is the woman who wants her seat next to the dance floor reserved at all costs, getting me to smack around anyone who takes her seat while she’s dancing.

Finding joy in the simple things, like watching ants walk across the kitchen floor or crane flies bouncing against window screens, is a reminder how lucky I am.

I may be repeating my parents’ weekly ritual of going to the local dance hall on a Saturday night (mainly square dancing in their time), and I know how I find repetition boring, but in this case I am thoroughly enjoying myself because of the easy-going people who are sharing the social situation with me, wanting nothing but to have a good, clean, fun time together.

In awe, I watch couples skate around the room.

The room becomes a kaleidoscope made of twirling bodies – I see acrobats on the trapeze, throwing partner to partner to partner and back, or acrobatic flyers turning barrel rolls and figure 8s in the sky, colourful smoke trailing behind them to the soulful music…

Ceiling tiles lit up by Arduino-controlled LED spotlights…

Walls pulsing with fiber optic quilts like living tie-dyed shirts spinning around to the rhythmic beat…

Swing, cha cha, tango, merengue, simple hustle, rumba, salsa, waltz, foxtrot and 1950s-era costumes – I had forgotten how much fun these formal dance styles can be when mixed with freestyle dancing while meeting new friends who glide across the floor like they’re made of air.

It’s like having a reunion with myself from 25 to 30 years ago, thrashing on the dance floor or diving into the mosh pit, except now I’m older and my knees can’t take a jump off a 10-ft stage into the hypnotised masses.

Lucky to be here and happily participating in reconnecting thought patterns with physical dance patterns.

Yes, I’m easily distracted.  Today, I don’t mind – the politics of dancing can wait another day.

Time to get the wallflowers out on the dance floor to have a good time, Flying Monkey theatre at Lowe Mill, Kinesthetic Cue at Underground Madison, or wherever.

Jeffrey Immelt can kiss my American…

…assistant, who, like Suzy Wetlaufer, wants to write a book with Immelt about the recent successful business practices of GE.

Speaking of connecting the dots, here are three for you today:

  1. Why you should see any Woody Allen movie,
  2. Was a Versace model mentioned in “Whatever Works“?, and
  3. Was a Versace model killed in a hit-and-run?

What is compassionate capitalism and does it have anything to do with the Concours d’LeMons (and yes, I am an owner of a 1962 Dodge Lancer, thank you very much for asking)?

A nod to Scott at Red Robin (with a hello to the woman wearing sunglasses at night) and Chelsea at Kinesthetic Cue.  Can’t wait to see Joe do a little Greek dancing for us, a sure cure for the blues of any sort.  Gotta remember the name of the Goodyear tire guy in Madison who’s learning more advanced dancing techniques with his wife.

Reminder to self: need to check out the MediaShift Idea Lab’s story on Shelbyville.

By the way, the diplomatic corps is looking for any ol’ obscure God-fearing Koran burner to send on a goodwill tour of Afghanistan.  The UN will provide security.

My prayers to those who stir up anger in crowds – may you find peace in your thoughts that you share with others instead of fomenting violence and killing.

Does equal opportunity have a cost/benefit analysis component, and if so, should the ADA and EEOC rules reflect this fact?

This is your April Fool’s Day entry for the day – take it for what it’s worth and all I’ve got time to write about.  I’ve an alien ship waiting to pick me up and take me on a tour of munitions factories around the world it plans to beam up and take to Planet X-Post Fractal before my species overcrowds itself and uses weaponry to thin the herd, randomly destroying important parts of the superbrain.