Common Sense 2.0

Some time ago, a customer told me her childhood friend married a graduate from RPI, an engineering school in my hometown. She said this guy invented the strips that allowed credit cards to be read. Apparently, this guy had capitalized on his invention very wisely, because this customer told me he had a ton of money and 5 homes around the world. She said this with the wistful look in her eye that people get when they talk about winning the lottery or watch rich people on television.

This is what I said to her: “I would hate to have that much money.”

I don’t think it was the response she expected from a register jockey, because she looked at me a little strangely. I elaborated, “If you have a lot of money there’s a lot of extra work and stress that goes into managing that money. You have to hire people to look after it, to look after your houses, to look after the people who look after your houses. That much money needs to be handled in a special way and it’s really noticeable when you screw up…so you have to hire more people. All these people have to be paid. While it might be nice to have a lot of fancy things and travel a lot, it seems like it would be more trouble than it’s worth.” Or if you prefer the boiled down version: “Mo money, mo problems.” She agreed with me, but I had the distinct feeling she didn’t go into it feeling that way.

Long after the conversation ended, I was struck by my own response. I realized that I really meant it. While there are things that I would like, I don’t really want money itself. The things I want are simple and attainable by my social class. However, there was not a single thing I felt I needed or would feel discontented if I didn’t get. There’s not a tangible item I own, no matter how sentimental, that I wouldn’t be able to do without. The only things I need are the basics of health: Food, shelter, and social interaction. I believe that if you are unhappy, money will not change that. I honestly just want to get by and I hope that I can do just a little bit better for the sake of stability, security, and comfort. It is happiness and contentment that I seek in life. Joy comes to me, because I succeed at it often.

Somewhere along the way, and without my realizing it, I became non-materialistic. I realized that I had no real interest in capitalism or a capitalist society, and in this society that made me a bit of an eccentric. I don’t fit in, because I don’t desire infinite growth. I don’t understand profit for the sake of profit, and at the expense of others.

I see the inherent flaws in the infinite growth paradigm. It is alarmingly obvious to me that the way we are doing things isn’t working. We have grown as a culture to desire growth over our, and our neighbors, well being. However, we’ve grown to accept it out of habit. We ignore or understate the flaws in the system because we don’t want to admit it doesn’t work. We have finite resources, so unless we start doing things very differently we might lose everything we’ve built so far.

I am no longer convinced that our government is able to fix what they have brought to pass. I am of the opinion that our current government is no longer doing what it set out to do. I cannot expect the Obama administration to fix all our problems because it has been given the task of the near impossible. Perhaps if we consider Thomas Jefferson’s political philosophy, we have been too long without a revolution. I am convinced that the solution is to scrap the current methods and find a better way of doing things. However, we better do it quick because if things keep going the way they are we won’t be given the option.

I worry about us, because as a culture (sadly it is a world culture) we have become so detached from each other that we’ve lost our sense of community. We no longer interface with each other, we interface with machines, and honestly it isn’t the same thing as face to face interaction. To see this in play go to any public place: People are not interacting with each other; they are interacting with their devices. I love technology myself, but it should be a tool for relaying information, not a substitute for social interaction.

Something is wrong with the way our society is changing…

Then I had to wonder what I’m going to do about it. I’m one person, I hardly matter…

I guess I’m going to do everything I can…

Crossposted to Facebook

What I'm thinking about today

I've been thinking a lot lately about how sites like Facebook really stretch the word "friend" to include people I consider only acquaintances. Likewise there are people in my life who I was considering my friends, but may only really be acquaintances.

To me a friend is around and supportive in good times and in bad. These people can be counted on, even if it's for nothing else other than a kind ear and maybe some advice. They realize that things aren't always good, but are willing to be there when it's not because they really like who you are. They care for your feelings, and when there's a disagreement they try to repair the breach because you're important to them.

Then there are acquaintances. Don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with acquaintances. They can be good to celebrate occasions and occasionally get together with. They are also good for networking purposes and a laugh. Acquaintances are like the hearty stock in a stew: On their own they are lacking, but they fill in and enrich the spaces in your life. They also give your friends a break from time to time. However, they are not the people you turn to in crisis or when things get rough. They aren't there when it really matters. That's what your friends are for. Also, the loss of acquaintances isn't a big deal.

Facebook is like a picture of your social stew. Friends and acquaintances and family all jumbled together, like your real life. These are all the people you know.

Regarding the people mentioned in the first paragraph. I think if they aren't really there in good times and only really act like acquaintances, then I should really treat and regard them as such. Now that leaves a lot of empty spaces in the "friends" category, but those spaces will be filled if there are people who really want to fill them. If they remain empty then more of my energy is devoted to those who remain.

Maybe this is like spring cleaning of the soul. I'm gathering up my love and figuring out where it should go.

Crossposted to Facebook

But what do you really want...

My entries all start out the same: as entries in my personal journal where I keep my private thoughts. There are many that are too private to post publicly, and some that have had to be edited to make the cut. I almost didn't post this entry. Then I thought that if I really want the things I say I do, I need to give a little away. I need to show more than I have. I need to have the courage to be a little vulnerable from time to time.


Without further ado:



Instead of wishing that I lived in a world where my desire to create and my desire to make a living were not mutually exclusive, I have decided to make that world a reality on some level. 

My idea is to not quit my day job, but to make my hobbies somehow, someway, my the most important aspect of my life. I wish to have the bravery to not only pursue my interests, but to present my labors as well.

I have considered myself first and foremost an artist (of various mediums) for a long time. I suppose I should remain true to that instead of turning my back on it. After all, art is the only thing that has really been good to me.


However, doubts linger and I’m afraid this will go the way it all goes. And deep down I hope that it will bring me the acceptance I’ve craved my entire life but always somehow fell short of. I may continue to fall short, but creating gets me closer to acceptance than any other thing I’ve done.


I really want to be a kinetic force in the universe. I wish to do things that are interesting and thought provoking. I wish to amuse myself and others.


I wish to push past the wall of apathy I’ve built between myself and the rest of the world over the years, because it has brought me nothing but sorrow.


I want change so badly, but I’m afraid I’m not good enough to achieve it. I fear that somehow I’m not worth being better, or having more. I’m afraid that when it comes right down to it I won’t be able to follow through and really fix what has gone so wrong.


I need strength, not a short burst, but the kind that lasts. The kind of strength that you see on the faces of those who have persevered and made something, however small, out of nothing.


I need friends, old and new, and the kind of inspiration that comes from the open exchange of ideas.


Most of all, I need faith in myself and the courage to finally see it through.


Crossposted to facebook.

A Story

Did you know that I draw too?

Over the years, some of my friends have been surprised to learn that I can draw at all, because I don’t do it that much anymore. In my room hangs one of my paintings, and there is a book tucked away somewhere with the best of what survived my tumultuous teenage years, but there has hardly been anything in the visual art range from me in some time.

I’m thinking about this because recently I began drawing again and what has come out of me is surprising. Mostly I’ve been doing rough drawn cartoons, but they have become an outlet of creativity that I haven’t been able to express otherwise. So drawing is my latest thing.

I didn’t really begin drawing in earnest until I went to high school and not until my junior year. I was surrounded by a mass of extremely talented and creative people. Everyone sort of had their thing and mine was acting, some could sing, some played instruments and one or two could draw. Many of us dabbled in more than one thing.

My defining trait then and now is I have an unrelenting need to express myself creatively and any way I can. The medium changes over the years and sometimes it lapses entirely, but the need is there and I assume it always will be.

However, in high school I suffered from a massive inferiority complex. Aside from acting, I didn’t feel that anything else I did was worth shit. It didn’t help that I was surrounded by people that I thought could do it better and usually did. For that reason I doodled but that was about it.

In my junior year, I had to take a visual arts class to complete my arts sequence and get my diploma. I took the initiative to show my teacher, Ms. Jordan, some of my rough sketches. I still don’t know why, but she decided to take me under her wing. She gave me my first real sketchbook, a bunch of different pencils and a book of classic art and told me to draw at least 15 minutes a day 30 on weekends and show her the results. She told me to draw anything, pictures from magazines or stuff I see around me. She gave me tips and told me about shading techniques, lighting sources, lead densities, and anything else she could think of. She told me not to worry about what my friends were drawing, to not even show them if I didn’t want to.

After a short while, something really weird happened: I started to get pretty decent, and Ms. Jordan started to encourage me to show my work. She gave my final project a spot in the art show downtown without ever seeing it. I think I almost cried when I saw she put my painting with the projects for the advanced class even though I wasn’t in it. There’s still a picture somewhere of me standing in front of that painting, and aside from being on stage it was my proudest moment in high school. It was the first time I really felt like an artist. I don’t think any of those friends of mine went to the show, but that’s okay. This was something that I genuinely felt was just about me and I was finding I liked being on my own.

I continued to draw even after high school. I only stopped when I got into my first real relationship with a guy who I considered a better artist than I, and who also left little room for me in our relationship. The irony is the inferiority complex that kept me from drawing in the first place made me stop.

I may have taken a long road back here, but you don’t stop being an artist, and so I pick up the pencil again. We’ll see where it takes me this time. I am the true jack of all trades, and if enough time goes by I might just get good at everything.

A silly picture.

Because I decided that it would be a good idea to walk four miles in the blistering sunlight, I now have a sunburn.

However I did see this on a traffic light control box, so it was worth it.

"Now I'll not have things getting silly...."

Early Wonder Woman wore a skirt!

This morning I made the comment on Faceyspace that I only seem to be attractive to the Serial Killer demographic. That I was a specialty item that has only one use that no one ever needs. I then said that the one use is probably being dressed in a wonder woman costume and stuffed under a porch.

I then decided to do an artists rendition.

Rebel Yell

Every time I relapse on my health and fitness I learn something about myself. Every time I try again I lose and keep a little more off. The journey, and my desire to find compromise between loving myself and changing myself, is emotional at best and I am on fire to succeed.

To the casual observer it may look like I’m on again, off again. Every idea I have may seem like another scheme that will not work. To me it is as if I must climb the tallest and most daunting of mountains. I make progress and sometimes I slip back a little. I try again and I hope I don’t make the same mistake because I learned what made me slip last time. To me it’s slow, it’s agonizing, and I feel as if I have sweat out and cried out every single one of these pounds. Every one of them takes everything I have because it’s hard, but it proves I’m human. If I am simply an animal I would just succumb to my base urges. In this toxic environment I would surely eat myself to death, as I have seen many others do. My primate brain wants fat and sugar and salt and it wants it all the time. My humanity allows me to decide to not give in to my desires and do what is best for me. That is why I will eventually succeed.

But I was born starving. Starving for food. Starving for love. Starving for joy. That primate feels it and she wants and she screams so loud that sometimes I can hear nothing else. If I don’t eat enough, if I don’t love enough, if I train too much she screams and I lose my footing while I just shut her up. While I try to find a little temporary peace.

So please forgive my setbacks, my renewed efforts, while I try to be a better me. I have to learn to live with the animal inside me. I have to learn how to keep her quiet or how to ignore her when she bellows about needs. She doesn’t understand that it’s a slow road to fulfill them.


It’s a good thing that I am human after all…