Wednesday, May 26, 2004
The Young Man And The Sea; or: Plastic People, Oh Baby Now You're Such A Drag
I returned yesterday from a several-days-long excursion into the world of blue water, white sand, and obscenely tan complexions that is the tropics, and specifically those areas called Miami and Bimini.
It was a nice trip. I feel fabulous, if tired. I used up lots and lots of film. It happened in two distinct phases, the first one mercifully short.
Miami. The weirdest city I've ever been to. I mean WEIRD. If there is a portal to The Twilight Zone in the real world, it is surely down there at the tip of the panhandle, because for an inveterate landlubber from the hick Midwest like me, it is a royally disconcerting experience to find myself in a living, breathing lifestyle-magazine advertisement...a place where there are NO NORMAL PEOPLE in sight. NONE. I've never seen such a bunch of body-obsessed creatures in my life--I thought the perky little all-American girls at OSU were bad, but these ones own the effin' show. Even those who in normal timespace would be wrinkly middle-agers...desperately spending every hundred-dollar bill they have to hang on to their youth by their manicured fingernails. Pathetic. The only halfway "normal" looking people are the boys, of which there seem to be relatively few, who are for the most part the ususal beer-gutted, shaven-headed studs of the kind that come to mind when you think of the guys who women love to complain about. Nobody seems to work, either. I couldn't picture any of these cookie-cutter creatures of comfort holding down jobs of any kind, even though the marina was filled with God knows how many millions of dollars worth of watercraft. On second thought, maybe that does make sense. I was happier than chicken dumplings to get away from this Fine Living/Mattel tableau from hell.
I did take some nice photos of this place, though. Maybe some dumb stock agency will pay me for them. They seem to be an amusingly unironic, literal-minded bunch of capitalists. Me? These leisure-class Miamians are to me something like Diane Arbus' freaks and geeks. But I wasn't focusing my lens on them anyway, mostly. I thought the architecture and palm trees made more interesting shapes.
On top of all that, I got majorly seasick on a pre-cruise boat trip. I looked like an epileptic, I'm sure, the way that my fingers were cramping up into pretzel claws.
After this unpleasant detour into the gaping maw of Narcissia I found myself on a boat, the USMV Sea Explorer, operated by Blackbeard Cruises, a scuba charter service out of another, decidedly less glitzy marina somewhere around Miami. Ah! Here was something that looked a little more like the Earth I knew. Besides the group of us from Columbus there were a dozen and a half other, emphatically REAL people from all over the place on board ready to go do some serious diving. There was a youngish couple from Tennessee, an somewhat older couple from North Carolina, yet another couple from Wyoming, still another (who actually looked like blood relatives) from Connecticut, a very funny African American guy from Georgia, and a few others who I didn't catch the origins of. The crew were all great. All of them had at least one story to tell, and I was happy to have met every dang one of them.
The food was terrific. The water was salty, all right. I never realized just how salty sea water is until this trip.
I was afraid of another seasick attack on the crossing from Florida to the Bahamas, but it didn't happen (to me, at least). It was a very choppy ride across, and at night. You didn't dare leave your seat lest you get pitched overboard. Being overboard at midnight in the middle of a bumpy ocean is probably no fun. Being below in my tiny bunk was not a whole lot better, but at least I was dry.
Onto the diving. I made seven dives over three days. Lots of fish. Lots of coral. Lots of current. I did a night dive, at the end of which I lost a fin, dogdang it. I dove into a mini-Jaws show wherein a bunch of reef sharks went bananas over a few skewers of edible offal. I don't really know how to elaborate on all this, much less in a witty fashion...it was diving, and it was the spaces between the dives. That was it. I took lots more pictures. I got cooked to a nice festering-yet-crispy reddish brown. I finished more than half of "Timequake" by Kurt Vonnegut. And I slept a lot.
Overall it was a great trip. It was entirely a great trip if you cut Miami Beach out of the map.
Now I'm back. I can go back to being a curmudgeon.
It was a nice trip. I feel fabulous, if tired. I used up lots and lots of film. It happened in two distinct phases, the first one mercifully short.
Miami. The weirdest city I've ever been to. I mean WEIRD. If there is a portal to The Twilight Zone in the real world, it is surely down there at the tip of the panhandle, because for an inveterate landlubber from the hick Midwest like me, it is a royally disconcerting experience to find myself in a living, breathing lifestyle-magazine advertisement...a place where there are NO NORMAL PEOPLE in sight. NONE. I've never seen such a bunch of body-obsessed creatures in my life--I thought the perky little all-American girls at OSU were bad, but these ones own the effin' show. Even those who in normal timespace would be wrinkly middle-agers...desperately spending every hundred-dollar bill they have to hang on to their youth by their manicured fingernails. Pathetic. The only halfway "normal" looking people are the boys, of which there seem to be relatively few, who are for the most part the ususal beer-gutted, shaven-headed studs of the kind that come to mind when you think of the guys who women love to complain about. Nobody seems to work, either. I couldn't picture any of these cookie-cutter creatures of comfort holding down jobs of any kind, even though the marina was filled with God knows how many millions of dollars worth of watercraft. On second thought, maybe that does make sense. I was happier than chicken dumplings to get away from this Fine Living/Mattel tableau from hell.
I did take some nice photos of this place, though. Maybe some dumb stock agency will pay me for them. They seem to be an amusingly unironic, literal-minded bunch of capitalists. Me? These leisure-class Miamians are to me something like Diane Arbus' freaks and geeks. But I wasn't focusing my lens on them anyway, mostly. I thought the architecture and palm trees made more interesting shapes.
On top of all that, I got majorly seasick on a pre-cruise boat trip. I looked like an epileptic, I'm sure, the way that my fingers were cramping up into pretzel claws.
After this unpleasant detour into the gaping maw of Narcissia I found myself on a boat, the USMV Sea Explorer, operated by Blackbeard Cruises, a scuba charter service out of another, decidedly less glitzy marina somewhere around Miami. Ah! Here was something that looked a little more like the Earth I knew. Besides the group of us from Columbus there were a dozen and a half other, emphatically REAL people from all over the place on board ready to go do some serious diving. There was a youngish couple from Tennessee, an somewhat older couple from North Carolina, yet another couple from Wyoming, still another (who actually looked like blood relatives) from Connecticut, a very funny African American guy from Georgia, and a few others who I didn't catch the origins of. The crew were all great. All of them had at least one story to tell, and I was happy to have met every dang one of them.
The food was terrific. The water was salty, all right. I never realized just how salty sea water is until this trip.
I was afraid of another seasick attack on the crossing from Florida to the Bahamas, but it didn't happen (to me, at least). It was a very choppy ride across, and at night. You didn't dare leave your seat lest you get pitched overboard. Being overboard at midnight in the middle of a bumpy ocean is probably no fun. Being below in my tiny bunk was not a whole lot better, but at least I was dry.
Onto the diving. I made seven dives over three days. Lots of fish. Lots of coral. Lots of current. I did a night dive, at the end of which I lost a fin, dogdang it. I dove into a mini-Jaws show wherein a bunch of reef sharks went bananas over a few skewers of edible offal. I don't really know how to elaborate on all this, much less in a witty fashion...it was diving, and it was the spaces between the dives. That was it. I took lots more pictures. I got cooked to a nice festering-yet-crispy reddish brown. I finished more than half of "Timequake" by Kurt Vonnegut. And I slept a lot.
Overall it was a great trip. It was entirely a great trip if you cut Miami Beach out of the map.
Now I'm back. I can go back to being a curmudgeon.
Wednesday, May 12, 2004
Nerve endings
I think what's happening to me is that I'm slipping back into depression. The events of the last week or two have nudged me over the apex of a gently descending hill.
I scheduled a visit with my doctor for Monday, and hopefully I can get back on Paxil which seemed to at least do something for my condition. I tried to switch to Wellbutrin a while back so as to cut my bad moods and my smoking habit in one stroke. I don't think it's working.
I can't afford to be downbeat all the time, to let the weight of the world crush me.
Two more endings of routine--my doctor is leaving his practice at OSU, and Twiggy et al might be vacating my house in short order to escape the incredible heat (no air conditioning).
At least I have that dive trip to look forward to. I can try out my Motormatrine II 20mm conversion lens, just delivered today from LeisurePro, in its intended environment. Not to mention my recently acquired Pentax ZX5. I'm counting on this vacation to help reseat my pathetically drifting mind.
I scheduled a visit with my doctor for Monday, and hopefully I can get back on Paxil which seemed to at least do something for my condition. I tried to switch to Wellbutrin a while back so as to cut my bad moods and my smoking habit in one stroke. I don't think it's working.
I can't afford to be downbeat all the time, to let the weight of the world crush me.
Two more endings of routine--my doctor is leaving his practice at OSU, and Twiggy et al might be vacating my house in short order to escape the incredible heat (no air conditioning).
At least I have that dive trip to look forward to. I can try out my Motormatrine II 20mm conversion lens, just delivered today from LeisurePro, in its intended environment. Not to mention my recently acquired Pentax ZX5. I'm counting on this vacation to help reseat my pathetically drifting mind.
Only when things get rough
I was on the way to the garage top pick up my car yesterday when I had the strong urge to delete all of my blog posts to this point and start anew. What's occurred to me is that I seem to only bother to write when I'm in a bad mood, and my vitriol-spraying is probably not contributing to the positive karma in the world, what little there is of it. There is enough evil will to go around eight times over at least, and I'm supposed to be one of the conscientious peaceful ones. Besides, it makes me look like a hateful little worm.
But the truth is that there seems to be so little to be happy about these days. I can always find solace in the fact that I have a steady job and am in two incredibly creative rock groups, but lately there just seems to be a pervasive feeling soaking the fabric of life that everything is coming to an end, or will soon. The end of the America I thought I knew, mostly. The end of life as a single guy (not that there's anything wrong with that, but it is a life change). The possible eventual end of life here in Columbus. I even worry about my poor beloved parents, who are very sadly starting to become old. I'd be lying if I said that everything's basically okay with me, because actually I suddenly feel very fatalistic about just about everything.
The latest horror story to make me sick with revulsion is that thing about the skinny bearded guy from Pennsylvania who got his head chopped off by a bunch of Islamist wackos with a camcorder. The AP is making the full video available to anyone who cares to lose his breakfast. I pass. The stills of this poor sap, who apparently supported the war that led to his demise, are enough. This is "revenge" for all those pictures of degenerate hick soldiers left to run loose in Abu Ghraib.
When will this insanity end? Probably with the vaporization of the whole effing planet. I see no signs of questioning by the powers that be. My prediction is that a bunch of nationalist far-right wingers and neocons are gonna call for massive retaliation. I can hear it now: Hit those heathen Eye-rackieans with a few nukes and see how tough they are compared to the U.S. of A. Bomb Iran and Syria while we're at it. Remember 9/11! God's on our side.
This isn't even a war anymore, at least not as we originally understood it. WMDs? Totally forgotten. Liberation? A dead issue. Fighting terrorism? Basically lip service. Avenging 9/11? Still relentlessly name-dropped but never was relevant to Iraq. No, this "war" has morphed into something else entirely. This is resembling a very, very sick game of one-upsmanship, like a pair of beer-gutted losers trading shoves in a neighborhood bar or on the ice rink, each blow simultaneously an attack and a taunt, neither one willing to be the guy who gives up first. It's a matter of virility, of manhood. That honor thing is a sham. There is no honor for anyone in this tar pit. Sometimes I wish that guys weren't so obsessed with proving their manhood--it gets us into so much trouble, without fail.
Sad thing is, these men whose virility constantly needs to be demonstrated, the guys who swagger and taunt the loudest, are most often spineless weasels at heart, guys who have the biggest balls in town only in their limited imaginations but very real chips on their shoulders. It's comforting to know that the world is led by men who despite their expensive suits are closer to the jungle than to enlightenment, isn't it? Me good, you terrorist.
Me, I don't give a rat's ass about how tough I look. I wanna cry, dammit. This is a nightmare that won't end. And I can't do anything about it either...this plane's been hijacked by a bunch of spongeheads who never had any intention of landing it safely, if you know what I mean. Just five years ago--an eternity, a different life--things seemed to be going so great. Remember?
I do hope God is on our side. I mean our side, the people's, both Western and Eastern--on humanity's side. The evil on both sides will get what's coming to them, I have to believe. And I'm not even religious. But I have to believe that someone or something bigger than all of us will not let these homicidal worms off the hook--they will eventually have to answer to all of humanity for their crimes and their folly that have caused so much pain for everyone, and only then after the rot has been scraped out and patched over will we all be able to move ahead and build a peaceful world for ourselves.
I don't know if that makes me feel any better.
But the truth is that there seems to be so little to be happy about these days. I can always find solace in the fact that I have a steady job and am in two incredibly creative rock groups, but lately there just seems to be a pervasive feeling soaking the fabric of life that everything is coming to an end, or will soon. The end of the America I thought I knew, mostly. The end of life as a single guy (not that there's anything wrong with that, but it is a life change). The possible eventual end of life here in Columbus. I even worry about my poor beloved parents, who are very sadly starting to become old. I'd be lying if I said that everything's basically okay with me, because actually I suddenly feel very fatalistic about just about everything.
The latest horror story to make me sick with revulsion is that thing about the skinny bearded guy from Pennsylvania who got his head chopped off by a bunch of Islamist wackos with a camcorder. The AP is making the full video available to anyone who cares to lose his breakfast. I pass. The stills of this poor sap, who apparently supported the war that led to his demise, are enough. This is "revenge" for all those pictures of degenerate hick soldiers left to run loose in Abu Ghraib.
When will this insanity end? Probably with the vaporization of the whole effing planet. I see no signs of questioning by the powers that be. My prediction is that a bunch of nationalist far-right wingers and neocons are gonna call for massive retaliation. I can hear it now: Hit those heathen Eye-rackieans with a few nukes and see how tough they are compared to the U.S. of A. Bomb Iran and Syria while we're at it. Remember 9/11! God's on our side.
This isn't even a war anymore, at least not as we originally understood it. WMDs? Totally forgotten. Liberation? A dead issue. Fighting terrorism? Basically lip service. Avenging 9/11? Still relentlessly name-dropped but never was relevant to Iraq. No, this "war" has morphed into something else entirely. This is resembling a very, very sick game of one-upsmanship, like a pair of beer-gutted losers trading shoves in a neighborhood bar or on the ice rink, each blow simultaneously an attack and a taunt, neither one willing to be the guy who gives up first. It's a matter of virility, of manhood. That honor thing is a sham. There is no honor for anyone in this tar pit. Sometimes I wish that guys weren't so obsessed with proving their manhood--it gets us into so much trouble, without fail.
Sad thing is, these men whose virility constantly needs to be demonstrated, the guys who swagger and taunt the loudest, are most often spineless weasels at heart, guys who have the biggest balls in town only in their limited imaginations but very real chips on their shoulders. It's comforting to know that the world is led by men who despite their expensive suits are closer to the jungle than to enlightenment, isn't it? Me good, you terrorist.
Me, I don't give a rat's ass about how tough I look. I wanna cry, dammit. This is a nightmare that won't end. And I can't do anything about it either...this plane's been hijacked by a bunch of spongeheads who never had any intention of landing it safely, if you know what I mean. Just five years ago--an eternity, a different life--things seemed to be going so great. Remember?
I do hope God is on our side. I mean our side, the people's, both Western and Eastern--on humanity's side. The evil on both sides will get what's coming to them, I have to believe. And I'm not even religious. But I have to believe that someone or something bigger than all of us will not let these homicidal worms off the hook--they will eventually have to answer to all of humanity for their crimes and their folly that have caused so much pain for everyone, and only then after the rot has been scraped out and patched over will we all be able to move ahead and build a peaceful world for ourselves.
I don't know if that makes me feel any better.
Tuesday, May 11, 2004
More teen envy
Getting ready for my little trip to the Bahamas in less than two weeks here, so obviously I have diving on my mind. It is quite exciting to contemplate--just think, water that you can actually see through!--and it will be a welcome respite from some very heavy happenings. You of course know how gelatinous the ongoing nightmare of Bush's America is pummeling my psyche; also there has been a personal crisis recently that has left me feeling exhausted and stressed but at least seems to be resolved. A nice swim or two in the blue Bahamian saline solution ought to clear my vision for a while.
Of course, I'm not going to let my enthusiasm for a sport hinder my infantile jealousy of others much younger and more attractive than myself, am I? There's nothing I love to let sicken me more than adventure cruises for rich little white snots. For your entertainment:
http://www.gobroadreach.com
http://www.odysseyexpeditions.com
Ah, the joys of being young, white, and wealthy. Don't these smug Abercrombie-bred brats make you want to throw up?
Who cares? And more importantly, why should I care? Because I'm an effin' spiteful *geek*, that's why!
More later...
Of course, I'm not going to let my enthusiasm for a sport hinder my infantile jealousy of others much younger and more attractive than myself, am I? There's nothing I love to let sicken me more than adventure cruises for rich little white snots. For your entertainment:
http://www.gobroadreach.com
http://www.odysseyexpeditions.com
Ah, the joys of being young, white, and wealthy. Don't these smug Abercrombie-bred brats make you want to throw up?
Who cares? And more importantly, why should I care? Because I'm an effin' spiteful *geek*, that's why!
More later...
Wednesday, May 05, 2004
Speaking of freedom fries...
The apocalyptically disastrous revelation of the last week--photos of grinning American idiots in Army fatigues doing unspeakably barbaric things to captured Iraqis--has pushed me over the edge. I've written a protest song. I may write more. It, or something like it, will commemorate for posterity (hopefully, I may be insanely optimistic) the awesomely colossal arrogance and stupidity of our society and its doings in more ways than one, just as its namesake undoubtedly will. I've titled it "Freedom Fried." Lyrics provided below so you can sing along! There's even a lyricless verse at the end of the record for ersatz karaoke fun!
--
There are things on my mind
But I can’t tell you
I know some children left behind
But they won’t tell you
Cuz everything’s just fine
It’s what they tell you
I look around and the world is gray
But then they tell you
Everything is a-okay
But now I tell you
Some fuckers have got to pay
And let me tell you
For all that have cried
And been shot up or died
And locked up but not tried
And just swept aside
Baby, you’ve been fried
Let me tell you
And you believe every goddamn thing
That they tell you
The proclamations from the king
Oh yes he tells you
The traitors are gonna swing
And so they tell you
Don’t run afoul of the CIA
And so they tell you
Get behind the old U.S. of A.
And then they tell you
The end’s coming any day
Now they tell you
When they’re pacified
Shout hooray for our side
Though it’s genocide
It’ll all be denied
Baby, you’ve been fried
Baby, you’re freedom fried
Baby, you’re freedom fried
--
I probably could have made it even more vitriolic, but of course I won't stoop to that level. I'm not about to name names, and let any paranoid right-wing demagogues put me away for libel...er, aiding and abetting terrorism. At least not yet. There are a lot of things on my mind that I at least couldn't fit into one short, very loud, kinda catchy song. You fill in the blanks.
You may listen to my crude lo-fi home recording at http://www.moogyboy.com/ff2r.mp3
I think next I'm gonna elucidate on this debate about the draft, national service, and a gun in every house.
--
There are things on my mind
But I can’t tell you
I know some children left behind
But they won’t tell you
Cuz everything’s just fine
It’s what they tell you
I look around and the world is gray
But then they tell you
Everything is a-okay
But now I tell you
Some fuckers have got to pay
And let me tell you
For all that have cried
And been shot up or died
And locked up but not tried
And just swept aside
Baby, you’ve been fried
Let me tell you
And you believe every goddamn thing
That they tell you
The proclamations from the king
Oh yes he tells you
The traitors are gonna swing
And so they tell you
Don’t run afoul of the CIA
And so they tell you
Get behind the old U.S. of A.
And then they tell you
The end’s coming any day
Now they tell you
When they’re pacified
Shout hooray for our side
Though it’s genocide
It’ll all be denied
Baby, you’ve been fried
Baby, you’re freedom fried
Baby, you’re freedom fried
--
I probably could have made it even more vitriolic, but of course I won't stoop to that level. I'm not about to name names, and let any paranoid right-wing demagogues put me away for libel...er, aiding and abetting terrorism. At least not yet. There are a lot of things on my mind that I at least couldn't fit into one short, very loud, kinda catchy song. You fill in the blanks.
You may listen to my crude lo-fi home recording at http://www.moogyboy.com/ff2r.mp3
I think next I'm gonna elucidate on this debate about the draft, national service, and a gun in every house.
